Work Text:
Venti gazed softly at Xiao as he leaned back against the sofa and sighed, the yaksha seated on the living room floor with his paints scattered about and his canvas half done. Venti sat up, moving a hand from his lyre to Xiao’s hair to brush through it soothingly.
Xiao had reluctantly taken up painting in the last month. Before that, he had just spent his retirement cleaning their home until it was spotless or flipping through every book in the Favonius library.
Venti knew how much he enjoyed scenic views, as he had become accustomed to the peace of sitting quietly on the rooftop of the inn and surveying the landscape below. They had many a date picnicking or playing songs together atop the mountains of Liyue, where there was nobody save for the gentle breeze and the scent of qingxin flowers to accompany them. Xiao had always wanted to capture moments like those, but they didn’t own a kamera. Venti suggested he paints them onto paper instead, which, despite his constant protests that his creations are frivolous and shoddy, has become a vigorous hobby of his.
Xiao runs his hands down his face, sighing in exasperation. Well, vigorous and rigorous.
Venti sits up fully and adjusts himself so that Xiao’s reclined head lies in his lap. He strokes the sides of his face with his thumbs. “What’s wrong?” He says.
Xiao first instinct is to hide his frustration, but Venti sees him trying to fight it. He stays quiet as he looks for his next words. “I… don’t know how to finish this painting.”
Venti looks up at the canvas, the top half painted with a layer of dark royal blue. He knows that the bottom half will be filled in with a bright green color and blended in, with details overtop defining both colors as the sky and the grass. The hues would seem garish when combined like that, but art is a place for freedom. He knows Xiao’s plans for the painting not because Xiao has talked to him about it, but because he’s seen his husband attempt this strangely colored landscape many times before to no avail, only producing splotchy blue and green canvases to be reused for another painting.
Venti looks down at Xiao again. “This is the one that you keep doing over, right?”
He nods, eyes sliding shut as he relaxes more into Venti’s lap. “I first had the idea a few weeks ago. But since then, nothing seems to capture it.”
“Where was it?” Venti asks, “Maybe we can go back there.”
“It’s not a real place. I think the image just appeared in my head one day. I don’t know the reason.”
Venti stops for a moment to think. “What about that scene makes you want to paint it so badly?”
“…It’s very calming.” Xiao starts, hesitant. “That’s most of it. It feels like somewhere I can go and just… exist. Not be bound by anything. But even then—something about it allures me like nothing I’ve ever felt. I keep finding myself wanting to be there—or at least be able to look at it—more than I’ve ever wanted anything before.”
“Hmm…” Venti leans back against the sofa. This would be difficult, trying to guide intangible inspiration especially when Xiao’s mind is already a guarded, uncertain place. He has a hard enough time describing how he feels about whatever play they saw last.
Xiao turns around so he can hide his face against Venti’s legs, now kneeling in front of him.
“I’m sorry that it’s causing you so much frustration.” Venti leans down and embraces him, placing kisses on the top of his head. “I wish I knew how to help.”
“It’s hard for someone like me to be an artist. Inspiration must be easier to interpret for you.”
“Not all the time. Sometimes I have a great idea for a topic but can’t get a single word out. Some ideas come to me at the worst moments, when I can’t even scramble for something like a leaf to write on...”
Venti giggles and smiles down at Xiao, who remained silent.
He sighs, “Besides, anything can be inspiration. Even the most abstract ideas. You just need the confidence to be happy with your work. I think all of your tries on that painting are wonderful.”
“Thank you.” Xiao stills for a moment, silence filling the air. “Where do you get inspiration from?”
There’s a million answers to that question, considering how long Venti has lived and how much he has witnessed. It’s the duty of a bard like him to document the events of the world, the accomplishments and tragedies of it all… It’s a nice talent for him to be able to draw inspiration from anything.
He thinks back to all his epics about the clans of Mondstadt, all the famed names that made the nation’s history. He thinks of all the adeptal tales that Xiao had relayed to him that he’s spun into poems, all the anecdotes of foreign festivals he’s attended and drunken confessions he’s overheard.
Really, anything is a story to him. But it was always Xiao’s story that called to him. An unsung hero that has endured all the suffering in the world and still powers through, covered in dirt and scars instead of glorious sunlight. One who has been betrayed by everyone he’s ever trusted, but still has the heart to trust again. Suddenly, he knows his answer.
“You’re my inspiration.” Venti’s smile grows wide, the words spilling from his lips without a single doubt. “You are the kindest, greatest, most glorious hero I could ever write about.”
He leans down to speak directly into Xiao’s ear. “You make every other story pale in comparison.”
He can’t help but laugh at the way Xiao buries his head further in his lap, his ears becoming flushed with pink. “You’re too sappy.” He says, muffled. “… I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
At that, Xiao looks up. His face is still adorned with the blush, but he’s got an adorably starstruck expression at he stares into the god’s eyes, seeming to be studying them. Venti only smiles more, he feels like a work of art under Xiao’s careful gaze.
Xiao rests his chin on his lap, holding their eye contact. His smile grows slowly, contentedly relaxing every other muscle on his body. “I think I need a break. Can you sing me a song?”
Beaming, Venti leans over to grab his lyre from where it was resting on the other side of the couch. He plays a song at the forefront of his mind, another one about Xiao. The yaksha dives deep into his gaze the whole time, and Venti basks in it. Xiao is his best listener, by far.
Venti wakes up to the golden hues of sunset. He thinks he must have slept through the afternoon. Xiao’s embrace always has a knack for getting him to fall asleep easily. However, Xiao is not there. He figures he must have gone to the kitchen to prepare dinner, or something.
The easel that stands in front of him is empty. And as Venti stands up from the sofa, he sees that half-done canvas nowhere to be found. His heart flutters slightly with the idea that Xiao had finally finished it.
He goes to the front porch where Xiao usually places his paintings to dry in the wind and the sunlight, and finds him laying it down against the walls of their house.
Venti gasps and excitedly studies all the new details added to the painting. The sky’s endless sea of deep blue is adorned with spots of moonlight poking through clouds, brightening the scene. The horizon line becomes a satisfying gradient, blended into the now turquoise grass. Though the color seemed like an unconventional choice, the way it is shaded to a deeper blue and is pointed to bright flowers on the tips of the grass blades, it is incredibly beautiful. The beauty of every small part of the painting is highlighted with small sparkles, making it shine brilliantly in the sun.
“Xiao!” He rushes forward into Xiao’s arms, kissing all over his face. “It’s beautiful!”
Xiao laughs, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you really like it?”
The god pulls back from placing aggressive kisses on Xiao’s cheek, arms still wrapped around his neck. “Of course I do!” He leans back slightly to gaze upon the painting again, “It’s incredibly well done, the colors blended so beautifully after all. And you made it so eye-catching. I’m really proud of you, you know…”
Venti notices that while he’s talking, Xiao’s eyes haven’t left him, nor has the smile faltered once.
He tilts his head playfully, “And why are you always staring at me?”
Xiao tries to stifle a giggle, wrapping his arms around Venti’s waist and pulls him closer.
“You have,” He says quietly within their proximity, “really pretty eyes.”
Venti stands confused as Xiao untangles himself from the embrace and walks back inside. Xiao usually isn’t so forward with his compliments, nor has he ever said one out of the blue like that. Venti thinks about his eyes, the deep blue at the top highlighted with turquoise at the bottom…
He suddenly feels blood rushing to his face. “Xiao!”