Archive of Our Own

‘Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.

O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken.’

Shakespeare, Sonnet 116

Mondstat, ten years prior.

Diluc does not like crowds.

Halfway into Mondstat’s annual Windblume Festival has every corner of the city in a fervor. It has been just enough time now for still-single folk to begin to slightly panic, and for newly-involved couples to be quite comfortable with sucking face in front of aforementioned single folk. Stuck in the middle of all of this excitement is truly the last place Diluc wants to be, but here he is regardless. 

If he had to blame someone, it would be Jean, and her requests that he somehow can’t seem to say no to. She had been the one who brought up the fact that this was their last Windblume before they started knight training next year. But then, Kaeya isn’t blameless either; his talent for winning people over was much too honed for his young age, and really Diluc should’ve just gone back to enjoying his novel in the cool air of the library, but his father taught him to always keep an open mind for new experiences.

He’s just decided he hates this specific new experience.

It’s not that he doesn’t like Mondstat. Of course he does; Mondstat is his home and he knows that when he’s grown, he will have a hand in protecting it as a part of the Knights. The thing that unnerves Diluc most is that during Windblume Mondstat seems to be an entirely different place. No longer is it the dreamy, slow-paced town with its alleys for hiding, trees for climbing, and big safe fortress walls-- it smells of booze and sweat and everywhere he looks, he sees disconcertingly happy couples.

The thing is, it never lasts. Last year, two of the older Knights, Brigette and Anna, had gotten together during Windblume and then promptly had a falling out two days after. Now Diluc felt strange whenever he went to one of them for training tips, like he was betraying the other. And they always talked bad about one another to him, too. It was just unpleasant as a whole. 

The only good thing, Diluc figured, about coming into town during Windblume, was that the statue of Barbatos in the city centre was covered in every sort of flower imaginable. Dandelions, Windwheel Asters, Cecilias— all of them in kaleidoscopic bloom around the god’s pure visage.

He tried not to stare too much, but it was difficult. Diluc had always been fond of the god Barbatos, even if he seemed to play the role of a trickster more often than not. To Diluc, it only served to make his cunning plans and successful exploits all the more impressive. Though looking up at the statue now, with it bracketed by sunlight and the mirth of the festivities, he thought that all the illustrations in the history books he had read and reread in his father’s library did not even come close. 

Diluc watched from the bench as people offered up all sorts of flowers to the statue. Some blessed with an Anemo vision had even managed to get their offering up higher, into the palm of the statue and around its shoulders. They’d received a scolding from the Knights, of course, but the flowers still remained. Ever since Windblume had begun, it had been a choice of Windwheel Aster, Cecilia, or Dandelion. The same flowers every year. Diluc had always wondered what his favorite, Small Lamp Grass, would look like amid the collection. 

He had always thought the glow the little flowers gave off matched the tips of Barbatos’s braids in all the many illustrations Diluc had dog-eared in his storybooks. It was custom to offer a single perfect flower to Barbatos and then a bouquet to the person you liked on Windblume. Diluc didn’t like anyone like that, though. No one other than Barbatos.

“Hey, you’re doing it again.”

Kaeya’s voice knocked Diluc out of his thoughts. His brother stands next to him in the square, arms folded. 

Diluc can’t help but color a bit. He hopes it isn’t so visible on his sun-flecked face, but Kaeya has a way of seeing through him. “Oh, uh, I’m sorry. Were you saying something?” 

“I said, Jean got us fruit and chicken skewers. She’s waiting for us, so come on!” 

“Right.” 

As he follows Kaeya out of the square and back down into the crowds of the main plaza, he casts one more glance at the huge statue. Barbatos, in hues of whites, and blues, and reds. With the midday sun caught behind him like this, he seems to glow like the sun itself. The warmth that buries itself in Diluc’s chest when he looks up at it makes him feel as if he could never know cold again.

Mondstat, present day.

Venti, for once in his very long life, is not drunk on the counter of Diluc’s bar. 

It’s Sunday. And it’s either week two or three of Windblume, but Diluc’s lost count. Too many late nights and too little sleep has begun to add up. Regardless, Venti is neither soliciting Diluc for extra wine nor sleeping with his head half in a glass from an excess of drink, because he is currently hard at work singing.

And unlike Diluc, Venti thrives in a crowd.

The lineup today has been a mix of typical drinking songs with a few ballads thrown in. Diluc has heard these countless times, it’s the ones Venti will fall back on when he props his feet up on one of the tables in the back of Angel’s Share and lazily plucks at his lyre, usually with his hat pulled halfway down over his eyes. 

However, now that it has hit sundown and the taverns are properly coming to life, so too are Venti’s stories. Having just finished a rather vicious poem about the downfall of the Lawerence Clan, he holds out his hat for tips. It is a well-known fact that Venti accepts payment both in mora and drink, as evidenced by the empty mugs of beer that litter the table he’s sitting at. Diluc watches from his place behind the counter, trying his best not to be distracted by the way the boy downs entire kegs in the space between songs. 

Venti makes a show of wiping the beer foam from his upper lip with the back of his hand, and then calls out “What song would everyone like to hear next? I will generously take some requests from the audience, if there is anyone still sober enough to suggest anything at all!” This riles up the audience yet again.

“Venti, sing the story of the Honorary Knight and Stormterror once more!”

To which a shriller voice countered, “That one’s much too recent! Let’s hear the story of Grandmaster Varka’s failed hunting trip! You tell that one better than any!”

A deeper, more steady voice spoke above the crowd and said “I would like to hear tell of Barbatos’ exploits, if you have any, that is.”

These are a few of the responses Diluc manages to catch amid the clamor. The last one, however, was the only one Venti seemed to pay any heed to. He scanned the crowd for the source and found it in a tall gentleman with auburn hair and a gold earring.

 “What, you think I’m short on stories about old Barbatos?” asked Venti.

The nun at Diluc’s bar gave a huff. “This should be good,” she said into her third beer.

The flock surrounding the bard had all turned their collective attention to rooting for a story about Barbatos, as the older man had prompted. Diluc had to admit, though he was less privy to the gods as he used to be, the topic piqued his interest as well. At the very least, he wouldn’t have to hear Venti sing ‘ six drunken paupers ’ again. That had to be one of the most grating.

“So, you want to hear about Barbatos? Hmm, well then.” Venti contemplated with a few plucks on his lyre, sounding out a tune. “I could sing you the time he forged the Geo Archon’s signature to turn the tides of war, or perhaps something more lighthearted, such as giving Lupus Boreas a centuries-overdue flea bath?” 

The crowd clamored and laughed, but Venti closed his eyes and continued. “Or, perhaps... you’d like to hear of the Anemo Archon’s many tales of love throughout the millennia?”

Diluc would be ashamed to say his ears perked up at the suggestion, so he won’t. Instead, he handed a glass to a patron and took her payment calmly, not showing any sign of interest except for the way he discretely slid about half a foot to the right so as not to have to strain so much to hear Venti’s words. 

“Interested, are you? Figures you would be, the song I’m about to sing hasn’t been sung by any other bard. And the best part is, it’s entirely true.”

“And how can that be? You could hardly have been there, you’re barely grown!” A man called from somewhere in the crowd, slurring his words and making the rest of the patrons laugh at his attempt to speak. 

“Good sir, I would never make up a tale about one as revered as our dear Archon,” Venti replied as he pushed his hat out of his eyes. “And you should know better than to judge a book by its cover. Now, do you want to hear the story or not? I could always take my business elsewhere…”

The crowd quickly jumped to sounds of protest, ‘no’s’ and ‘play on, then!’s’ and Venti smiled. “All right, all right, I’ll grace you with this tale then.”

The chatter quieted, and Venti began to play. 

“Such a long, wandering existence,

one would think the Archon of Anemo

would have chosen romances of least resistance. 

After all, you ask, what is such a thing to a god, love?

Love, perhaps not, but even the most divine crave some merriment,

and, two thousand years is indeed quite a long while to experiment.

Barbatos had a talent for finding those who could make him sing like the sweetest of songbirds,

be it king, merchant, god-- anyone, in other words.

Quite a selfish lover, all be told,

the story I am about to weave is an entirely true tale to behold.

In the case of picking a partner, no real bias was given,

the god more so relied on who could get him closest to heaven.

There was Lina, the nun, whose worship went slightly beyond,

Through dedication, Barbatos found every spot on her which the most pleasure would correspond.

And poor Li Jie, to whom the god was his ‘honeycomb’,

He was truly great fun, until his wife came home!”

All around Venti, the gaggle of patrons was shouting and cheering, hanging off of Venti’s every word. Diluc wished he wasn’t also a part of that demographic. He should have known the bard would play something so crude. In the back of his mind, Diluc knew that he could technically kick him out, but it would be too much trouble at this point-- his curiosity to hear the rest of the tale notwithstanding. Venti played on.

“We mustn’t forget dear Henry, Shunyuan, and Edik, either

took all three at once, ever the overachiever!

From capable Sofia, who had him in the morning,

to shy Albrecht who at night he awaited,

and only found out when he lingered too long that the two were related!

Now, to speak so long and not discuss old Morax would be misguided,

for all the god’s exploits, Barbatos always had the most fun when they two collided.

It goes without saying that he’s hard as rock in more ways than one,

and always made sure the Anemo Archon could barely walk once they were done.”

Diluc’s ears burned at the obscene descriptions. What this huge crowd of people didn’t know what that Venti was, for all purposes, boasting about himself. It was unbearable. The nun at the counter held out her flask for another refill, and Diluc complied with as much grace as he could muster in the moment. 

“Debasing not only Mondstat’s god, but Liyue’s as well,” she muttered through a smirk. “This kid has some guts.” Diluc gave no indication he had heard her, and Venti’s voice continued to filter through the bar.

“Let it be sung far and sung wide

that since early history, bards have had luck on their side.

For when he played his flute, adepti did more than stare,

Barbatos showed the little yaksha what exactly could be done with command of the air.

Ripe like valberries in the summer months,

gone as quick in winter,

Barbatos made a point to not get attached,

and in stealing hearts has remained ever unmatched.

So then, what have we learned?

Though true feelings were more than often spurned,

when the voices of worshippers are not enough to leave them satisfied,

sometimes, what divine beings yearn for most is a hard pounding bedside.”

The audience erupted into cheers as Venti took a small bow, at the same time taking his beret from his head and holding it out for tips. Diluc, having endured the entirety of the poem, excused himself to the backroom. His head (and heart, for reasons he isn’t ready to examine) were pounding, and when he touched his hand to his face it came back warmer. He forced himself to take a few measured breaths, and a considerably long drink of the grape juice before he stepped back out.

For the rest of the night, Venti and the other bards took turns entertaining the crowd, and when Charles gave the heads up that the bar was closed, Venti had a substantial amount of mora in his hat. Diluc catches him talking to a few other patrons in the corner of the bar, no doubt reveling in the praise for his performance. When the last of the tavern-goers finally trickled out, Venti made his way over to the bar and placed his hat full of mora down on it with a thump. 

“Mind exchanging this for some bottles of dandelion wine? It’d make it easier to carry.” Venti leaned his elbows on the counter, effectively blocking Diluc from wiping it down as he was attempting to do. 

“The bar is closed.” Diluc replied flatly.

“You can’t even make an exception for me? Even though I was the reason you had such good business?”

“A bunch of drunk people buying you drink after drink and spilling most of those on my floors is not what I would call good business.”

“Fine. I’ll just store this and come back tomorrow then.” He swiped back his hat and went to sit at a table in the corner. Why he doesn’t simply leave like everyone else is beyond Diluc, and he’s honestly too tired to say anything.

Another half hour of cleaning and closing passes and Venti neither leaves nor helps. Diluc dismisses Charles earlier than usual, and pretends it isn’t because of the question he’s been sitting on asking Venti. The bard’s lazily playing of his lyre with no real melody to it is the soundtrack as Diluc restocks the wine and makes sure the tavern is ready for another hectic day tomorrow. 

“Come on, time to go.” Diluc finally says as he stands next to the door with the keys. “We’ll be open again at noon, surely you can wait that long. Not that I understand why you made a point to stay after close.” 

“I was keeping you company! You didn’t smile when I sang my songs, so I figured maybe you’d like a slower piece.”

Diluc doesn’t respond, fiddling with the ring of keys in his hand. Venti leaned forward to try and catch his gaze. “Hey, something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. But I am curious… was that song true?” 

“The one about Varka? He really did get caught in his own trap on a hunt, if you can believe it! It was--”

Diluc sighs. “You know the one I’m talking about. The one about you.”

“Oh, of course! I said that in the beginning, didn’t I?” Venti waves a hand dismissively. “Come on, you should know better to doubt my word, Master Diluc.”

“Since you’ve given me so many reasons to in the past,” Diluc’s reply dripped sarcasm, but it hid something else. He had known it was possible for the tale to be true, but hearing it confirmed so flippantly from Venti’s own mouth sets him on edge. He hates it. 

“Exactly! Well then, if that’s all,” Venti gave a short bow, and stepped out the door as Diluc locked it. “Enjoy the rest of your night, and thank you very kindly for allowing me to play at your tavern. I won’t forget about those bottles you promised me tomorrow!”

“I didn’t promise you anything. You have to pay for those, you know.” Diluc called after Venti, but the boy had already vanished into the shadow of buildings in the tepid night.

Diluc... didn’t know what he was feeling. He tries to reflect on his emotions as he waits in the dark back alleys of Mondstat, but finds he would much prefer it if his brain would just do him a favor and turn off. Windblume already brings back difficult memories, and putting in all the hours he can at the tavern and patrolling around Mondstat is typically how he exhausts himself from thought.

Mondstat is unfortunately quiet tonight however, try as Diluc might to check every corner for a treasure hoarder, Fatui, or abyss mage. Sevens, he'll take a hilichurl at this point if it gets his mind off of things for a minute. 

No such luck.

...While it is true that Diluc had somewhat of a crush on Barbatos in the stories his father would read him and Kaeya, it was just the overblown fantasy of a child. Certainly it didn’t apply to Venti now that he knows what the Anemo Archon is actually like. The god Diluc used to imagine when he was young was powerful, but kind. A rebel, who fought for justice and prevailed, twice over. Venti wasn’t any of those things. The most fighting Venti did nowadays was fighting to stay awake after his tenth glass of wine. So while it was true that Venti was Barbatos, the two couldn’t have been more different. Therefore, it was fine.

So then, why was Diluc so torn up about hearing Venti sing about his past lovers?

It was a joke. Venti was lying, he had to be. And still, he couldn’t shake the feeling the bard had in fact been telling the truth. Was it because he could actually picture Venti participating in every single lewd act he had the gall to describe? They all sounded just ridiculous enough to be something Venti would attempt. When Diluc thought about it, he felt... anger. Anger at Venti for turning his night into a longer than usual shift, angry at every drunkard in his bar who bought him extra wine, angry at the now-long-dead people throughout so many years and years that had slept with Barbatos like it was nothing--

A sudden shriek echoed off of the brick walls and brought Diluc out of his thoughts. His grip instinctively tightened on his claymore as he listened for the source of the sound. Again he heard it, closer now. Though clearer this time, and it certainly didn’t sound like a cry of pain. About to step out from his hiding spot at the end of the alley, Diluc froze when two people suddenly stumbled into it. 

“Stop! This is such a horrible idea. What if someone sees?”

“I don’t think anyone will. If you can stay quiet, that is.”

“Okay, I can. I’ll be good.”

Diluc felt his stomach actually give a lurch. This is precisely what he needed to top off this nightmare of an evening. He cursed himself for not having absconded when he meant to, but how could he have known a couple was going to try to use this alley to fool around in?

“I know you’ll be good for me, honeycomb, now turn around, alright?” 

The world was truly intent on torturing him today. Honeycomb. Had one of Venti’s-- Barbatos’s- - lovers really called him that way back when? It sounded old-fashioned to Diluc, if he was honest, but then, he didn’t have much knowledge in the way of romance. Still, wouldn’t it be more fitting to refer to him as a songbird, or such? It certainly sounds sweeter.

All at once, Diluc’s common sense returns. He’s overtired, and his brain is going places it shouldn’t. What he needs now is a long, dreamless sleep. And to avoid running into Venti tomorrow. For the rest of the month, maybe. 

Diluc slams his fist on the tin trash can he’s crouched next to and the couple gives a collective yelp. They scurry off with a few slurred words to one another, probably to find a less-haunted alley to publicly copulate in.

He can not wait for Windblume to be over.

Mondstat, ten years prior.

The woods that surrounded Wolvendom were so deadly silent at night that Diluc managed to notice the soft sound of footsteps upon the undergrowth right away. 

He could be sure it was not the heavy footfalls of the fiendish treasure hoarders that sometimes set up camps around the area, but that didn’t do as much to comfort him. If not treasure hoarders, then it could very well be someone more trained, and therefore more dangerous. An assassin perhaps, or a hired spy? All manner of awful possibilities lumped together in his mind as he quickly ducked into a small bush, his breathing harsh and his grip on his father’s dagger harsher still. The footsteps got closer and closer, Diluc steeled himself to fight back and then--

“Master Diluc? What on earth are you doing out so late?”

If it is possible for someone’s heart rate to both speed up and slacken at the same time, then that is what Diluc’s would have done. He does not know how someone found him when he had been so careful sneaking out, but nothing in the winery truly escapes Adelinde’s notice. He’s humiliated, but figures there's no use in hiding any longer. When he tries to crawl out of the shrubbery, he nearly twists his ankle.

“Are you alright?” Adelinde asks, quickly kneeling down next to the young boy, but Diluc isn’t paying attention. She shines the lantern she’s holding between them, checking for any sign of injury. The light almost isn’t necessary, however, for the concern on Diluc’s face is already cast in a tint of blue-green; emanating from the collection of small lamp grass he has collected in the makeshift basket he’s made of the front of his nightgown. 

Adelinde, to her credit, catches on quickly. “Ah, are you worried about them? None of them got squished, did they?” she asks, looking down at the impressive collection of flowers in Diluc’s nightshirt. The young boy shakes his head after a minute “No, I think that they’re okay…” he pauses, chews his lip for a second before continuing, quieter, “Are you going to tell my father?”

“No,” Adelinde says with a small smile and an outstretched hand. “Come on, get out of there. It won’t do for a proper boy such as yourself to be seen with twigs in his hair.” Diluc allows himself to be pulled out of the hiding spot, and bashfully allows Adelinde to sweep the leaves from his hair and the dirt from his face. He doesn’t let go of the ends of his nightshirt, lest the flowers tumble out. 

“Are you going to tell me why you snuck out?” She asks as they walk back to the winery together. Diluc, still embarrassed about being caught, takes a second to reply. “Lamp Grass is much easier to see at night.” 

“That it is, but…” Adelinde hesitates, realizing that perhaps the young master has picked the flowers with the purpose of confessing to a crush. Deciding to spare him the explanation, she changes the subject promptly. “You should have simply asked me, I would have gone and picked some up from one of the town vendors for you. You should know better to come out here so late.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Adelinde.” 

“That’s alright. At least I found you when I did, right?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll make sure to put those in some water once we get back to the manor, okay? Let’s not let your hard work go to waste.”

“...Adelinde?”

“Master Diluc?”

“Could you maybe put them somewhere where Kaeya or my father won’t see them?”

Adelinde hummed. “Yes, I could keep them in the maid’s quarters for you, would that work? I’ll make sure they’re safe. Then, when you need them, all you need to do is ask.”

“Okay.”

Once they arrive at the winery, Adelinde makes sure to take the flowers as gingerly as possible. Diluc’s hands shake slightly as he hands them to her. They climb the stairs to Diluc and Kaeya’s shared bedroom together, the flickering light of the candles in the foyer mingling with the blue glow of the lamp grass. 

“Go back to sleep now, alright? We’ll keep this between just me and you, but if it happens again I’ll have to make Master Crepus aware.”

“Okay, I promise.” he hesitates, then adds “Knight’s honor.”

“Good,” the corners of her mouth slid upward subconsciously. “Get some rest.”

Adelinde is halfway down the stairs when she hears Diluc call her name softly. She turns, expectant, and after a second Diluc asks “How did you find me when I was hidden?”

“A green shrub is not the best hiding spot for someone with hair the colors of yours, Master Diluc.”

The bedroom door shuts quietly behind her.

Diluc shucks his muddied boots off and crawls into bed as silently as he can manage. In the low light that the moon grants him through the window, he can see Kaeya turned around in bed, hopefully sound asleep. He doesn’t know how he’d explain it to him if he woke up now. 

‘Sorry, I snuck out to find lamp grass flowers to give to the statue of Barbatos in the city center. No, I couldn’t simply buy them because then people would think I was giving it to someone I like, and father might hear about it and take it as an initiative to pair me up with a stranger from some noble family. Also, I wanted to pick them myself since it’d be more special that way, and also, have I mentioned I think I’m in some kind of love with the Anemo Archon who may or may not exist anymore?’

Though his pillow is cool and soft, the blanket and bed comfortable as ever, Diluc can’t seem to quiet his beating heart. Despite Adelinde finding him, which wasn’t entirely in the plan, the fact remains he did still manage to get the flowers for Barbatos. He’d done what he set out to.

He picked Lamp Grass because he’s always been fond of them. The way they light up in the darkest places and how they chase shadows away just by existing. Diluc finds them beautiful. They also happen to be exclusive to Mondstat, so why shouldn’t they be considered a Windblume? He’s going to take them and offer them up to the statue on the last day of the festival, and everyone will see how beautiful Barbatos looks surrounded by them, lighting up the darkness, as Diluc himself dreams to do one day.

Mondstat, present day.

A knock on the same bedroom door is what awoke Diluc the next morning. He sat bolt upright at the sound, and he found his mouth dry and pillow wet with drool. Charming. At the very least, he had managed to get out of his work clothes before becoming dead to the world upon hitting the mattress.

The room was much different than when he and Kaeya had shared it as children, now with one large bed instead of the two that used to sit opposite one another. It was much messier, too. When they were kids the maids would clean in here as well as the rest of the house, but Diluc didn’t like anyone to come in now. 

Opening the door revealed Adelinde, her face now showing the beginnings of crow’s feet and faint laughter lines, though her shy smile was the same. She gave a quick apology, and then promptly said “There’s someone here to see you, Master Diluc.” 

Diluc blinked. “It’s eight in the morning. Could you tell them to come back at a reasonable hour?”

“He’s, ah…” Adelinde pulled at the hem of her dress. “I’m sorry, he’s already waiting for you in the foyer.”

Diluc stepped forward and peered over the banister. There, on the couch, munching on an apple with his shoes on the upholstery, was Venti. As expected.

“I’ll be down in a minute.” Diluc replied, and shut the door again.

“The books you have in your library about Barbatos are all wrong, you know.”

Venti said as he walked alongside Diluc past Springvale and into Mondstat proper. Walking wasn’t quite the word however, as Venti was skipping and using a small gust of wind to get a bit higher than normal each time. It was horribly annoying, and it was only the start of the day. 

Diluc could not say why he had answered yes to Venti’s request to come to the festival with him, but he supposed he hadn’t changed from those days when he’d let Jean or Kaeya steer him anywhere. The bard had made the case that he needed a ‘bodyguard’, as he was quickly rising in popularity around the city, and you know how strange some fans can get. Diluc didn’t buy it for a second, but agreed regardless.

“And why were you in my library?” he asked.

Venti twirled in the air, his cape billowing in the gust he created. “Well, I was looking for your wine cellar, but ended up there instead. Then I was checking if you had books about me in there, and you did! Too bad they’re all wrong though.”

“Those books are widely accepted in Mondstat History. How are they inaccurate?” 

“For one, they’re so boring! I wish they’d be a bit more exciting. Barbatos was the life of the party!”

“You were barely present long enough for them to have anything to write about,” Diluc sighed. “And I don't think they convey him as boring. It’s more so that he’s... cautiously responsible. He knows when to step in.” 

“Well read on this, are you?”

On the next irritatingly long skip, Diluc grabbed Venti’s arm and pulled him down. “Would you stop that? You’re kicking up dust.”

“You’re no fun.” Venti pouted, but complied.

Diluc’s hand lingered on Venti’s shoulder-- a way to keep him on the ground, he told himself. Then it continued to stay there for the remainder of their walk into the city, for Diluc has now left it too long to suddenly take it away. Venti didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, humming all the while

“Let’s make sure we try everything! I hear they’ve even got a shaved ice stand from Liyue this year. And we need to get the best score at Bullseye Balloons, okay? Amber has me beat by just two hundred points, I need to defend my reputation. Though, let's do that after lunch, I’m starving.”

Despite all efforts not to, Diluc found himself alone with Venti in the festival crowds. Venti hasn’t had the chance to ‘properly explore’ this year, so they take a tour around the city. Scouting out all the new stands, as Venti points at overpriced festival food and Diluc reluctantly buys them.

On it they pass Wagner’s workshop, now half-converted into a shop selling brightly colored balloons, staffed by the two adventurer’s guild kids. The girl with the eyepatch is speaking loudly and verbosely to an enthralled group of children as the white-haired boy next to her attempts and fails to make a balloon animal. The kids do laugh every time he somehow manages to pop the balloons just by touching them, so Diluc doesn’t feel all that bad. Sara and Diona are chatting away outside the Good Hunter with novelty drinks in hand, and the new astrologist has a fortune telling tent set up with rather exorbitant prices, if Diluc is honest. 

When they stop in front of Floral Whisperer, Venti gives a wave to the older woman next to Flora who waves back, but stops and excuses herself when Diluc does the same. Diluc tries to ignore her stares from her hiding spot behind the lamp post while Venti speaks to the small shopkeep.

“How’s business, Miss Flora?”

“It’s well! Windblume always brings lots of customers, so I can’t complain. We were well-prepared this year.”

“What’s your biggest seller been? Lemme guess… Cecilias!”

Flora shakes her head. “It’s a toss up between Windwheel Asters and Dandelions this year, actually. I heard the Cat’s Tail used Windwheel Asters in their signature drink this year, which may be why.”

“Windwheel Asters, huh? Aren’t they rather bitter to the taste?”

Flora shrugs. “I’m not sure how adult drinks really work. But everything that Diona touches turns into something yummy, so maybe that’s why.”

“I wouldn’t know myself,” Venti chuckles, “Allergies and all. Well, thanks for your hard work, Flora. Happy Windblume!” 

“Happy Windblume! Please enjoy your date!”

Diluc drags him away before anyone around them can say anything in response, including Venti. 

The two of them eventually end up sitting down on a bench out of the heat of the midday sun. Diluc doesn’t know that he’s ever sweat this much in his life-- even the grueling summer training Jean, Kaeya and him suffered through as teenagers is nothing compared to the toll accompanying Venti around Windblume takes on him. 

He’s like a little kid. Diluc would sooner be asked to last-minute supervise Klee than chase after Venti as he hops from stall to stall, emptying Diluc’s wallet like it’s a sport. It isn’t as if he hasn’t tried to say no, it’s just that it never works. Venti is so trained in the art of getting what he wants. If he really has had as much relationship experience as he claims to, then Diluc curses every single one of them for Venti’s spoiled personality. 

“Do you want some?” Venti holds up the extravagant Liyuean shaved ice he’s currently halfway through. “There’s more than enough for two!” 

“I’m fine, thank you.” 

“Suit yourself,” Venti kicks his feet and takes another bite. 

“Aren’t you tired at all?” Diluc asks, plucking at the front of his shirt to try and combat the sweat. An outfit of almost full black is fantastic for hiding in the shadows of nighttime, not so much for a crowded summer festival. 

“Nope! There’s still so much I want to do, and you promised to take me around.”

“I didn’t promise. I simply agreed.”

“It’s the same thing.”

In spite of how much he very much wanted to be somewhere considerably cooler, Diluc supposed he would stay. There is a certain appeal to being alone with Venti, walking the festival like a pair. The stares and double-takes bothered him at first, but now it’s almost gratifying to see people give a surprised smile upon seeing the two of them together. A couple of times Diluc has even placed a hand on Venti’s shoulder to steer him away from buying unnecessary wares at a stall, but it wouldn’t be entirely truthful to say that was the sole reason for the touch.

In the not so far distance, church bells ring out to mark the hour. Diluc rolls his shoulder and ignores the crack it produces. He leans back over the bench and allows the shade to do its job of cooling him down. As his eyes shut, he thinks faintly of how his younger self would react to seeing him as he is now. If he had known, ten years ago, that he would be walking the city he grew up in with the god of Mondstat, would he have actually gone through with his plan that one year? 

He could remedy that, he realizes. Erase one small regret from his very long list.

Diluc cracks an eye open at Venti, still very occupied with finishing his snack. Venti takes notice and smiles. 

“Your tongue is purple, you know,” is the very elegant observation that tumbles off Diluc’s lips. Venti sticks his tongue out and crosses his eyes to try and see it. 

“It ith?” 

Diluc takes the opportunity to take the cup from his hands. “You’re going to get a stomach ache. I think you’ve had enough.” he tosses the soupy mix of syrup and water into a nearby trash can as Venti protests. 

“So it isn’t just wine you’re a stickler for! Well, at least you’re consistent,” the smaller boy stretches and then brushes his palms off on his tights and stands with a hop. “All right, take me to see the statue next! I haven’t gotten a good look yet.”

Diluc wonders how conceited someone has to be to outrightly ask to be shown a decorated statue of himself surrounded by worshippers, but follows Venti up the steps nevertheless. 

“Hey, Diluc? What would you say a Windblume is?”

The question catches Diluc off-guard. It would be too much trouble to explain his actual answer ( Small Lamp Grass, it matches your-- Barbatos’s -- hair. It lights up the way home at night. It doesn’t grow as tall as other flowers, yet still does its job perfectly. It’s been my favorite since I was a kid )... so he doesn’t try. 

“Dandelions,” is what he says instead. 

“Interesting,” says Venti at the same time another voice says “Well, that’s not true.”

Diluc’s eyes lock on the culprit-- Kaeya, walking up to him with Jean in tow. Despite how much the sight of not one but two of the Knights makes Diluc want to dissolve into the ground, he stays put. 

“Master Jean! Captain Kaeya!” Venti gives a big wave and skips up to them. Jean holds out her hand for a handshake, but Venti surprises her with a hug. 

“Oh, it’s good to see you too, Venti,” she smiles awkwardly, doing her best to hug back. Diluc doesn’t feel the least bit bad when he tugs Venti’s face out of her chest by his braids. 

Kaeya continues, bringing a hand to his chin in thought. “Dandelions are Jean’s favorite. Yours has always been... what was it-- ah, Small Lamp Grass, yes?” 

Diluc feels like he might actually dissolve into the ground now. 

“It’s a surprise to see the two of you together, I must confess.” says Jean. 

“I was just going back to work, actually,” counters Diluc. 

Venti turns. “Huh? You’re leaving?”

“I’m confident Jean and Kaeya will make sure you stay safe. Try not to bother them too much.”

“Happy Windblume,” says Kaeya dryly, but Diluc is halfway down the stone stairs out of the square. 

Venti, Kaeya, and Jean sit on a blanket with countless other people-- couples, families, groups of teens-- doing the same. All of them flock under the huge statue for shade and a great view. 

Mondstat’s Cavalry Captain had been trying to get the Grandmaster to take a break from her constant patrol, and dragged her away on ‘urgent official business’. A picnic isn’t typically defined as such, but Kaeya is changing the definition for today exclusively. With Venti here as well now, Jean does her best to be polite and stay.

The spread in front of them consists of brazen , knödel, steckerlfisch, kartoffelpuffer with applesauce, and more than a few flasks of beer that Kaeya grabbed from a nearby stall. Jean is thankful Venti is joining them, because the food is much more than she and Kaeya would be able to finish on their own. 

“So,” Venti starts, mouth full of soft pretzel. He swallows, then continues “Any idea why Master Diluc lied to me about his choice of Windblume?”

Kaeya hums, skewering a dumpling on his fork. “Master Diluc has always had a strange relationship with Windblume as a whole ever since he was young. To put it simply, it isn’t his favorite time of year.” 

Jean seems more hesitant to reply, but with both Kaeya and Venti’s gaze upon her, she eventually does. “I can only think of a handful of times Diluc has properly enjoyed the festival,” he says, eyes looking in the direction of Angel’s Share. “I’m always worried about him this time of year, since he tends to isolate himself.”

“That isn’t exclusive to Windblume,” Kaeya adds, his clipped voice not entirely matching the grin on his face.

“If I’m honest, it was why I was so glad to see the two of you out together today.” She gives Venti a small smile.

Venti hums into his beer. “But... why Small Lamp Grass?” 

“Ah, that’s the other thing,” said Kaeya. “Diluc has always had a bit of a thing for Barbatos.”

Venti doesn’t think he heard that entirely correctly. “Sorry?” 

Kaeya continued with a nod. “He thinks he’s good at keeping it secret, but it’s been that way since we were kids.”

Jean sputters for a second, “This beer is quite good, Kaeya, where did you--”

“Barbatos, as in, the Anemo Archon? ” Venti’s lips curl up. Kaeya nods. Jean stuffs a whole dumpling into her mouth.

“The very same, yes,” said Kaeya. “See, when the three of us were young, and Diluc actually had a personality aside from being a stick in the mud, he got it in his head to make Lamp Grass officially recognized as a Windblume. He chickened out in the end, however.” 

Jean cleared her throat. “He’s always been fond of that flower. He never liked the romantic side of the festival, so I think he just wanted to share it with Barbatos…” She met Venti’s eyes and realized it was quite hard to look at someone and talk about them in the third person. “It isn’t really my place to speak, though.” 

“Diluc has never been talented in affairs of the heart. I think his childhood crush on Barbatos actually may be the closest he’s ever gotten,” said Kaeya. 

“I see. That’s… quite the story.” Venti said, trying to hold back a laugh. The compulsion is to treat it lightly, because the entire situation is truly ridiculous, what with Jean knowing his true identity and Kaeya not. But just underneath the irony is something softer, closer to endearment than pity. Venti finally allows Jean to change the subject, though as he sips his beer his eyes drift to the statue covered in Cecilias, Windwheel Asters, and Dandelions, and can’t help but feel like some bright blue is just what the bouquet needs. 

Mondstat, ten years prior.

Kaeya found out. 

He’s good at picking up on secrets, and Diluc has always been a terrible liar. When Kaeya badgered him about who the flowers were for, he panicked and said Jean. He felt bad about it, but it was the first name that came to mind. At least it made Kaeya leave him alone.

Diluc asks Adelinde for the flowers back, acting every bit like he’s going to take them with him into the city. Kaeya doesn’t ask to come this time. 

Halfway to Mondstat, he throws the flowers into the lake behind Springvale. The ducks swimming in it scatter, annoyed at the disturbance. Diluc doesn’t feel anything as he walks away. 

The presence of hundreds of people in the statue square means no one will notice Diluc if he sits on the steps of the cathedral and sulks. There’s the stink of alcohol all around him, and the music from street performers makes his head ache, but he doesn’t get up. He doesn’t have the energy to walk back to the winery right now. 

The fact that he doesn’t fully understand why he’s feeling so upset just serves to frustrate him more. Only little kids do things as stupid as this. Diluc’s eleven now, and starting proper Knight training soon. He shouldn’t dwell on these sorts of mushy feelings that anchor themselves deep in his chest and refuse to leave. 

All he wished was to have a chance to participate in Windblume in his own way. Kaeya and Jean both got lots of flowers this year, more than the years before. Diluc isn’t blind. He sees the way Jean colors when people hand her bursting multicolor bouquets. The look on his face Kaeya gets when girls and boys both trip over one another to confess to him. He knows the people around him expect him to find someone eventually.

But Diluc doesn’t want to be with anyone but Barbatos. 

It isn’t anyone’s fault but his own. It isn’t even Kaeya’s for spotting the bouquet and being so clever as to catch on. It’s Diluc’s for not being able to feel the same way as everyone else for anything but an absent god. He heaves a sigh and presses his palms to his face until he can see flecks behind his eyes. He needs to get over this. 

There is a feeling like a nudge on his knee, and he dismisses it as some drunkard jostling him whilst walking down the steps. But it comes again, twice this time. Diluc looks up and sees a little blonde girl staring at him with huge blue eyes. 

“Barbara, don’t go and bother-- Diluc?”

Diluc didn’t realize how much he wanted to see Jean until she was standing in front of him. He wipes his face quickly as she walks up the steps. “Are you here by yourself? Where is Kaeya?”

“He’s back at home,” Diluc says, wincing at the way his voice cracks. 

Jean’s expression falls to one of concern. “What’s wrong?” then, turning to her sister, she adds, “Barbara, go and join the sisters for their evening prayers, okay? I’ll come find you later.”

“‘Kay,” Barbara pipes up, and runs up the rest of the steps. 

“Careful!” Jean chides, before turning back to Diluc. “Do you want to go somewhere quieter?”

Diluc nods, and allows Jean to take his hand. 

They end up at Windrise, blanketed by the leaves of the tree that seem to blot out even the sky as they lay underneath it. Jean hasn’t let go of his hand since the mostly silent walk here. She isn’t one to pressure him into talking, knows he’s content with just her presence, but he finds he does want to talk. To tell her every messy thing he’s holding inside him like a cup flowing over. So he does.

“I’m in love with the Anemo Archon,” Diluc says without preamble. The birds in the tree above them stir. 

“Oh,” says Jean. “For how long?”

“A while.”

“Oh,” she repeats again. Diluc almost lets go of her hand and runs away from all of this, but he finds it in himself to remain, somehow. And now that he’s begun to talk, he can’t stop the rest from coming out.

“I don’t think that I feel love like regular people do. I’ve never felt it for anyone but-- but Barbatos.” the words are hard not to choke around, but he speaks them anyway. 

“That’s okay,” says Jean, even though Diluc knows it isn’t. He appreciates Jean humoring him as she is. “Well, what do you like about him?” 

That he isn’t real , Diluc wants to say. That he only exists in my fantasy, and doesn’t assume or expect anything of me. “His free heart,” he settles on saying instead. “He isn’t tied down by anything, but he knows exactly how to help when Mondstat needs him.” It isn’t a lie.

Jean thinks she understands. When reading about Lady Vennessa’s history, she feels the same sort of reverence. 

“I was going to give lamp grass flowers to him-- to the statue. But it realized how stupid it was and threw them away. So now I just feel… terrible.”

“I see. I’m sorry.” Jean twirls blades of grass around her finger and watches as they slowly unfurl. “I don’t think it’s stupid. I think that it’s a wonderful thing to feel how you do. Even if others say it’s strange. I’ll confess, I don’t really like the festival either. I know that sounds bad.” Jean laughs to smother her honesty. 

“Why don’t you like it?” Diluc asks, now curious to see if what he’s feeling isn’t actually abnormal. Maybe lots of people feel this way and just don’t talk about it. 

“It’s going to sound selfish… but being confessed to over and over by people I have never met and whose names I don’t even know is... overwhelming. It makes me wish I didn’t have to worry about marriage at all.” 

He feels stupid for not realizing it before. Of course it must put Jean (and perhaps even Kaeya) under an immense amount of stress to have so much attention on themselves. The handful of Windblume confessions Diluc has received have just been brushed off with a strained laugh and a promise to remain friends. He shouldn’t have assumed it was different for others. 

Diluc is quiet for some time after that. Then, he says: “If I don’t marry Barbatos… Do you want to get married so people will stop asking us? It would certainly make my father happy.”

“And my mother,” Jean snorts. “Wait, are you being serious?”

“Only if you are.” Diluc replies.

“Okay,” says Jean, giving a small nod. “It’s a deal then. But who knows-- maybe one day Barbatos will return to Mondstat and you can win his heart then.”

Mondstat, present day.

Diluc is going to win Barbatos’s heart. 

Well, not exactly. Diluc is going to give Barbatos the gift he meant to give him ten years ago to quiet the pounding in his chest whenever Venti is around. It’s closure, and nothing more.

So he repeatedly tells himself.

Diluc spends the last week of Windblume making the necessary preparations. Elzer agrees to cover his shifts at Angel’s Share, and Adelinde is more than capable of running the Winery on her own. He doesn’t tell Venti he’s leaving. He’s afraid if he sees Venti at all before this is complete he’ll lose his nerve again.

Small Lamp Grass is easy enough to acquire. A couple of nights spent scouting around Wolvendom for the best specimens gets him more than enough of what he needs. Cecilias, on the other hand, are a completely different story. The delicate white flowers only grow on the highest of cliffs, where the air is thin and the winds nothing like the warm breezes that blow through Mondstat’s city streets. Diluc sets up camp at the base of the Stormbearer Mountains, waking up early every morning to pick the best ones he can find. 

At night, when he is snug in his camp bedroll and sleep eludes him, he stares at the bouquet and thinks about how nicely the two flowers compliment one another. Lamp Grass, sprouting in the darkest of places and providing little flecks of light, and Cecilias, persevering through the harvest of climates, rewarding hard work and tenacity.

On the very last day of the festival, Diluc brings everything he’s gathered to Windrise. There, he gets to work covering the statue of the seven in hundreds upon hundreds of flowers. The Lamp Grass begins to glow with every movement of the sun deeper behind Dragonspine, and soon he’s working by their light alone. He weaves Lamp Grass and Cecilias into a crown and places it gently as he can onto the statue’s head. The small, round bouquet bound with ribbon that resembles what the bride would throw at a wedding is placed into Barbatos’s outstretched palms. Bushes of Lamp Grass and Cecilias both bracket the pedestal and garlands wrap around the figure’s lithe stone shoulders. 

Now is the actual challenge: bringing Venti to see it. 

Angel’s Share is naturally the first place Diluc checks, though he finds it surprisingly devoid of Venti. Kaeya, however, notices him come in, and after a whispered remark (which sounds horribly like loverboy ) to the nun next to him, he kindly informs Diluc that Venti is performing outside the cathedral with Barbara today. 

Feeling like he’s already wasted too much time, Diluc races to the square in front of the cathedral and finds it packed full of people. Venti, once again, has drawn in quite the crowd. Jean’s younger sister and him appear to make quite the duo; Barbara has always had an impressive stage presence. 

His height grants him the advantage to see over most of the audience, though sticking himself in said audience is not something he particularly enjoys doing. When Diluc finally lays eyes on him, Venti looks…

He looks right at home.

Surrounded by Mondstat’s citizens, under the ever-clear sky dotted with so many stars, Venti is glowing. The band behind them plays on, and Barbara spins and twirls around the small area they’ve made their stage, giving a wave and a wink every few seconds. Towards the end of the song, Venti places his lyre down and joins her, ending in him dipping her in a way that is as unplanned as it is graceful. It doesn’t matter- the crowd claps and cheers the performance regardless. 

Barabara giggles as Venti pulls her back up, and does her best to thank the audience and inform them they’ll be taking a short intermission, but would anyone like to try out her special limited-time dandelion seed cookies in the meantime? Diluc manages to push himself to the front of the crowd but finds Venti gone when he gets there. Jean, supervising the small food and drink stand, waves Diluc over.

“I’m looking for--” Diluc starts.

“Venti’s behind the cathedral,” Jean says before he can finish. 

Diluc gives a weak smile over the thud of his heart. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Good luck!”

Diluc spots Venti sitting comfortably on the back steps of the church. He perks up immediately upon seeing Diluc. The speed at which he stands nearly knocks his wine flask over.

“Master Diluc! Come to see the show? A graceful send-off to Windblume, is it not?”

“Venti,” Diluc says, and only realizes when the rest of the sentence doesn’t come out that he’s extremely out of breath. “Would you do me a favor?” 

“In the middle of a performance?”

“It’s… important. I have something to show you.”

Curious, Venti tilts his head. “What’s in it for me?”

Diluc flounders. “Free dandelion wine for a week-- a month, just, please?” He isn't proud of how desperate he sounds.

Venti’s eyes widened. “You mean it? Done!”

With Barbara’s permission and promise to do her best to continue the show on her own, Venti follows Diluc down the cathedral steps and out of the city gates. 

The curiosity is killing him by the time they arrive at Windrise, but Diluc refuses to let on anything more than what he said earlier. Venti isn’t very good at waiting, but it’s unlike Diluc to be so intent on something, so he makes an exception. 

It’s worth it for the sight that awaits him when they finally arrive. 

His statue has never looked so radiant. It’s covered in bright blues and stark whites of Lamp Grass and Cecilias, and seems to have taken on a completely different aura. The blue does look right at home.

The dappled moonlight that peeks through the tree above smatters Barbatos in little dots of light, the ones landing on his face almost resemble freckles. It goes without saying that it’s breathtaking-- but Diluc has always seen the god like this, glowing and vibrant. He’s always wanted to make others see it, as well. 

“Master Diluc, did you really…” Venti begins, watching as Diluc steps behind the statue and pulls out a bouquet of Lamp Grass flowers, every single one the best of its kind. They are nothing like the ones he threw into the pond when he was a child, they’re so much better, so much more what Barbatos deserves. 

“These... are for you. They’re a bit overdue, but I hope you can still accept them.” 

Diluc holds out the bouquet, but Venti is frozen in place. The awe is still present in the smile painted on his face, but slowly the giggles begin. Diluc can’t prevent his heart from sinking just slightly, wondering if he’s made a terrible misjudgement. 

Then Venti says, “Master Diluc,” as he covers his mouth modestly with his hand, and continues with a question that strikes Diluc like an arrow fired from Venti’s bow straight into his heart.

“Is this a bonafide Windblume confession?”

And Diluc is frozen, because...

Oh.

Is it?

“Uhm,” says Diluc eloquently. “No… uh, I’m not sure?”

He can’t think. Every coherent thought he’s ever had in his life escapes him at this very moment and promises never to return. Confessing to Venti wasn’t his intention, was it? He can’t tell. Diluc feels so very far away as he watches Venti pluck a flower from the bouquet and place it in his hair next to his signature Cecilia-- and Diluc was right: it does match his hair perfectly. 

“Well, regardless, I accept your very kind gift,” Venti says, taking the bouquet from Diluc’s now shaking hands. Their hands brush, and if Diluc’s synapses weren’t firing a mile a minute before they definitely are now.

“Hm?” Venti says, and Diluc realizes that he’s brought a hand to cup Venti’s cheek without realizing it. He thinks he had wanted to adjust the flower in his hair. Now all he can pay attention to is the way Venti’s tongue peeks from between his teeth as he asks “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Yes,” Diluc’s pulse jackrabbits. “I want to-- could I-- may I kiss you?” 

The static in Diluc’s skull seems to cease all at once in the second it takes for their lips to meet. For all his training in combat, espionage, and chivalry, Diluc hasn’t the first clue what makes a good kiss. The only other kiss he’s experienced was when he and Jean practiced to seem convincing in case they ever needed it in a pinch. Kissing Venti is a whole other world. All he knows for sure is that now that he’s kissed the breath from Barbatos’s lips, he’ll never be able to go without it again. 

Diluc is crouched in a rather uncomfortable position to actually reach his lips, the shorter boy’s legs shaking as he stands on the tips of his toes. Diluc feels himself about to pitch forward, and braces his hands against Venti’s chest to steady himself. Venti seems to take it as a sign, however, because not a moment later his own arms are thrown around Diluc’s trembling shoulders and-- he can’t breathe.

They reluctantly disconnect, both of them panting for breath in the cool night air. Diluc stupidly tries to kiss Venti again immediately after the air has returned to his lungs, but Venti places a hand on his chest to stop him. 

“Hold on,” he breathes through a giggle. Diluc can feel the warm breath on his own skin. “As much as I’d love to continue getting kissed senseless, you haven’t answered my question. Was it a confession?” 

Diluc wishes he could answer that himself. Though, when he thinks about it... it must have been. Even if he hadn’t realized. Romance and feelings have always been out of his wheelhouse, but nothing in his life has ever felt as right as kissing Venti just did. If this is what listening to the beating thing in his chest feels like, he must never truly have done it before.

“I… I believe so,” says Diluc, all confidence absent from his tone. He can’t stop staring at the shine on Venti’s wet lips. 

“Alright, sit down with me. You seem about ready to fall over,” Venti’s voice takes an unusually responsible air as he brings both him and Diluc to sit next to the glowing statue. “Is this what you want?”

When asked so plainly from Barbatos’s own lips, it’s no longer a question in Diluc’s mind anymore-- it's startlingly clear. “It is.”

A nod. “Well then, my second question is this: would you allow me to repay you for such a sweet offering to your god?” Venti grins as his eyes hood ever so slightly. He may not have a gnosis anymore, but he does have the advantage of knowing Diluc’s history, and the least he can do is this. 

Diluc sputters, despite himself. “I-I’d never think to ask anything in return. You have no idea how relieved your simple acceptance of it makes me, really.”

Venti clicks his tongue. “Not even if I offered to let you see your god in the flesh?” 

He doesn’t miss the way Diluc’s gaze drops to scan his body, the way his jaw sets. Venti can’t help it, seeing the strict behavior Diluc holds himself to slip away is much too charming. He’s plucking him undone one string at a time as he crawls into Diluc’s lap. 

“Did Kaeya tell you?” Diluc finally says.

Venti pushes a stray strand of bright red hair behind the other’s ear. “I have my sources. Now, is that a yes or a no?”

“I…” Diluc hesitates, but he knows the answer he’s about to give. Is he not allowed at least one indulgence in this lifetime? “Yes. Yes, please.”

“Mm, such devotion deserves a fitting reward, wouldn’t you agree?” Venti giggles. There’s a few seconds of light so bright Diluc has to shut his eyes, but when he blinks them open again, he almost can’t believe it. 

Barbatos, in his lap, sporting huge wings flecked with gold, tattoos that glow the color of the lamp grass in his hair, and-- so very, very little clothing. Forget overwhelming, it’s downright blinding. It’s every childhood fantasy he’s had since he was eight dropped in his lap. Literally. 

Diluc can’t decide where to touch. Unsure hands ghost around Venti’s small torso and before he knows it he’s pulling the tiny god close, so close, Diluc’s face in his neck and Venti’s pressed just below his chin.

“You’re so beautiful.” 

Venti hums. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve taken this form. It’s not all the same without my gnosis, of course, but I hope it’s enough.” 

“More than enough. I can’t believe I get to hold you like this.” 

And he knows he should settle just for this, for embracing Venti tight enough that he can feel his butterfly pulse in tandem with his own-- but he’s greedy. Simply being around Venti makes him so. He wants to touch more, nothing specifically untoward, just more. 

Diluc’s hands explore the pure expanse of Venti’s back, first stroking at his sides and then trailing up his spine slowly. He counts each tiny vertebrae in his head; twelve, thirteen, fourteen... Venti shivers and gives a little squeak. Then Diluc’s roaming fingers reach the part of Venti’s shoulder blades where his wings connect, and he can’t help but linger, bringing his hands from feather to skin and back again. He only notices Venti has been whimpering when he stills his hand. 

“Ah, Diluc…” It’s a quiet plea buried in the collar of Diluc’s shirt as Venti’s grip on him tightens. “Keep going, please?”

“Hm? O-oh,” Diluc breathes. “It... feels good?”

“So good, so good,” Venti trills, pushing himself up against Diluc. Just below his stomach, Diluc feels something pressing into him.

This is truly happening, then. 

“You’re hard,” Diluc notes. “From just that?” He doesn’t entirely hear what Venti says in response, as his face is still buried in his neck, but he does catch ‘ your fault.’

Diluc has the thought that Barbatos wouldn’t have had so much fun over the millenia if he wasn’t startlingly easy. 

And this is the point where Diluc would usually feel out of his league, would ask the other person to stop, would apologize and leave in a hurry. But here, with Venti in his lap, he doesn’t feel the urge to run. He doesn’t want to shy away, or stop. It’s still terrifying, of course, and with Venti’s amount of experience he certainly has quite a bit to live up to, but that same shameful fear isn’t present. 

Diluc realizes that it isn’t sex he’s viewing this as, but a form of worship. 

And he has never wanted anything more than to make his god feel loved. 

“Barbatos,” says Diluc, the word like thick honey on his tongue.

“Yes?”

He hesitates, counting the beats of his heart, but eventually he manages to say it. “If I requested to touch you without being touched back, would it be alright?” 

Venti gives a nod coupled with a reassuring smile. “As long as that’s what you want, it’s perfect.”

Diluc can scarcely think of anything he desires more, though he isn’t quite confident where to begin. He settles on Venti’s wings again, since the little god seemed to react so very well to it. Gently as he can, Diluc began to stroke at them, marveling as the feathers rippled and Venti held him tighter. 

“It’s, ah,” Diluc swallowed. “It’s sensitive, here?” 

Venti nodded into his chest with a whine. 

“I suppose you don’t often get touched here, then. You’re already such a mess in my lap.” 

Sevens, Venti thought, he can tease when he wants to . Venti won’t lie and pretend the stern tone Diluc sometimes took with him over things as trivial as his fifth refill of wine that night would often affect him. He was guilty of poking Diluc just to ignite that flare of annoyance in his striking eyes. Here, in his lap, it seemed he wouldn’t need to. How quickly he had forgotten how wonderful worship felt. 

The touches continued, Diluc going from gentle pets on his outer feathers to rubbing the spots on his back where they connected and bringing Venti to tears. His cock was so hard it hurt but he held back, didn’t rub against Diluc’s stomach to respect his wishes. He couldn’t touch himself, either, lest he release his grip on the back of Diluc’s coat.

“Your feathers are out of place…” said Diluc all of a sudden. 

“Mmh?” Venti chirped sleepily, then gasped sharply as Diluc touched one wing with both hands, parting his feathers gently. Perhaps he thought he was being gentle, but not having wings himself, he couldn’t imagine how amplified every touch felt. It was such an exquisite form of anguish. 

“...Sorry.”

“It’s--! It’s o-okay, ah…!” Venti’s voice shook like the leaves on the trees around them when he tried to speak. 

“When was the last time you preened them?” asked Diluc, still running his thumb over a feather.

“Preen..? I don’t r-really…” Venti cleared his throat-- get it together . “It’s been a very long time since I’ve even had them out, don’t fault me too much. They aren’t too bad, are they?” He finally picked up his head and tried to get a good look at them. 

Diluc shook his head quickly. “No, they’re… magnificent, really. But if you wanted I could, ah, I could help? Preen them, I mean. I have some experience keeping birds.” 

Heat stung at Diluc’s face. He had to sound so strange, offering to clean Venti’s wings when the other would probably much prefer a helping hand between his legs instead. To his surprise, however, Venti climbed out of Diluc’s lap and sat with his back to him, spreading his fluttering wings wide. 

“As long as it means you’ll keep touching them, please do whatever you’d like,” Venti smiled over his shoulder. “This is your reward, after all, okay?” 

Diluc nodded, and tried to still the tremor in his hands as much as he could. 

“You know, you’re different than I imagined,” Venti remarked offhandedly. “Your hands are still as capable as when you’re pouring drinks or handling your sword, but they’re much gentler. I didn’t think you suitable for such a soft touch, but you've sure surprised me.” 

Diluc couldn’t find it in him to answer, his stomach already in knots from hearing Barbatos speak of him in such a way. It shouldn’t have been different from the many conversations he’d had with Venti, but it was, somehow. “You’re different, too,” said Diluc. 

“Hmm?”

“You’re noisier,” he finished, and abruptly plucked out a single white feather. The sound Venti made in response was a combination of a moan and a yelp, and he doubled over, his face in his hands. 

Diluc softened, stroking Venti’s wings in apology, a balm for the pain. “Sorry. It was completely bent. It looks like it was the only one, though.”

“Well, I take back what I said about you being gentle!” Venti huffed, bringing his legs up to his chest and hugging them. His erection was still uncomfortably straining against his small shorts, but he could exercise self restraint just this once. He hoped.

“That’s fine. I don’t take back what I said about you being noisy.” Diluc had the nerve to reply as he rubbed a feather between his thumb and forefinger, smoothing it out. Maybe it really wasn’t different from talking to Venti. He didn’t know how to feel about that, entirely. 

“And-- you’ve imagined me?” Diluc asked, calling on Venti’s statement from earlier. If it had been a slip of the tongue, Diluc hadn’t missed it. 

“I…” Venti buried his head in his knees. “What if I have?”

“It would just be ironic if the god I had been fond of for so long had taken a liking to me, as well.”

“I suppose it would.”

For the remainder of Diluc’s work, Venti sat as still as he could, though he will confess to having to bite his knees occasionally to keep quiet. Diluc’s hands worked over his wings professionally, and though it was difficult to keep his hands from dipping between his thighs, he somehow managed. 

When Diluc sat back and muttered “There, all done,” Venti almost couldn’t believe it. 

“Really?” he stretched his back and brought his wings to wrap around so that he could inspect Diluc’s handiwork. They were considerably smoother and softer to the touch, and Venti had almost forgotten how vibrant they could be, glowing like this. 

“Thank you, Master Diluc,” Venti said, turning to kiss him. “I feel a bit more like… myself again.” 

“I’m glad to have been of some help,” replied Diluc, happy to return to these clumsy, enthusiastic kisses. Venti’s wings fluttered happily behind him as he parted his lips and allowed Diluc’s tongue to meet his. With Venti in his lap again, Diluc realized how long he had to have been waiting to have the throbbing between his legs taken care of. Summoning his confidence, Diluc squeezed at Venti’s thigh a few times before reaching his neglected cock.

Venti arched his back and pushed a groan past his lips into Diluc’s. Pressed so close, Diluc could rely on touch alone to guide his hand. He didn’t want to stain Venti’s shorts though, so he hooked a finger and pulled them to sit just below his butt, properly freeing his cock. 

When his hand wrapped around it, already slick from precome, Diluc couldn’t stop himself from reverently whispering “Ah, you’re so small…” 

Venti let out an involuntary squeak as his legs trembled in their position around Diluc’s waist. 

“I can wrap my hand around you so easily, Barbatos,” Diluc continued into Venti’s ear. “Does it feel good, to be so engulfed by me?”

“Yes!” Venti sobbed, his wings coming to wrap around them both, until Diluc could scarcely see anything but pure white feathers. He surrounded Diluc in his own way, hanging off of him. “Please, please move your hand, I can’t take it anymore…”

“Anything for you.” With one hand pumping Venti’s leaking cock, the other finding the base of his wing again, Diluc set a rhythm, trying to keep his heart in his chest all the while. The memory of every name Venti had sung that night in Angel’s Share had not left Diluc’s mind since. He wanted to be enough for Venti. He prayed that he was enough. 

Diluc’s thumb pressed into the slit of Venti’s cock and the smaller boy only managed to bite back his scream by muffling his face in Diluc’s chest. He didn’t have nearly enough experience with something like this, but still Venti was more of a wreck than Diluc had ever thought he could be. Even though he’d hand the hand of who knows how many past lovers... it was a lot. 

He sucked flower-shaped marks into Venti’s neck, bleary eyes remembering all the times that he had pleasured himself and thought of the very same god currently in his lap. The nights when Kaeya slept at a lover’s dorm room, and Diluc quieted his head by dipping his hand below the waistband of his sweatpants, needing only to glance out the window at the square to see his own lover’s face silhouetted by so many stars. 

He didn’t have to imagine, anymore. Barbatos--Venti-- Venti was right here in his lap, allowing himself to be taken apart under Diluc’s inexperienced, shaking hand. 

I’ve loved you for so long, Diluc thinks, shutting his eyes against Venti’s shoulder. 

“I know, I-I know,” comes the reply from Venti’s own mouth, and Diluc’s ears burn. He pulls Venti to him as tight as he can, twisting his wrist so that Venti trembles apart, every thought that isn’t about Diluc is struck from his mind-- and there’s never been anyone else. 

How could there have been? 

Diluc manages to catch most of Venti’s spend in his palm as he strokes him through his orgasm, not stopping until Venti pulls away slightly at the overstimulation. 

And then Diluc, ridiculous man that he is, has the audacity to ask “Was it okay?” as the first thing out of his mouth afterward. Venti, still trying to remember the feeling of a normal heartbeat, giggles openly. 

“You tell me-- have you ever seen the Anemo Archon in such a state as this?”

Diluc colors at that. He had been staring as he cleaned his hand with a handkerchief. “I admit I haven’t. Though, now that I have…”

There is that cursed tone of his again. Venti leans his head against Diluc’s chest, his bangs plastered to his forehead with sweat, and he can’t find it in himself to stop smiling. 

“What? Are you going to say you’ll do everything to make me yours? That you don’t want anyone else to have me ever again, now that you’ve had me in such a way? I’ve heard it all before, you know,” he sing-songed.

Diluc stares for a moment, watching the breeze through the grass. “Well, not in so many words, but…” 

“You think you can bottle the wind, Diluc Ragnvindr?”

“I can try.”

Even in the weeks after Windblume, Angel’s Share still remains busy as ever. If there was ever a city to not know when the party was over, it was Mondstat. The tavern still flaunts its regular crowd of residents, off-duty (and some on-duty) Knights, and couples whose honeymoon still hasn’t come to an end-- now with the addition of not a small number of travelers a few days late to the festivities but still wanting to participate.

Venti is singing again. He’s taken his place on the small raised platform Diluc has had installed-- it barely passes for a stage, but it’s the most Diluc can do for his latest live-in bard. What was that old saying about if you can’t beat them, join them? 

“So many new faces in the crowd! I hope you’re finding Mondstat to your liking.” Venti calls out. “A few weeks ago, I graced the lovely folks here with a song about Barbatos.”

Jean lifts her head, interested. “Oh, I must have missed that one. Too bad…”

Rosaria snorts before taking a sip of her ale, and Jean stares, confused. Kaeya gives her a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m not sure it would’ve been to your tastes.”  

“Tonight, if you’d allow me, I’d like to add to that song.” Venti continues saying. “You see, dear audience, Barbatos did eventually find someone special to him. Or, at the very least, someone who he couldn’t bring himself to drift away from. Any guesses who that might have been?” 

Diluc froze. Venti wouldn’t, would he? Shouts rose up from the bustling crowd.

“Rex Lapis, it has to be!”

“A nun, so he’d never be short of worship, right?”

“No, I’ll bet it’s the yaksha, the one people still claim to see around Liyue to this day!”

Venti shook his head. “All good guesses, but no. This fellow is someone much closer than you’d think.”

He absolutely would. Diluc is halfway to the stage when Venti adds. “Of course, It would be improper to name him now, but suffice it to say, he had stolen the Archon’s heart. Would you like to hear the proper ending to the story?”

A chorus of confirmations and excited shouts rings out around the bar. Kaeya grabs the drink Diluc has left unattended on the counter and does the favour of refilling him and Rosaria’s glass, though it earns him a disappointed look from Jean. Diluc stands in the back of the crowd, his arms crossed and heart pounding faster than he’d like to admit. 

And Venti starts to play.

“That would be the end of my tale, were it not for one.

A tired sojourner, who shone like the sun.

Brutish, stubborn, not to mention dense--

it mattered not, their union easily the most enticing hence.

Disguising desire as heavenly recompense, Barbatos allowed himself to be taken,

praying this was the sweetest dream from which he would fail to awaken.

He’d broken his own rule of attachment, you see, but couldn’t help it--

the god had had his own heart stolen, the sojourner the lone culprit.

It went against convictions he’d held dear, yet felt so extremely right;

To be treated like something still worthy of worship on that portentous night.

Under a clear sky, Barbatos relearned how to sing, not realizing he had forgotten

Without a single wanton touch, the sojourner brought the god’s mind to cotton.

So here I could sing of long-standing devotion, of hardship, and of loss

But it would all fall short, would it not?

No, to sing of love still standing is as fickle as the morning breeze

It ebbs and it flows; never truly settles,

Moreso, it wraps all around us, like the very softest of meadows.

For a god, time’s significance is hard to define, need it even be so;

for mortals, even harder, limited be this thing we call a show.

To find comfort for even a second is a task quite tough

But to Barbatos, this one moment, in a sea of countless others...

It is enough.”