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There is something special about how their hands are locked together.
The bard’s palm is snug within his, encased and clasped perfectly. The sensation of his fingers, sweeping along the back of his hand at every swing of their arms, sends unknown jitters along the god’s chest—Strange, encompassing, and just right. It’s a comforting buzz that Venti carries and cherishes every time the chance to hold his friend’s hand arises… which is… plenty, much to his merriment.
It feels silly, he admits, to be so engrossed in mundane things. It simply feels so nice to reach out for the boy’s fingers and feel him grasping back. It’s a comfort. A console for an unspoken fear, birthed by those numbing nights by his bedside, where Venti found himself enveloping the bard’s hand with his own, as if in prayer, waiting for any stir or movement to show that he was still there with him.
But also, it’s giddiness. A calm, and a rush. Infatuation fills his heart to the brim, spilling til it aches in a way he couldn’t explain. Complete, utter joy.
It is a holler, a tender quiet, a thrum of butterfly wings swarming in his stomach, blooms sprouting freely, and all the fascinations and contradictions that come with it.
An oddity.
Naturally, he voiced this concern.
“An oddity? How so?” is the bard’s only response whilst he led him through the lush, grassy fields. He is focused on navigating Mondstadt’s planes, though it’s getting increasingly obvious that he has already forgotten the path to the cliffside. Not that his stubbornness would let him admit that. Besides, Venti wouldn’t want to ruin his fun by telling him, anyway, regardless of how funny his mortified look would be. Alas, the young god opts to stay in amused silence while they wander all over the place.
You see, they are running away from Gunnhildr (again), far from the city, onto the highest cliff in Mondstadt—his friend’s newest addition to his “favorite spots to sing”. Earlier, the bard had asked him whether he was willing to accompany him there, whether he was busy, or if Gunnhildr was keeping him occupied. The priestess had been several feet ahead of them, attending to the townfolks' needs like the devoted soul she was. Venti himself was supposed to be accompanying her expedition team near Decarabian's ruins. He couldn’t possibly worry her by escaping just to bring a smile to the bard’s face, right?
Well!
Wrong.
Barbatos, the saintly and “powerful” deity he might be, had never known how to deny his beloved friend’s wishes. He is principally weak in the knees for the bard’s effortless charms. At this point, the whole city probably already knows that.
So. Here they are.
“It couldn’t possibly be that bizarre. Something so sweet shouldn’t be,” his friend continues with an absentminded hum. Venti slows, mulling it over, before all of a sudden, the bard lets out a triumphant gasp. He pulls into a sprint toward the west, chasing the path he finally recognizes, like it might disappear if he idles too long. At that, Venti quickens his pace, fingers once again tightly interwoven in the palm of the other. It’s an effort to prevent either of them from tripping into the soil, but Venti always stumbles after him, like a fool. His new legs aren't built for all this running.
“Something sweet can still be peculiar, like the strange plant we found the other day." Venti clicks his tongue, racking his mind for the right words to say, to describe his emotions as straightforward as possible. Being around the bard constantly during Decarabian’s time was an unavoidable influence on his speech. He doesn’t know how not to break into a battle hymn. “It’s… new.”
It's not the most helpful explanation. Everything feels new to him. Like the gravel pricking his feet, the wind through his locks, or dandelions on his skin. Even moving with limbs feels new. This, the bard understands as well. Everything feels too much and far too exciting—just not quite… like this, like them. He knows what warmth is. He had felt it when his tiny body was held and cupped by two gentle hands. It was lovely, and it still is. But now? The warmth surges like a burning star as it yearns for closeness. It wants, and it pines, and it makes his head spin from how soft it made him feel.
It's an alien thought—ridiculous, and so charming all the same.
“That couldn’t be so bad now, could it?” the boy said heartily, looking back at him with a smile. “Something new—especially this,” he said, nudging their arms together. “is bound to be terrifying.”
A pregnant pause, he feels the air locked in his lungs, waiting for... For what? For an answer? A solution? Or perhaps all he needed was his beloved to feel the same way. “I’m afraid too,” the bard adds, bashfully, slowing down as they steadily reach their destination. “This.” He rubs his chest, over his heart. “I don’t always understand this.”
“No?”
“No. It’s overwhelming. I’m confused. I don’t know what to make of it.”
A small frown pulls down Venti’s lips. Before he could comment, however, the bard beat him to it: “But I love it. So, so much.”
Their legs quietly stop at the edge of the cliff. The skies are so bright today.
“Perhaps it will make sense in the long run. Perhaps it will forever be strange, but it is a good strange, yes? It’s a joy I’m learning to understand, too. We can figure it out together. That sounds like a plan.” He grins confidently, and the butterflies in Venti’s stomach come back in full force. “What do you think? Do you like it?”
Venti hummed, considered his options, and decided on one, "Would you be flattered if I say it's a novelty?"
"A novelty?!" he parrots with an adoring laugh.
"A few more options came to mind, but I'll spare you the dramatics." He cringes at the thought. Tripping over his thoughts to the boy sounds preposterous. "It's no telling how unbelievably humiliating it will sound once I say it. Even I can't stand it."
"It certainly can't be that bad," the bard tuts. "Well, no matter. Lucky for you, my dearest wind elf, I am quite adept at the subjects of human emotions—" the god snorts. "—Rest assured, I don't mind at all, drama and all. In fact, it will allow me to understand you more.”
Understand me more?
From a nearby tree, a bird soars to join its flock, its flaps catching their attention. The bard follows it to the horizon. The sun dances upon those blue eyes, like a mirror to reflect all the good in the world. For the same odd reason he had been battling all day, Venti felt breathless.
The bard smiles. "In fact, I find it quite adorable, heh. I didn't expect you to be this touch-starved."
Strange, yes, a good strange. A strangeness he wishes to explore with this beautiful boy next to him. Perhaps soon, Venti will be sure enough to name what it is.
“Is that so?” He brushes his thumb across the bard’s knuckles, exactly like how he had seen those lovesick Mondstadters do. The boy freezes for a moment, and Venti continues the repetitive motions against the back of his hand, leaning to whisper in the shell of his ear. “You as well, my cecilia?”
The bard made an indiscernible jumble of noise under his breath and quickly faced away to stare at the soaring birds in the far distance, clearly avoiding the god’s eyes.
Cute.
The urge to bring the bard’s hand to his lips was getting frustratingly hard to ignore.
He’s not going to do that, though, just like how he chose to ignore the reddish hue dusting the boy’s ears. Venti laughs, holding him a little firmer as realization falls onto him—soft as the kiss he plans to give him later.