#dehydration

A familiar, honeyed voice slid into your ear.

“Darling, you’re walking like you’ve just lost the house in a bad hand.”

You turn to see Aventurine, all peacock-feather poise and infuriating ease. Even in the swelter, not a single strand of his sandy-blond hair seemed out of place. His rose-tinted glasses glinted as he looked you over, gaze sharp enough to cut through your daze.

“I’m fine,” you manage, though your voice feels scratchy in your throat.

“Mmh. And I’m a philanthropist who’s never conned a soul,” he drawled. His magenta and cyan eyes narrow. “You’re flushed, swaying, and your lips are practically cracking. Tell me, what part of that says ‘fine’?

You try to wave him off, but he’s already stepping closer, his coat’s fur trim brushing your arm. “Let me guess… no hat, no shade, no water?” His tone is teasing, but there’s a thread of steel underneath.

“I forgot,” you mutter.

“Forgot,” he repeats, lips curling. “You’ve forgotten three times this week alone. At this point, I’m beginning to think you enjoy collapsing dramatically in public.”

Before you can protest, he presses a chilled metal flask into your hand. You blink at it. “Where did you—”

“Trade secret,” he cuts in with a wink. “Drink. And not just a dainty sip. All of it.”

You take a cautious mouthful, the cool water reviving you instantly. He watches you closely, leaning in just enough that his voice drops low. “You’re no good to me if you pass out halfway through a stroll. Bad odds.”

Your brows furrow. “Bad odds?”

“Exactly. If you’re betting your health against the sun without so much as a decent ante, the house always wins.” He tilts his head. “And I’m the house, sweetheart. I intend to win — which means you don’t get to lose.”

The firmness in his tone catches you off guard. You’ve seen Aventurine banter, bluff, manipulate — but this is different. This is him staking a claim, a line he won’t let you cross.

You drain the flask, and he takes it back, satisfied. Without asking, he slides his own wide-brimmed hat off his head and settles it on yours. “Looks better on you,” he says smoothly, though you catch the faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Won’t you need it?” you ask.

He shrugs, already steering you toward the shade of a nearby colonnade. “I’ll manage. Unlike you, I can remember the basics of survival in warm weather.”

You roll your eyes, but the shadow feels like a blessing. Aventurine’s hand stays light on your back, guiding without pushing. “Next time,” he says, “you’ll wear the hat, you’ll carry water, and you’ll stay in the shade.”

“Or what?” you challenge.

“Or,” he says with a slow grin, “I’ll have to escort you personally everywhere you go. And trust me, darling — that’s a gamble you won’t win.”

The marketplace was stifling — not because of its crowd, but because the midday heat radiated off every surface. You’d been browsing aimlessly, half-aware of the dizziness creeping in, when a voice cut through the haze.

“You’re dehydrated,” Ratio said flatly, appearing beside you like a verdict.

You startle. “What—?”

“Your skin tone is warmer than usual, your gait is uneven, and your pupils are sluggish. The diagnosis isn’t difficult.” His eyes hold you still as if daring you to deny it.

“I’m fine,” you say weakly.

His gaze sharpens. “You’re not. And before you attempt some feeble argument — yes, I noticed you’ve been out here for hours without water, shade, or any reasonable head covering. Again.”

You wince under the precision of his words. Ratio doesn’t raise his voice, but the weight of his logic is more than enough.

“Why does it matter?” you mumble.

“It matters,” he says, “because watching someone disregard such basic preventative measures offends me on two levels — intellectual and personal.” He pulls a small, capped bottle from a satchel slung over his shoulder and places it firmly into your palm.

“I can get my own water—”

“You had three hours to do so. You didn’t.” His tone is clipped, efficient. “Drink. Slowly. Otherwise you’ll shock your system.”

You obey, sipping while his gaze lingers on you — not impatient, but assessing. “You have a pattern,” he continues. “You underestimate the consequences of heat. You forget hydration. And when the predictable symptoms manifest, you brush them aside.”

You stare down at the bottle. “…It’s not like I do it on purpose.”

“I never said you did. But willful neglect and habitual oversight lead to the same result.” His bluntness should sting, but there’s an undercurrent there — a genuine frustration born of concern.

Once you finish the water, Ratio takes the empty bottle and tucks it away. “If you can’t remember, I’ll remember for you,” he says simply. “From now on, if you leave without adequate hydration or sun protection, I’ll be there.”

You blink. “…Like a chaperone?”

“A preventative measure,” he corrects. “I’d rather expend my time ensuring your well-being than waste it reviving you after a collapse.”

Despite the matter-of-fact delivery, you catch the faintest curve of his mouth. It’s not quite a smile, but it softens the edges of his precision. “Besides,” he adds, “the logic is sound — I am the more heat-tolerant of us, and you are… impulsive.”

You snort. “That’s your polite way of saying I’m reckless, isn’t it?”

“I don’t believe in politeness when accuracy will do.” He starts walking toward a shaded side street. “Come. We’ll discuss better strategies for future excursions. And you will listen, because unlike your current approach, mine will not end with you unconscious in a public square.”

The summer breeze was nowhere to be found. Instead, Mondstadt’s plaza baked under a glaring sun, the cobblestones shimmering. You sat on the fountain’s edge, fanning yourself half-heartedly, head light and thoughts sluggish.

A shadow fell across you. “Well, well… the sun claims another victim,” a lilting voice teased.

You look up to see Venti, smiling down at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief — and something softer. “What are you doing out here, windblume? You look ready to melt into the stones.”

“I was… walking,” you say, though the word feels like an overstatement.

“In this heat? With no hat? No water?” He tuts, perching beside you. “Tsk tsk, you’re making it far too easy for the sun to win.”

“It’s not that bad—”

He leans in close, his braids brushing your arm. “You’re flushed, swaying, and your lips are dry. That’s bad enough to make even a carefree bard worry.” His tone is still playful, but the concern is real.

From somewhere under his cape, he produces a skin of cool water and presses it into your hands. “Drink, my dear. Before you faint and I have to compose a dramatic rescue ballad — though I admit, that could be fun.”

You take a long drink, the coolness a relief. Venti watches, humming a cheerful tune under his breath. When you finish, he plucks his hat from his head and sets it on yours. It droops a little over your eyes.

“There,” he says brightly. “Now you’re dressed for survival! And fashion. Two birds, one stone.”

You smile faintly. “Won’t you get too hot without it?”

He shakes his head, the wind catching the ends of his hair. “The wind and I are old friends — it looks after me. You, however, seem to forget to look after yourself.”

“I don’t mean to,” you murmur.

“I know.” He leans back on his hands, gazing up at the sky. “That’s why you have friends like me. I’ll be the breeze at your back, nudging you toward the shade, the water, the little things that keep you standing.”

There’s a softness in his voice now, a note beneath the melody. You glance at him, catching the faraway look in his eyes — the kind that comes when he remembers things older than the city itself.

He catches your gaze and grins again, the moment folding back into lightness. “So, deal? I keep you from boiling under the sun, and you promise not to give me inspiration for a tragic heatstroke ballad?”

You laugh, nodding. “Deal.”

“Good!” He hops up and offers his hand. “Come on, windblume. Let’s find some shade — I know a spot with the best breeze in all Mondstadt.”

When you take his hand, his grip is warm but steady, and the moment you step into the cool shadow of the cathedral’s archway, you feel your head clear. Venti hums again, as if already weaving this into a song — not of tragedy, but of gentle rescue.

you had both abandoned your horses further down the road, the path being too narrow and steep for them. there were times your vision betrayed you: the road seeming to narrow and steep even for you. each step made you sway scarily close to the edge. it was far down, a dangerous drop, you were nauseous just thinking about it.

arthur would occasionally look back, making sure you were still following, trying his best to be reassuring. just a little further now he would say, and you’d nod, too exhausted for words. not to mention the headache that was slowly making itself known.

sweat rolled of you both, evaporating the moment it hit the ground, sizzling like water hitting a hot pan. it was unbearable. you truly wish you had brought more water: carrying the empty water-skin felt like another cruel joke.

“can we,.. –take a break?" you mutter, mouth dry: speaking felt like drinking sand: uncomfortable and sadistic. arthur glanced over his shoulder at you – seeming just as exhausted – though more determined. he always pushed through, not matter what, it was admirable, though a bit foolish at times.

“not much left,.. comon,.. we rest at ‘e top” he decided, continuing forward up the canyon. you huffed, annoyed, tiered, too warm to argue. arthur wasn’t wrong: getting to the top would be your best bet. hopefully there would be shelter, perhaps even water.

your progress was slow, the heat getting to you both. the occasional squawk came from the vultures circling above: had they smelled death slowly crawling its way into you? had they predicted your end? you doubt it, but the thought was still unsettling.

the sun was burning your skin by now. dizziness grew within you. could you even make it to the top? you opened your mouth to speak, to warn arthur, but all you managed was slurred words. with your vision blurring, you reached out: shaking arms grasping at arthur to keep yourself upright. it was no use, the heat took you out, body giving in as and you fainted.

you had no concept of time when you regained consciousness. vision slowly returning, back pressed against cold wood – as cold it could get in this heat. you’d made it to the top: rather arthur had carried you to the top. you smiled weakly at him, still dizzy and nauseous. arthur’s expression was littered with concern and worry.

“‘m alright” your words were still slurred, dizziness lingering in the back of your mind. standing up sent a fresh wave of said dizziness through you: making you slump slightly forward, only for arthur to catch you.

"woah,.. there–“ he allowed you to use him as support, wrapping his arm around your waist to keep you upright “–ye good?”