Work Text:
The streets of Mondstadt are alive with celebration—music, laughter, and the scent of fresh Cecilias fill the air. People exchanging poems, flowers, and confessions under the colorful banners of the Windblume Festival. Amidst this cascade of affinity and festivity, Bennett stands alone in the city square, humming to himself as he watches couples exchange their Windblume flowers of choice. He isn’t expecting anything—after all, who would pick him on a day like this?
He’s just happy to see everyone enjoying themselves as he soaks up the positive energy surrounding him. Bennett closes his eyes, listening to the laughter of children, the gasps of shock from those receiving a confession, lips of lovers connecting, the sighs of longing of those still gathering courage.
As he listens, Bennett hears a pair of high heels clacking their way across the square in his direction, making a stop in front of him, he opens his eyes, being greeted with the sight of Fischl von Luftschloss Narfidort, the Prinzessin der Veruteilung herself appearing before him, a dramatic flourish of her dress signaling her arrival. Bennett smiles seeing her, the two of them having traveled together on adventures on many occasions. She lifts her hand theatrically over her eyepatch. “Oh, noble ill-fated hero, thou art the catalyst of my destined path! A cosmic force hath compelled me to bestow upon thee this token of my undying allegiance!”
She hands him a piece of folded paper, Bennett looks at it in confusion for a moment before unfolding it, revealing a poem, and despite the many arcane words and cryptic phrases, it is clearly a very passionate declaration of love.
Bennett blinks, completely lost as he looks over the poem a second time to confirm he’s not misunderstanding the situation.
Before he can say anything, Barbara Pegg, the Deaconess of the church of Favonius that Bennett admires for her kindness suddenly rushes up, completely out of breath. “Bennett! I… I wrote this for you!” She thrusts a beautifully decorated envelope into his hands, blushing furiously. “You’re always so kind and brave… I really admire you! I—I mean, not just admire, I… um… anyway… Please read it!”
Bennett takes and opens the envelope, containing a beautifully written poem, ink still drying, her wish to become Bennett’s future bride spelled out in black on white. He stares down at the now second poem in his hands, his brain struggling to come to terms with the fact that not just Fischl just confessed, but now Barbara too.
Just when he thinks his luck couldn’t get weirder, wolf-boy Razor walks up with a determined look on his face. “Bennett. You are Razors bestest friend, take this!” He hands over another piece of paper, containing crudely written text, both in its penmanship as well as its content, but leaving little to the imagination about Razor’s intentions. “Bennett is strong, good! Razor wants to stay by Bennetts side forever.”
Bennett stands there, having expected to not receive anything for the Windblume Festival, now holding three love confessions in his hands, feels like his face is on fire.
There’s an awkward silence as the three confessors realize what just happened. They all glance at each other. Fischl looks offended, Barbara mortified, while Razor simply looks proud of his work. Bennett, meanwhile, is trying his best to not pass out.
“U-uh… wow! Haha, uhm, this is—uh—this is crazy, huh? Windblume Festival, am I right? Hahaha… ha…” his laugh hollow and desperate, he looks towards the distant statue of Barbatos, as if the Archon could somehow help him out of his situation.
Fischl crosses her arms, a determined look in her eye. “Hmph! A hero such as thee need not dwell in uncertainty! Speak thy heart’s true desire, and your Prinzessin shall accept thy decree with utmost grace!”
Barbara grips the hem of her dress, looking increasingly nervous. “Bennett… I—I don’t want to pressure you or anything! Just… if you feel the same, then—then…” She cuts herself off, her embarrassment obvious to all present.
Razor tilts his head, completely unfazed. “…If Benny do not choose Razor, we will still be Lupical, be friends!”
Bennett stares in confusion, his luck has never been like this before. Usually he’s dealing with falling rocks, explosive barrels, and tripping into ditches—not three people confessing at the same time. He desperately runs his hand through his short blond hair trying to think of something to say.
Bennett feels them watching him expectantly, he swallows hard, gripping the love poems in his hands, doing his best to avoid eye contact. “I… I really appreciate this, all of it! You guys are amazing, and I care about all three of you. But choosing between you? That’s… that’s impossible.” Fischl scoffs, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “Impossible? Nay, Sir Bennett, nothing is beyond the grasp of fate! There must be a way to determine which among us holds your heart most dear.”
Bennett chuckles nervously, shifting in place. “Is that… really necessary…?”
Barbara hesitantly steps forward, nervously fidgeting with her fingers. “I’ve heard that when you hold hands with your one true love, your heart will reveal the truth to you.” She suggests, glancing at Bennett with a hopeful yet uncertain expression. Fischl lets out a dramatic laugh, placing her hand on her chest. “Nay, fair Barbara! Such a method is but an illusion of the heart! Only true love’s kiss can unveil the strings of fate that bind two souls together!”
Razor tilts his head. “Razor always thought hugs tell who you like most.”
Fischl’s emerald eye gleams as she points at Bennett with a flourish. “Then the solution is clear! Our contested lover shall embark upon these three sacred trials—hand-holding, kissing and hugging—to discern which among us holds true claim to his heart!”
Bennett stiffens under the weight of their hopeful gazes, feeling the eyes of all three of his dear companions upon him, as well as those of several passer-by who’s taken an interest in the commotion. “W-Wait, right now? All three of you? That’s—uh—don’t you think that’s a little, y’know, intense?!”
Fischl extends her hand dramatically. “Fie! Only through the trials of affection can destiny’s tapestry be unveiled!”
Barbara, with her face burning red, nods hesitantly. “I—I mean, if it helps you figure things out, then maybe…?”
Razor just shrugs. “Hug is good.”
Bennett looks between the three people expecting him to hold hands, kiss, and hug them all and considers just sprinting out of Mondstadt and never coming back as he glances over his shoulder towards the city gate. Fischl, ever dramatic, declares with full confidence: “Come now, Sir Bennett! Let us commence the test of fate! First, thou shalt hold our hands and discern the whispers of destiny!” Fischl extends her left hand toward him with regal poise. “Remove my glove, if thou art prepared to meet thy destiny!” Despite her right hand already being bare.
Bennett hesitates before carefully sliding off her sheer black glove, revealing the smooth yet battle-worn skin beneath. She raises her forearm in an old-fashioned manner, wrist tilted slightly downward, her fingers elegantly curled.
Not quite sure how to hold it, Bennett awkwardly clasps her hand, only for Fischl to smoothly shift her grip to grasping his wrist instead. With deliberate slowness, she traces her thumbnail over the sensitive spots of his palm, sending a strangely pleasant tingle down his spine. Her hand is small yet firm, her fingers lightly calloused from adventure. Some of her nails, painted deep purple to match her attire, are artificial, replacements for those broken in battle. After a few lingering seconds, Fischl releases her grip and retracts her hand, slipping her glove back on with a knowing smirk, tilting her head like she’s already won.
Next, Razor removes his thick leather gloves, stepping up without hesitation. He takes Bennett’s hand in both of his, gripping it tightly like a firm handshake. His hands are larger than Bennett’s own, his palms rough and calloused, his grip strong enough to momentarily cut off circulation. His nails are uneven and dirt-stained from life in the wild, but despite all of this, Bennett feels at ease. “Warm. Feels right.” Razor says before releasing Bennett’s hand, letting blood rush back into it.
Barbara steps forward last, moving with grace. She extends her hand, palm up, and Bennett takes it gently. Unlike the others, her skin is unbelievably soft and smooth, her touch feather-light yet warm. Her nails are neatly trimmed and polished, her fingers slender and delicate. She gives a gentle squeeze, sending a pleasant warmth through his chest. Bennett’s ears burn as he quietly withdraws his hand, rubbing it absent-mindedly as if trying to cool it down. Fischl crosses her arms, a victorious smirk on her lips.
“And so, the first trial concludes! But do not be fooled, for the truest test of affection lies ahead.”
Razor nods. “Now hug test.” Bennett exhales sharply, his pulse still racing. He lifts his hands slightly. “O-okay! Uh, that was nice! Super nice! Maybe we don’t have to do the next two steps?” He chuckles nervously.
Barbara, face still red, twirls a strand of her hair. “B-but… you haven’t decided yet, right…?”
Fischl, grinning mischievously, dramatically gestures to herself. “Indeed! A mere clasp of hands is naught but the beginning! Now, only a kiss shall unveil the truest of loves!”
Bennett is on the verge of spontaneous combustion. “T-there’s no way I can just…
just—” But before Bennett can panic further, Razor has closed the distance between them and wrapping his arms around Bennett, pulls him in for a big hug.
“This is nice too.” The other two stare in absolute shock as Razor just casually buries his face in Bennett’s shoulder like it’s no big deal. Bennett freezes, somehow turning even redder than before.
Fischl, looking completely flabbergasted exclaims: “M-my word! Sir Razor, that was meant to be the final trial—!” Meanwhile Barbara has covered her face and squeals: “Oh no, this is so embarrassing!”
Bennett, stiff as a board, realizes his fate has been sealed. He’s never been luckier in his life. And yet, he might actually die from this.
Bennett, already feeling like he’s on the brink of a heart attack, feels relieved when Fischl yanks Razor off him, but despite the breather, Bennett knows things are about to get worse. Fischl, running her hand through her hair, points a gloved finger at Bennett.
“If Sir Razor wishes to commence the trials in such a manner, then so be it! The Hug Test shall be held now, and the lovers Kiss shall be the final, ultimate trial of destiny!”
Barbara, flustered but agreeing, fidgeted with her fingers. “A-actually, I think… um… leaving the k-kiss for last is… probably more appropriate anyway…”
Bennett, mind spiraling, wanting to say something. Anything! But no words comes out. That’s when Fischl steps forward, her eyes gleaming with a nervous but mischievous look in her eye, emboldened by Razor’s sudden unintentional power play moments ago, she wraps her arms around Bennett, who’s frozen in place. Her hug is firm, confident—commanding. But Bennett barely has time to process the hug before she suddenly grabs his hands and firmly plants them on her behind. Bennett’s brain trying to function while on fire. “W-wha—” And before Bennett has time to react further, Fischl, with a teasing smirk, leans up and lightly licks his neck, Bennett letting out a loud squeal.
Barbara, watching this depravity unfold before her with wide, horrified eyes, realizes that she can not afford to lose this competition. As Fischl withdraws from Bennett, she throws Barbara a wink over her shoulder, a silent declaration of victory, giving Barbara the resolve that she needs to go all in. Flustered but determined, she walks over to Bennett with striding steps, lifts her arms over Bennett’s head, hooking them around his neck, and yanks his face down—straight into her bosom. Then, hugging him with all her might, she squeezes him tightly against her.
Bennett’s entire world became soft, warm, and threatening to suffocate him.
Barbara meanwhile, face burning red, stays locked in the embrace, holding on as if her life depended on it. For a while, Bennett is unsure if he is dead or alive. He might have died, or perhaps even ascended. When Barbara finally lets go, Bennett just stands there, swaying slightly, his face a concerning deep shade of red.
He isn’t sure what just happened, or if he even exist any more. The only thing he knows is that the final trial—the kiss—is still ahead. And that he is doomed. As he tries to recover from the hug ordeal he hears Razor, completely unfazed, state matter-of-factly: “Kissing is next,” who starts moving in. Bennett, still in a daze, doesn't react. Fischl and Barbara however does. At the exact same time, both girls step in front of Bennett, blocking Razor’s path.
Fischl scoffs as she crosses her arms. “Hmph! You brute! One cannot simply proceed without consideration of the sacred rules of romance!”
Barbara, hands on her hips, nods with a serious expression. “Exactly! You can’t just go next without thinking about what it means!”
Razor blinks, confused. “…Huh?”
Fischl turns to Barbara, raising an eyebrow. “Surely, fair maiden, you understand that the order of this trial is of the utmost importance!”
Barbara nods, folding her arms. “Of course, after all—” She lifted one finger. “The first kiss is special! It’s the one he’ll remember forever!”
Fischl lifts her own finger, wagging it in a dramatic fashion. “Ah, but the final kiss shall linger longer in his thoughts! Such is the curse of recency bias!”
Barbara crosses her arms. “And no one wants to be in the middle!”
They share a glance for a moment before both of them simultaneously turns towards Razor.
Razor stares back at them, then at Bennett, then back at them. Still confused. “So… what happens?”
Fischl flips her hair with a dramatic flourish. “Simple! You shall go second, Razor!”
“Agreed!” Barbara says, nodding firmly.
Razor just shrugs his shoulders and says “Okay.”
Bennett stands in silence, sweating buckets. Because he knows that the final decision has yet to be made, which of them should go first? Fischl and Barbara turns toward each other, realization hitting them at the same time. Their eyes narrow.
Fischl puts a hand on her hip, leaning in with a smirk. “Surely, Sir Bennett must begin with me, for we have braved the trials of the abyss together! Our bond has been forged in the fires of adventure!”
Barbara crosses her arms. “That’s just time spent, Fischl! What matters is meaning! And the time we’ve spent together is far more meaningful!”
Fischl scoffs, pointing her finger at Barbara. “Ha! A fleeting moment of respite cannot compare to the unbreakable trust tested in the heat of battle!”
Barbara, unfazed, leans forward. “Oh? Then why does Bennett always come to me when he’s injured, exhausted, and at his weakest? That is what real trust looks like!”
The tension crackling between them. Razor watching in silent confusion. Bennett looking ready to run when—
“My, my, what a lively debate!” A familiar voice rings out, as a gust of wind scatters flower petals between them. Venti appears seemingly out of nowhere, stepping in between Fischl and Barbara, grinning. “I couldn’t help but to overhear your little dispute—“
He spins dramatically on his heel, arms outstretched, before glancing over his shoulder with a mischievous glint in his eye. “—alongside the rest of the town square.”
Only now do they realize—a sizeable crowd has gathered around them, watching with anticipation. Some even placing bets. Barbara turns bright red, grasping her mouth.
“W-Wait, people were watching this whole time?!” she panics, clearly mortified.
Fischl clears her throat, brushing off the surprise and crossing her arms. “Naturally! Such a spectacle of passion is sure to draw an audience befitting the Prinzessin der Verurteilung!”
Venti clapping his hands together, exclaims: “Now, now! Let’s not forget what the Windblume Festival is all about!” Giving them both a knowing smile.
“Let's not forget, my lovely ladies, that the spirit of this festival isn’t about competition. It’s about love, trust and romance!”
Bennett feels a sense of relief through his body as Fischl and Barbara hesitates.
“The true spirit of the Windblume cannot be taught—it must be felt, through mutual understanding, respect, and passion.” With a flourish of his hand, he adds: “If your hearts are in the right place, you will come to understand this in your own time.”
Fischl folds her arms, pouting. “A most poetic sentiment, honorable Sir Bard, but answer the pressing question at hand, it doth not!” she exclaims as she shakes her head.
Barbara sighs, looking up to Venti. “So… what do we do now?”
Venti spins around, his cape fluttering in the wind as he dramatically gestures toward the crowd that has gathered to watch. “Well, since you’ve all already gone through the trials of hand holding and hugging, it would be a pity to stop there, wouldn’t it?” He turns back to Bennett grinning, eyes twinkling with mischief. “And so, I shall offer my humble services as a mediator in this most passionate of disputes!”
Bennett tenses again. “Wait, mediator? What do you mean—”
Venti ignores him, strumming his lyre with a dramatic flourish. “Yes, yes, a grand festival deserves a grand finale! A trial of love, witnessed by Mondstadt’s finest!”
The crowd erupts in cheers, eager for whatever spectacle was about to unfold. Fischl smirks, Barbara fidgets nervously and Razor simply nods in agreement. Bennett, meanwhile, feels his stomach twist into knots.
Venti leans against a nearby lamppost idly tuning individual strings on his lyre, continuing, “First off! Each of you whisper to me whether you want to go first or last…” as he gestures to himself. “…And I shall be your impartial judge!”
Barbara and Fischl exchanges glances, both deciding to put their faith in the famous bard. After a long pause, they both lean in and whisper their choice to Venti, as they do, Venti’s grin widens. He turns to Bennett, arms wide. “Well, well! Looks like we have a unanimous decision!”
Bennett swallows hard, his armpits threatening to become a bursting dam, his eyes darting around seeing the crowd holding their breath for Venti to continue speaking.
Finally Venti points dramatically at him. “Barbara goes first! Razor second! And finally Fischl!”
Barbara beams at the mention of her name. “Oh! I… I get to be first…?” While Fischl smirks. “Heh, saving the grand finale for the most worthy contender? A wise decision.”
Razor just nods. “Okay.” Bennett, meanwhile, could only stare at Venti in horror.
Venti claps him on the back. “Now then! Shall we get started?~”
Barbara swallows nervously, it feels strange with so many eyes on them. It is mortifying for Barbara to say the least, but she has already come this far. Backing down isn’t an option any more. Taking a deep breath, she steps forward, feeling her heart hammer against her ribs. This is it—her first romantic kiss. Would it be as she had imagined it?
It has to be, or all this will all have been for naught. Barbara lifts herself onto her toes, her hands gripping Bennett’s vest for balance. She hesitates for only a moment before pushing forward and their lips meet.
Soft. Warm. Gentle.
Perfect.
For a moment, Bennett feel as if he is being kissed by an angel. Then—a flicker of movement as he feels Barbara’s tongue brushing against his lips. He tenses—startled—but instinctively parts his mouth and as their tongues touch, a jolt shoots through him, tingling from his head to his toes but neither of them pulls away. The murmuring crowd fading into background noise. Dreamy sighs, tittering whispers; neither notices.
Once they finally part, both exhales in a stuttering breath. A polite applause ripple through the audience, some sniffling with tears. Barbara blinks as she looks through the crowd in a slight daze. Among them, she recognize a few familiar faces from her fan club, at least one dabbing at their eyes with a handkerchief.
She touches her lips, her fingers trembling slightly. Despite the very public display, she feels… good. Confident. Bennett meanwhile, is starting to feel a little light-headed.
Razor tilts his head, unfazed. He looks over at Venti. “Razor now?” Venti claps a hand on his back, grinning. “Yup, go get ‘em, tiger!”
Razor blinks in confusion. “What tiger?”
Venti chuckles. “Just go kiss him already.”
“Okay.” And without hesitation, Razor turns and walks up to Bennett, who is still recovering from Barbara’s kiss and before he could fully process what is happening, Razor is already kissing him.
Mouth half-open with his tongue sticking out, Razor licks at Bennett’s lips, enveloping them clumsily before Bennett, startled, opens his mouth as well. It becomes very clear, very quickly that Razor has no idea what he is doing.
But what he lacks in technique, he’s making up for with enthusiasm and ferocity with his tongue roaming everywhere—inside, outside, over Bennett’s lips, over his teeth—Bennett’s eyes flutter involuntarily at the strange sensation, feeling like he is being licked by an animal.
A ripple of shocked and delighted murmurs spreads through the crowd. Fischl, watching intently, nods sagely. “Primitive, yet passionate.” While Barbara has covered her mouth, her expression somewhere between amusement and pure horror. After what feels like an eternity to Bennett, Razor finally pulls back. He studies Bennett’s face. “Razor good?”
Bennett, completely out of breath, too flustered to speak, simply nods as answer.
Fischl, ripping a silk handkerchief from a bewildered onlooker, marches up to Bennett with a dramatic flourish. She seizes his chin and wipes his mouth clean, her expression filled with disdain.
“The Prinzessin der Verurteilung shall not accept sloppy seconds from such a brute of a man.” And with an elegant flick of her wrist, she discards the handkerchief and places both hands on either side of Bennett’s head and before he can even register what is happening, she pulls him in. The kiss is sharp, assertive— like she knew exactly where to strike. Bennett shudders as every weak spot in his mouth is pinpointed and conquered.
Then, through their joined lips, he hears her muffled words. “Open your eyes.”
A strange command, but something about her tone leaves no room for disobedience and Bennett’s eyes flutter open—finding himself staring directly into hers, her piercing green eye gazing back at him, half-lidded yet burning with intensity. His heart stutters.
Until now, he had always kept his eyes closed while kissing, but this? Staring into someone’s eye while their lips were locked? It is simply overwhelming.
His entire body locking up, unable to process the sheer sensory overload. Then, he feels it— Her teeth lightly clasping down on his tongue, teasing it. And as she pulls away,
she bites down on his lower lip, tugging it sensually before finally letting go.
A series of coos and approving hums rippling through the crowd, some even fanning themselves. Venti, positively delighted, claps his hands together.
“And I believe we have a winner!”
As the crowd erupts into applause, enthusiastic whoops ringing out among the sea of excited faces. But just as the energy is reaching its peak, Barbara steps forward, clearing her throat. “Dear Master Bard, while I do agree that Miss Fischl’s kiss was very well executed…” she begins, a polite yet pointed smile gracing her lips as she lets the moment drag for a bit, building anticipation before finishing.
“…Even if it has been previously rehearsed to perfection.”
The response is instantaneous with a ripple of amused chuckles and drawn out ‘ooohs’ spreads through the crowd, the air thick with mock scandal. Fischl’s expression darkens, her eyebrow twitching at the accusation—but she doesn’t object, instead, she simply huffs, folding her arms as Barbara continues. “I believe that my and Bennett’s hearts synchronized with our shared first-ever kiss.” Her voice growing stronger, fueled by conviction. “And that love—true love—will break through any other kisses beyond it.”
A dramatic breeze sweeps through the square, dandelions from a nearby basket floating away with the sky. Barbara clasps her hands together, pressing them gently against her chest.
“That is why, given the passion of the first round, and the unpredictability of the second… only Bennett is truly qualified to decide who the winner is.”
The crowd murmuring in agreement, nodding among themselves.
Even Fischl, despite her competitive fire, turns to Venti in anticipation without complaint, Razor mirroring her. Venti, ever the showman, lets out a delighted chuckle before giving Barbara an exaggeratedly deep bow. “Why of course, why of course! Sister Barbara speaks true and pure!” And with a flourish, he gestures towards Bennett.
“Shall we then ask our dear friend what his choice shall be?”
The moment of truth upon them, Fischl, Razor, and Barbara all step up, standing just before him—a trio of longing gazes fixed on him like arrows, their expressions radiating expectation. Somewhere in the crowd, an old man whispering: “The boy is doomed.”
Venti, playing a slow, dramatic melody on his lyre, sways along to the tension in the air.
The crowd begins shouting names, each voice trying to outmatch the others.
“Sister Barbara!”
“No, Fischl!”
“Razor was a beast, I vote him!”
As more and more voices join in, the volume of the square rises higher and higher, like an overflowing ocean. In the middle of this noise stands Bennett, who’s vision starts to blur, feeling his heartbeat pounding in his ears. The loud shouts of the crowd, the great pressure, the weight of it all—makes his head spin, the world around him tilting, the faces of Fischl, Razor, and Barbara melting together in his dazed mind.
Bennett tries to say something—but no words comes out, he feels his legs giving out beneath him and his consciousness fading.
And in front of all of Mondstadt, Bennett collapses.
Bennett's eyes slowly flutter open.
The haze of unconsciousness lifting as his surroundings slowly come into focus with a tall grey ceiling stretched above him, the soft feeling of plush blankets beneath his fingers. It takes a moment, but recognition soon dawns—the Favonius Cathedral in upper Mondstadt. Just as Bennett starts wiggling slightly, testing his limbs, a familiar gentle voice calls out. “Bennett?”
Before he can fully turn his head, Barbara leans over him, her expression a mixture of relief and worry. “Thank Barbatos you’re awake!”
“Art thou well, valiant Bennett?” Another voice—dramatic and theatrical as ever. Fischl's emerald eye and eyepatch looms into view as she, too, leans in to examine him.
And finally, Razor’s wild silver hair pops up from the side of the bed, his crimson eyes intense with concern. “Razor was worried.”
Bennett grunts, slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position. His hand going to the back of his head, feeling the dull ache pulsing there. He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Well, that was certainly something, wasn’t it?”
Bennett watches the three of them exchanging glances, their eyes darting between each other, an unspoken conversation passing between them before turning back to Bennett. The silence reigns for a while before Razor speaks up, “Razor is sorry…”
“We’re all sorry…” Barbara continues, “for putting you through all that!”
Bennett waves his hand slightly, “Oh come on, there’s no need to…” before he can finish, Fischl interrupts him with a sharp hand gesture.
“Silence! We dishonored thou, Sir Bennett, though our initial intention were in the name of love, that intention was corrupted along the journey and for that we shall be allowed to express our regrets without protest!”
A moment of silence follows before Barbara clears her throat. “I think what Fischl is trying to say is that although we all approached you in good faith, it was wrong of us to try making you choose between us then and there and making it a competition between us to see which of us would be the best partner.”
“Too much pushing… not much romance!” Razor chimes in, Fischl nods in agreement.
“It 'twas what the bard had warned us of, but alas we did not heed his admonition.”
Bennett blinks, feeling his face heat up as their words sink in.
Finally, Barbara speaks again, her voice filled with newfound conviction. “That’s why we’ve had a discussion… and we’ve reached an agreement.”
Bennett tilts his head, still dazed. “An agreement?” he rasps.
Fischl flips her hair dramatically. “Henceforth, Sir Bennett, all three of us shall court thee!” Bennett’s eyes shoot open, mouth gaping, but before he can say anything Barbara nods firmly and continues. “We’ll take turns, alternating every other day, to make it fair.”
“Then, Sunday…” Razor says with a toothy grin. “All together!” Bennett freezes, his brain completely stalling as he tries processing the sheer insanity of what he just heard but before he can even begin to protest, all three of them suddenly lean in.
Fischl pressing a kiss to his forehead.
Barbara kissing his left cheek.
Razor kissing his right.
And just like that, Bennett wished for unconsciousness to take him again as he lets out a strangling noise, his body going stiff as a board. As the three withdraws, he flops back into the bed, staring at the ceiling in utter shock.
His lips part—and a whisper barely escape.
“Bouken da bouken…”