Bardven Event

He sighs, a little frustrated. Sits up. Stretches his wings out, out, out with a small yawn.

The breeze is cool when it swirls around him. He lets it play with his feathers, lets it twirl around curiously over the fabric of his clothes.

When the wind begins to get more curious, and surrounds him in biting, almost freezing air, Venti pulls the cloak around him tighter. He cannot feel cold, not really, but this type of wind is a bit of an uncomfortable sensation.

And—he thinks, pulling the cloak halfway up his face—it is also an excuse to use Cecil’s cloak.

Though, with that, he is reminded of the reason why he cannot sleep.

He curls his wings in, folding them around his body, as some sort of feathery cocoon. The winds scatter at this, fluttering around and around him.

It is a bit of a silly reason, really.

Ah, simply, Venti… well. In truth, he does not necessarily need sleep, but it is. Nice. And the reason for his inability to sleep is that, perhaps, living together for…. so long, uh…

Venti sighs forlornly.

He cannot sleep without Cecil.

They have been by each other’s side for quite some time, so being separated feels… strange. He misses his friend’s warmth, the beating of a heart, the soothing lullabies.

He misses how Cecil’s hair would always be messy when he awoke, the soft laughter when Venti ran his hand through it, the retaliation as Cecil ruffled his hair.

He… he misses Cecil.

However. Cecil did not want to come this time. And he will respect that.

(That is precisely the reason why he has the cloak. They had figured some problems would arise, if one of them ever left the other for an uncertain amount of time.

It is meant to be a comfort.)

Though… hm….

Venti could go back? He is not quite sure how long it has been since he left, so, perhaps….

Hmmmmm. Hmm, hmm.

He snuggles into the cloak, until it squishes his cheeks, and presses his nose against the fabric. The wind dances around his form, poking and prodding.

This certainly should not be such a hard decision! Venti misses Cecil, so he should go back to see his dearest friend, yes?

And he should do that right now, yes?

…….

Venti does not move.

He groans, falling back onto the ground; his wings splaying out on the grass. These wretched what-ifs! Cecil will not be mad or, or annoyed. He will be overjoyed to see him!

Yes, yes, overjoyed! Even when Venti had left their home back in—His time, Cecil was oh so happy to see him return! Why, he had even given him many forehead kisses!

Invigorated (and a little desperate), he swiftly stands up, the winds around him beginning to kick up as he does so. His wings spread out, brilliant and elegant, before flapping—

He pauses.

Carefully, he pulls the cloak off of his body, and folds it. He then sends it to his pocket dimension.

A nod. Now he is ready!

His wings stretch out, flapping once, twice, and—off he goes!

Soaring through the sky, he twists and twirls in the air. Beneath him, the land rapidly changes. Going from a brilliant green, to a frosty blue, to a wooden—

He tumbles. In his attempt to come to a stop, he nearly flies into a tree.

Flying is still a bit difficult in this form…

Shaking it off, he looks ahead, at the city of Mondstadt. A soft smile pulls at his lips—no matter the time, Mondstadt always looks so beautiful.

He flies closer, scanning the city, looking for—ah, there!

With a twirl, the wind swirls around him, until he and it are one in the same. He glides down, breezing past buildings of every kind, until a certain house comes into view.

It is a humble abode, really. Cecil and Venti made sure of it to be.

Looking similar to all the other houses in Mondstadt—the only few differences being the wind chimes hung from the porch’s ceiling, and the many potted Windwheel Asters and Cecilia’s on said porch.

As Venti hovers closer to the house, the wind chimes begin to sway and sing from his wind.

(Inside the house, Cecil stumbles at the sound. He rushes to the front door, knowing who it was from.

Venti squeezes himself through a window right before the door bursts open.)

He sets down, invisible feet grazing the wooden floor, by a corner in the room. The wind dissipates and scatters from his form, and he is returned to his visible and corporeal body.

The door clicks shut.

Venti watches and waits as Cecil turns, a stack of papers in hand. His wings tremble in anticipation, wanting to launch himself at his friend.

They lock eyes.

Cecil stares, a million expressions crossing his face, until he lands on a hopeful disbelief.

“Venti?” He murmurs. Then—

His wings puff up in surprise when Cecil drops everything in his hands onto the floor, and begins to sprint towards him.

He trips, right before—ah.

Venti is enveloped in a warm hug.

Wasting no time, he returns the hug, holding onto his dear friend as tight as possible. He even wraps his wings around Cecil!

(Though, he is very careful to not squeeze his friend too tightly. Last time he did that, he nearly broke a bone…..)

Except—Cecil seems to share his thoughts. He clutches onto Venti, his nails digging into the back of his robe.

“Oh,” he breathes, sounding as though he were choking back a sob. It makes Venti’s chest twist. “Venti, Venti, how glad I am to see you again!”

There is a sniffle, this time. It is just as devastating as that choked sob. Worse, somehow.

Cecil nuzzles into his neck, a content smile on his lips, and Venti tenses. Horrified at the wet sensation that follows soon after.

Oh no. No, no, no.

This is worse than if Cecil were to be angry. If he were to curse him out for leaving, for… abandoning them all. (A rather unreasonable thought, he knows. It is just….)

He made his friend cry.

Frantically, he pulls away—Cecil making a soft sound of protest. He cups his friend’s cheeks, presses their foreheads together, and begins to murmur words of assurance: I am back, it is okay, please do not fret…

Venti quiets when two hands reach up and guide his own away.

“These are happy tears, friend,” Cecil reassures, soft and gentle, “you need not worry.”

“Oh.”

His wings flutter and puff, bashful.

He must be quite the sight, now. Round eyes, small splatterings of teal on his cheeks, glowing braids….

A soft laugh leaves his friend. He smiles, leaning forward to nestle his head against the crook of Venti’s neck once more.

“I do appreciate that you made sure I was okay,” Cecil says, fondly. His hair brushes against Venti’s nose, and the ticklish sensation causes him to sneeze.

Cecil tries to hide his amusement at this, in a valiant manner. He then purposely nuzzles his head into the robes.

As a retaliation, Venti summons a small gust of wind between them. Both as a way to dry his dear friend’s tears, and to mess up his hair, just a tad bit.

He laughs, once more. There is a pinch to Venti’s robes.

When the laughter fades, that smile—drops. A heavy sigh follows after, and he is left as the only thing holding up his friend when Cecil leans all of his weight into him.

“I thought,” a pause, “I thought you would be gone longer. Did you get there earlier?”

“No, I…. ehe, never got there.”

Cecil shoots up, careful not to knock their heads together.

“Never?!” His grip on Venti’s robes tightens. “Was there an emergency? Did something happen? Do we need to—”

“Ah, no, no! Nothing like that! Everything is okay, I promise.”

His grip slackens.

“Then…?”

“I missed you, is all.”

Cecil stares, wide eyed and baffled.

He pulls away, the hands falling from his face. Reaches up, up, up to brush away Venti’s bangs.

His wings flutter, happy and joyful, as a kiss is pressed to his forehead. Cecil lingers, for a moment, before leaning back.

“I missed you, too,” he murmurs. “Terribly so.”

“O-Oh? Terribly?” Venti repeats. His wings twitch as an idea begins to form. “Hmm, that simply must not do! I must make up for this!”

Gently pushing away from Cecil, Venti swings his head around, and—

He pauses. Finally takes in the state of the room.

There are papers nearly everywhere. Blankets scattered about, a jar of quills knocked over, the table is askew….

That is not all of it, not at all. The room looks as though it had been torn apart.

He turns back to Cecil, who is beginning to look rather nervous, and fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves. Are those… ink stains, on his clothing?

“Please do not give me that face. I promise it was not like this for a while.” Cecil whines.

Still eyeing the stains, Venti asks, “How long has it been, then?”

“Erm….”

“Songbirddd—”

“Only a few days!” Cecil exclaims, flailing his arms out. They still, suddenly, before being brought back against his chest. “Three, give or take. Four…?”

Venti places his hands on his hips, as he gives his friend a stern look.

He brightens a moment later, and straightens up with a jump as he clasps his hands together in excitement. Not long after, his expression morphs into a somber one.

Clearing his throat, Venti adopts a rather theatrical voice, and says, “After a long period, the Anemo Archon has finally returned! And their first act back will beee…”

Cecil tilts his head.

A squeak of surprise escapes him when Venti steps forward and picks him up!

He spins them around once, then twice, before falling to a stop. A small breeze dances around them joyfully, and it matches the grin on Venti’s face.

Still holding his friend up, he continues, “….to make sure their dearest prince gets well deserved rest!”

Cecil blinks, bewildered. His expression then shifts into something more… fond. Soft, and kind, and nice.

“Oh, that sounds wonderful. And very sweet of you, too, hehe.” He begins, and Venti’s wings droop at the tone of his voice. “This is an offer I must refuse, however. I truly apologize, there is still much to be done.”

Cecil is set back onto the ground. There is a very prominent pout on Venti’s face.

“Oh, come now. Please do not make that face.” Cecil reaches out to brush back his bangs. The pout does not leave. “It will only take a little while, promise. We can cuddle, if you would like. I am nearly….”

He trails off as his eyes catch on the pile of papers on the table, and the mess beside it. His brows knit together, a little distraught.

“Um… well, I thought I had more papers finished…”

He brings his arms up, toying with the ruffles of his blouse.

“It… it is pretty late, no?” He murmurs. “And my head is beginning to feel a little funny…”

A glance at the room. A small wince. A small sigh.

“Okay, okay, you got me. I suppose we shall head off to the land of nod?”

Success!

Venti steps closer to his friend, holding out his arms. Cecil huffs, amused, and nods once—to which Venti immediately responds to by scooping him up into a bridal style.

He adjusts his hold, jostling his friend slightly. “Comfortable?”

“Mmm…” Cecil leans his head against him. “Very. Thank you, little one.”

Venti beams at him, before making his way to their room. There is a small bounce in his steps as he goes—wings flapping happily behind him.

(Of course, he does make sure to send a tiny gust of wind into the room. It swirls around, picking up all the stray papers and placing them into a neat pile!

It even fixes up the table, quills, and thrown about blankets.)

The halls of this house are rather spacious; built specifically so that Venti may walk through them with his wings open or folded. He rarely ever knocks into anything.

At least—supposedly, he is not to be knocking anything down. Admittedly, he is still getting adjusted to this form….

Humming a small tune, Venti carefully maneuvers around a bookshelf; pushing open the door besides it. Walking over to their bed, nestled right against one of the corners of their room, he gently sets Cecil upon it.

The bed creaks as Venti moves back.

Here, laid upon soft quilts and pillows, under the soft moonlight trickling in through the spaces of the curtains—does Venti see how truly exhausted his friend is.

The dark circles under his eyes, the tangles in his hair, the slump of his shoulders, how he seems to practically melt into the sheets—to name a few.

(Belatedly, Venti realizes he is much the same. There is dirt and leaves in his wings, his robes stained green. A worried crease to his brows, a tenseness to his entire body.

The trip took… more out of him than he thought it did.)

“Would you like to change out of your clothes?” He asks, softly. “Or would you like to simply sleep?”

Cecil hums, low in his throat. He looks half asleep already. “Change, please. Thank you greatly.”

“Of course. It is Barbatos’ duty to care for all in Mondstadt.” He reaches over to lightly pinch at Cecil’s cheeks. “Especially a certain wily bard.”

“Hee, the bard is not that wily….”

“Hmm, maybe so. However, he is quite stubborn, as well as quite the trouble maker. Or, so Barbatos has heard.”

Cecil sits up ever so slightly, opening his mouth as if to protest, before snapping it shut. He falls against the bed and turns away, a little bashful.

The statement is true, they would hardly be where they are now if he did not get into as much trouble as he did…..

“The trouble has gone down….” He says, weakly. A bold-faced lie; he is still finding himself in difficult and worrisome situations. “… a little.”

Venti chuckles, ruffling his hair, then turns away from him. With a flick of his wrist, the drawers of the wooden closet open, glowing teal.

He rummages through it, picking out a sweater embroidered with flowers, boxers, and loose, flowy pants.

Pivoting on his heel, he flicks his wrist again, and the drawers are gently shut. Faint traces of Anemo rise away from the wood and dissipate.

“Here, my friend,” Venti gently calls, to a Cecil who looks as though he has fallen asleep already. “Are you…?”

“Mmm… still awake, promise.”

He opens his eyes, enough that Venti can just barely make out the lovely steel-grey of them. Sitting up, he extends his hands out, a tired smile gracing his lips.

The clothes are gingerly set into his awaiting palms.

“Thank you.” Cecil pats at the clothing, then brings them toward his chest. “It is much appreciated, little song. Perhaps tomorrow…. we can bake something?”

Venti’s wings flap, overjoyed at the idea. “Can we? That sounds absolutely wonderful!”

“Hee, of course we can.” The bed creaks as Cecil moves off the bed. “Mmm, that settles it, then? An apple flavored delight, first thing tomorrow.”

“….tomorrow afternoon,” Venti suggests.

Cecil takes a moment to consider. Then, he nods.

“Alright, tomorrow afternoon. Now, could you, ah… would it be okay for you to turn around?”

Venti does just that, only to catch his eyes on his robes. Gently, he grabs at the edges of them, pulling lightly. They are stained…

An easy fix; his body glows a soft teal, and, poof! A long-sleeved, frilly top that goes past his thighs, and shorts.

Satisfied, he hums a small tune, one he learned from Cecil, and begins to busy himself with the items of the room.

He piles together the music sheets and notes scattered across their desk, straightens out the framed pictures, dusts off the shelves, blows a breeze through the potted Windwheel Asters on the windowsill, levitates a—

“Having fun?”

The Anemo encompassing the carved, wooden finch trembles for a moment, and Venti turns, wide-eyed.

Cecil is sat reclined on the bed, his hands splayed out behind him, and feet lightly touching the floor. The sweater is a tad bit big on him, hanging slightly off his shoulder.

“Much fun,” he replies, and places the finch back on the table. “Are you ready for the land of nod?”

“Mhm. Are you?”

Venti blinks.

Cecil attempts to hide his smile behind a hand. “Your wings, little one.“

Said wings fluff up, and he spins around, trying to get a good look at them. Perhaps laying in the dirt, surrounded by everything nature, was not the greatest idea when you have feathers.

A giggle slips through Cecil’s fingers. “If you would like, I could groom them for you?”

That does sound lovely. However….

“Are you not tired?”

“Extraordinarily,” Cecil sighs. “Though, I cannot imagine sleeping with sticks in your feathers would be comfortable.”

He scoots back on the bed. Pats the space in front of him invitingly.

Venti hesitates for one beat. He is crawling onto the bed in the next, planting himself directly in front of his friend.

A hand grazes the outer feathers, before it begins to carefully, and methodically, brush out all the sticks and pebbles and dirt from his wings.

As he works, Cecil sings a lovely song under his breath, one he made himself; about a boy and his wind spirit, and all the adventures they have gone on, and the ones to come.

Put together, all of this does a very good job of making Venti awfully sleepy. When Cecil pulls away and mutters a soft, “done,” he is struggling to stay sitting up.

There is a soft tug at his elbow.

“Hehe, come now, little bird. Before you fall off the bed,” Another tug.

His wings twitch, then fold in. Cautiously, Venti turns, so as to not knock his friend over with his wings.

The sheets rustle as they both lay down and make themselves comfortable on the bed. When they’re both satisfied, Cecil throws a quilt over the top of them.

The night is quiet. This—huddled in a bed, with the moonlight washing the room in a soft glow, and the curtains swishing gently….

Ah, how he has missed this.

Arms wrap around him. They nudge, gentle, and Venti is far too happy to scoot closer, snuggling into Cecil’s chest.

His friend laughs at his eagerness. One arm reaches up, beginning to card through Venti’s hair.

“Goodnight, little wisp.” A kiss is pressed to the top of his head. “Sweet dreams.”

“I always have sweet dreams when I am with you,” Venti replies, a little cheeky.

Cecil grumbles into his hair—something about being “unfair.”

“I swear,” he begins, “you always say the most loveliest things when I am least expecting it. How lucky you are, friend, that my brain is foggy—else I would put the charm on…”

Venti smiles into the crook of his neck. He does make sure to say these lovely words when Cecil is not expecting them—his reactions are simply the best!

Hehe, it is a little difficult to fluster his friend, after all, and Venti is still learning how to string words together in a poetic way. So he will take any win he gets.

“Goodnight, dove,” He whispers, wrapping his arms around Cecil’s waist, and his wings around both of them. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Then—

“Do be careful tomorrow. I will be showering you in every affectionate and loving words I know, swear on it.”

Venti barks out a laugh.

“Looking forward to it, friend,” he says, voice low and soft.