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Venti opens his eyes and immediately regrets it. The warm light of the sun pierces his skull and picks at his mind directly. He throws the back of his arm across his face, lets out a rather long, terrible groan, and rolls over to bury himself face first into the plush pillow. He relaxes as he stays perfectly still, from his shoulders to his calves. Breathing is a little difficult, but he’s sure to get used to it. And, well, if he suffocates, that’d probably be better than getting up and facing the world, what with this horrible throbbing in his head and all.
But then he gives pause. When was the last time he slept in a bed?
Taking a deep breath and holding it in an effort to help drive off the impending mistake (it does not help), Venti raises his head and looks around, pointedly avoiding the window. He’s definitely in a bedroom that he doesn’t recognize—it’s not any of the inns or taverns in Mondstadt. It’s way too … fancy. Thick drapes are pulled back on either side of the grand window. Everything in the room, from the items on the side table to the desk in the corner, is neat. The edges of a plush, expensive rug peeks out from under the bed, which is possibly the biggest bed Venti has ever been in.
What? is all he can reasonably think in his currently limited capacity for doing just that. Did he … go home with someone last night? But this is such a peculiar house. He could think of no one who would…
There’s a knock on the door and when he does not answer, his reflexes too slow to even glance over let alone shoo the guest away, it opens. Venti turns his head with great effort, his neck stiff and sore.
Having just stepped over the threshold, Adelinde gives a warm smile. “Oh, you’re awake,” she says, setting a tray on the nightstand closest to the door. “I’d say ‘good morning’ but it’s well into the afternoon. So, good afternoon, perhaps?”
There’s a moment where Venti processes everything, as if figuring out a puzzle so easy that it becomes difficult due to thinking it can’t be that simple. Sweat drips down his back as he thinks.
The last thing he remembers from last night is: He got very, very drunk. Much worse than usual. He can only assume he passed out because after a certain point, his memories stop. That means … he was brought to a bed. Charles has put him up in one of the spare rooms of the Angel’s Share before, but it wasn’t Charles that tended the bar last night. Besides, he already confirmed this isn’t any inn room he’s ever seen before. Moreover, Adelinde is here, the maid of Dawn Winery. This could only mean …
Venti pushes himself abruptly to a sitting position, the down feather comforter and finely threaded sheets falling off his shoulders. He jumps out of the bed a moment later, stumbles, and falls. He goes down with a high pitched yelp, only not slamming his face fully into that nice, beautiful rug because Adelinde, an expert, shoots her arms out and catches him before that. Her chuckles drift to his ears.
“Master Venti, you must be hurting. Here, I’ve made my own special concoction, just for you.” She motions towards the tray, upon which sits a tall glass, its sides frosted. Impossible to see the contents. “I used to make it for Master Diluc’s next-days. It’s highly praised, with a 100% success rate.”
She pulls him up and sits him on the edge of the bed. He looks down at himself: Thankfully, he’s clothed, even if it’s the same clothes he wore yesterday. If Diluc was the one that brought him here, which is impossible, mind you, then he at least didn’t undress him. He still yet keeps his secrets.
Adelinde hands Venti the glass. Its cool to the touch. Venti sniffs it—it smells minty—and wrinkles his nose. “You made it for … Diluc?” His throat scratches with the effort of speaking, burning when he stops.
She blinks, then daintily covers her mouth. “Oh, I must have misspoke,” she says quickly. “I meant Master Kaeya. Now, drink up. I promise it’ll help.”
Left with no other choice, he brings the rim of the glass to his lips, closes his eyes, and downs the strange, thick liquid inside. Surprisingly, it’s actually delicious. This is a good thing because the nausea had been emanating through his body in waves, and a disgusting drink may have embarrassed him. It soothes his harsh, sore throat as it goes down, and it settles in his stomach like a cool, protective lining.
… He should ask her for the recipe later.
When he puts the glass back on the tray, Adelinde looks very pleased with herself. “There,” she beams. “Now, rest up a little longer so it can work its magic. I’ll let Master Diluc know you’re—”
“No need!” Despite the still-pounding headache, Venti jumps to his feet. His smile is uneasy but genuine. “I’m feeling much better already! I should go before I cause any more trouble for the both of you. Umm, I’ll be sure to send Diluc my thanks later on! I’m really grateful for you, too. But for now, I’ll take my leave!”
He opens the door to the bedroom and steps through and immediately stops as he runs into something—someone. Venti takes a startled step back and nearly stumbles again. His hand flies to his mouth to prevent an unfortunate accident, though it passes quickly. Diluc steps into the room; Venti steps away, until he’s back on the bed, the weight of Diluc’s glare forcing him to sit.
“Thank you, Adelinde. You can leave us now.”
Adelinde bows, picks the tray up, and skedaddles, closing the door behind her. Archons, Venti wishes he was the one skedaddling. He focuses his eyes on Diluc’s boots. They’re very worn.
Diluc crosses his arms and sighs. “How are you feeling?”
“M-Much better! I can—”
A strong, warm hand comes down on his shoulder, pressing him back onto the bed. No chance of escaping… The hand seems to linger, but seems is the operative word. He must be imagining things. Nonetheless, Venti flushes shamefully. He still hasn’t looked up.
“I don’t think that’s true,” says Diluc slowly. It hangs in the air, waiting for a follow up sentence that never leaves his tongue. He clears his throat instead.
That draws Venti’s attention. Finally, he looks up; perhaps it’s a trick of the light, of the warm sun hitting the other man’s face, but Diluc’s cheeks are also flushed. What is he embarrassed about? Is it what Adelinde let slip earlier? (He’ll have to ask Kaeya about that later… maybe over a drink… urgh, how could he even think of drinking at this moment?)
When it’s clear Diluc will not say what he wants, Venti pipes up, “We’re at the Dawn Winery?”
“Yes.”
“… Did you bring me here?”
“Do you remember anything you did last night?”
Venti puffs his cheeks out. “Hey! I asked my question first!”
“My answer depends on yours.”
He chews on his lip for a moment or two. “No. I only remember being at Angel’s Share … but the specifics…”
“So you don’t remember me bringing you here?” Diluc’s blush has grown so severe it reaches down his neck and up to his ears.
Venti is thankful for the drink from Adelinde, in this moment. His mind already feels clearer. It is with such clarity that he is able to jump to outrageous conclusions. “Oh, oh did I say something embarrassing? Oh, gods, I did, didn’t I?! Why else would you bring it up? Jeez, what did I say? Did I promise you I’d pay everyone’s tab for a week? A private song, written for and about you? Actually, that one’s pretty doable…” He continues to ramble, trying to work out just what happened. “I really hope it's that one and not the first!”
“You can’t even pay your own tab.”
Before he can object (even though the other is right), Diluc then does something previously unfathomable to Venti: He sits on the bed next to him. Diluc leaves a polite distance between them, and his back and legs are locked up in an uncomfortable way. Venti winces. He’s clearly forcing himself.
“I’m … sorry,” he begins, his gaze on the floor, “for allowing you to drink so much. It was irresponsible of me.”
“Of you?” murmurs Venti. “Ehe, don’t blame yourself. It’s my fault.”
“No, it is my fault.” Diluc folds his hands in his lap. He stays quiet as he thinks. “I brought you back here because your state was so poor I was scared to leave you alone.”
Now it’s Venti’s turn to go quiet. “I’d have been fine,” he mumbles, slightly offended.
Diluc continues as if he didn’t hear him. “There were … certain times in my life,” he faltered, hesitation clear in his normally confident tone, “where I wished someone had done the same for me. Brought me back.”
“Hmm… So the hangover cure-all Adelinde gave me—it really was you she’d make it for?”
Diluc does not answer. Venti does not press.
“… Thanks,” he says instead. “To both of you. I feel much better already. And I probably would have been worse off in an inn room, that’s for sure. But wow~ Master Diluc~ you have such a fancy room!”
“Hmph.” Diluc’s flush returns in full force. “It’s a guest room. You really don’t remember anything?” He shoots Venti a look, who gulps.
“No, no! I don’t! Come on, what did I say? What did I do? Did I tell you an embarrassing secret?”
Diluc stands and leaves the room. Or, rather, he attempts to; before he can even reach the door, Venti has thrown himself at him, latching onto him around the waist. His cries are muffled against Diluc’s back.
“This isn’t fair, Master Diluc!” he whines. “You can’t just imply I said or did something super, duper embarrassing and then not tell me what it is!”
Diluc stands there half-defeated. He flexes his gloved hands in a controlled, calming manner, and takes a deep breath. “… No,” he replies, “just forget about it. It’s your own fault for not remembering.”
Despite the extra weight, Diluc opens the door and strides out, like Venti isn’t there at all. Venti, meanwhile, whines the entire time, kicking his feet. On some level he’s aware it’s very unbecoming of an Archon, but, well, when has he ever been a normal Archon?
“I’m going to start listing off random guesses! It can’t have been me paying everyone’s tabs, or the special, personalized song! Ahh, then it had to have been a secret, and it has to be one related to you… It wasn’t me saying I sleep out in the vineyards, was it?”
Diluc stops. “You what?”
“N-Never mind! Guess it wasn’t that!”