Chapter Text
Today, like every other day in the City of Ballads, a bard can be found passed out in a tavern.
It’s already a fact of life there, known by every Mondstadt citizens young and old, that the best place to find that strange lad is in Master Diluc’s bar. Usually, one would seek him out for a debt unpaid, and he would wave them away with a cheeky smile, accompanied by a tune on his lips and that beautiful, enchanting music that always seems to flow endlessly from his fingertips, strumming an old lyre.
Today, when Charles come by to begrudgingly poke him awake and remind him of the tavern's closing hours, he's startled to find the bard with tears drying on his cheek, long unconscious. "Hey," the older man says, slightly worried despite himself, "Wake up, Venti."
To his dismay, the other does not even stir. He mumbles something incoherent, burying his face into the crook of his elbow, and Charles lets out a sigh. Master Diluc would not be happy that he's making an exception again, but it's not like they can just kick him out like this. Heaving the bard on his shoulders — he's light, almost disquietingly so — the bartender carefully helps the bard to their break room on the second floor, where he can spend the night.
"— Zhongli..." Venti suddenly cries out in his sleep, a name Charles doesn't recognize, "Don't go — no, you can't —"
"Hey, hey," he soothes, gently patting Venti's cheek to wake him to no avail, "It's okay, you're in Angel's Share. Are you drunk?"
"Zhongli..."
He leaves Venti on the bed, and is about to tuck him in when he sees something in the other's hand.
It's a turquoise brooch, also framed in gold yet somehow different than the one the bard always wears on his chest, grasped tightly in those fingers like he's afraid to let go. The gemstone glows softly in the moonlight to a certain rhythm, almost like the pulse of a heartbeat.
Left to his own devices, Venti curls up into himself on the twin bed, protectively clutching the piece of jewelry. He mutters some truly heart-wrenching apologies, seemingly still in the midst of a terrible nightmare, and Charles throws him one last look of pity before he leaves.
It's not until a disgruntled Diluc interrogates him the next morning that Charles realizes. Venti was not drunk.
——
It's nearly unheard of for Morax to seek him out first. Barbatos hums at the letter, a written invitation. The God of Contracts' insignia on the back is real.
They meet in the middle as they always do, a cant of his lover's head as he lands on the cliff above Stone Gate, as elegant as a summer breeze. There's a smile on the Geo Archon's face, and Morax is looking at him with something so tender in those eyes.
He laughs into his fist. "Why, it is most unusual of you to seek out a humble bard, my lord."
"Just for today, I'll tolerate your tomfoolery," the other god shakes his head, but it's all fondness and melancholy. Has it really been that long since they last seen each other?
"Oh, I'm flattered," he pushes aside doubt in his mind, settling into the empty spot in Morax's lap, his rightful throne. Morax sputters out a laugh — yet another warning sign he should've seen coming, his lover is nothing but elegant — before wrapping those arms around him.
Barbatos feels his face heating up. He's about to question this sudden display of affection when he feels Morax's breath against the shell of his ear. "I brought tea, you know," he says, a soft whisper that makes goosebumps rise on the bard's skin, "And wine for you, too."
That snaps him out of his haze. "Okay, what is it?" The wind god raises an eyebrow, turning around to look at his lover face to face. "You're acting really suspicious, blockhead. I'd ask if you've done something wrong, but you're not the kind to hide that sort of stuff from me."
Morax averts his eyes, and Venti blinks in surprise. Avoiding confrontation?
"Zhongli," he says this time, reaching up with both hands cupping those cheeks to get that molten gaze on him again, "Is...is something wrong?"
"...No," his lover says, and he doesn't buy it one bit.
He must've been grimacing, because that same unpleasant expression is reflected on the taller man's face. "You know you can trust me," Venti says, putting as much reassurance as he can muster behind those words. He might have a reputation of being careless, but he loves Morax.
Zhongli seems to deflate in his embrace, tension fizzling out of him like a balloon. He can't help but chuckle a little; what important thing must his blockhead have been agonizing about for it to get this bad? But he waits, patient. After all, Morax always waits for him.
An eternity and a minute later, the man raises his head from the crook of Venti's neck, until they're looking at each other again. There's the faintest smile as he asks, "Can I kiss you?"
Venti laughs, flicking his forehead playfully. "Why are you asking, dummy? I'm yours."
They meet as easy as breathing, lips pressing against lips in a reunion softer than velvet that quickly grows hurried. Fingers weaving in each other's hair and pulling as Venti rises onto his knees, their teeth clacking almost painfully in their rush to inhale each other. It's been too long, he thinks, before yelping when Zhongli nips on his bottom lip a bit harsher than he's used to, demanding entrance. He parts willingly — of course, that's what love is to him — and pulls back when they're both panting too hard to continue.
"You brute," he mumbles.
A laugh in the infinitesimally small space between them, fanning across his kiss-swollen lips. "Sorry," Zhongli whispers sheepishly, and his lashes are ticklish against Venti's cheek, "I couldn't help myself."
"As if you ever lack self control."
"When it comes to you? Always."
Venti merely hums, too flustered to risk saying anything that might embarrass himself further. This blockhead...who taught him how to flirt? Insufferable.
"I trust you've had your fill?" His mouth runs off against his better judgement anyways, the desire to tease too great.
"Mhm, not quite." Zhongli grins, and he's almost devilishly handsome like this. Venti wants to push him back onto the grass and crawl on top of him and kiss him silly until he's mindless with it. "After all, I probably won't get to kiss you again for a long time."
All the thoughts in his head grind to a halt.
"...What do you mean by that?"
His lover only looks at him sadly, not saying anything.
"Hey—"
"I'd like to give you a gift," Venti blinks, unsure of where this is coming from. He grips Zhongli's hand. "Something to remember me by."
"Where are you going, then?"
"Will you accept my present for you?"
"...Are you going to answer me?"
Morax says nothing, and it's starting to scare him. It's like he's watching a whole different person as his lover reaches into a coat pocket and pulls out a neatly wrapped box.
Small and square. Suspiciously looking like it might hold a ring.
Venti stares at it.
Fear grips him in instincts, and he wants to run. There's no way Morax is proposing...is there? They have already agreed that commitment isn't for them — isn't for him.
"It's not what you think it is," Zhongli laughs, and Venti startles at the sound. Was his panic that apparent?
Long, gloved fingers slowly undo the silk ribbon bow, and the box opens to reveal a turquoise brooch framed in golden ivy, glittering in the sunlight.
"Oh," he sighs in relief, mesmerized by the gift, "It's beautiful."
Zhongli smiles. "It's the color of your eyes."
"You sappy blockhead, you scared me!" The bard scolds, hitting his lover lightly on the chest. It feels like he's trying to slap a brick wall. "I thought I was the weird, cryptic one between us. What was all that about?"
The fondness wilts on the earth god's face.
"Barbatos," he says, "Please, listen."
"What—"
"I trust you with my life, beloved."
"I know that; bad idea, really —"
"With my life."
There's a beat of silence as the words sink in, and Morax breaks their eye contact, as if he can't bear to look at his own lover anymore.
"What are you talking about?"
"I don't have much time left," he whispers in lieu of an explanation. He's clasping Barbatos' hand with both of his own now, and there's desperation in the gesture somehow, "It's starting, and I need to stop it before it's too late."
"You're not making any fucking sense!" Venti finally snaps, a rare lapse in his usual sunny demeanor. But Zhongli is really freaking him out now, with all this talk and actions that just doesn't — "Stop talking like you're going to die."
"Gods can't die," Morax says, simply, "But I..."
Venti curses his weakness for the man. Now is the time for answers, but he can't help softening at the anxious expression on the Geo Archon's face. That alone is already alarming enough, but his lover also refuses to let go of his hand.
"...What's wrong, my dragon? Can you not tell me?" he lowers his voice, careful of being overheard despite the fact that they're alone and the winds would quiet in his command, "Is it them? Did Celestia give you another suicide mission?"
Zhongli shakes his head. "No. This has been a long time coming. I naively thought that stepping down would be enough to buy me a bit more time with you," he laughs, and there's bitterness in the sound, an emotion venti has never witnessed before. "Enough time to finally work up the courage to ask you to marry me, maybe. Make a family."
He looks up then, and his eyes are sad, filled with so much misery and regret that Venti could drown in it.
"I'm sorry," Morax says, the corner of his lips pulling up into a smile. "I'm afraid I won't get to feel you again in this lifetime, my lovely songbird. You see, I thought I should just slowly disappear from your life. Archons know you've had enough grief on your soul. But I...I'm so selfish," the god breaks into a wet chuckle, and Venti finally springs into action, cradling his lover.
He's so warm.
"What—what's happening to you?" His voice shakes, in the same rhythm as Morax's trembles in his arms.
"Erosion, my love. This body will soon crumble into nothing, and if my mind remains I will lose control and lay waste to this land."
"So...so your solution is to end yourself?"
Zhongli sputters out a laugh. There are tears trailing down his cheeks, and his face flushes with all the desperation of a farewell. "I wish I was that noble, my love. But no. I—I can't bear the thought of never feeling your presence again."
"Then—"
Something hard and cold gets pushed into Venti's palm, and he jerks his head up to stare at his lover.
"...The brooch?"
"Ha, a bit unconventional, isn't it? To think I would take a page out of her book. It truly is a pity that I won't get to learn the meaning of her eternity."
"You can't be serious." And yeah, maybe denial at this stage is already too late. Zhongli is looking at him like it's the last time he'd get to do this, drinking in every single detail that makes up who he is not as a god, but as a man. "You...you can't be serious."
"Oh, Barbatos, please don't cry —"
"Please don't go," he's begging now, hands clutching the lapel of Morax's coat, a white knuckled grip, "I...I can't lose you too. Please."
The earth god cups his cheek so tenderly, like he might break. "But my love, I will be here with you."
His finger strokes the surface of that brooch, the multifaceted cuts on the gem until it warms. "I will be by your side, always. You are the only one I would entrust the essence of my being to. You hold my heart."
There are tears in his eyes. "But I want to hold you. I want to hold you, and kiss you, and argue with you, and — and make love to you," he cries, increasingly frantic with the need to pull his lover closer. "I want to tell you good morning, and come up behind you with a hug while you cook, and take a stroll with you every night. There's so much we haven't done — please, you can't just leave!"
He's shocked to find Morax weeping too, quiet little sobs escaping from him like he can't help it.
"I'm sorry, Barbatos. I...I love you."
And the way he says it, like it's a goodbye, is the last thing Venti hears.
There's a blinding golden shower of light, and the smell of ozone in the air, before the silk he's been holding onto so desperately fizzles out of existence.
And Barbatos sits there, all alone.
The brooch in his hand clatters onto the ground, blends in with a field of grass. The unshed tears blur his vision, but he can still see how the gem glows with a new presence. Divinity etched onto its surface, that familiar aura of Geo.
He picks it up. It's warm to the touch, like body heat. The god weeps, quietly.
"...You're so cruel, Morax. So, so cruel."
He sits there in the land between their nations for archons knows how long, cradling what's left of his lover in his hands. Soon the moon rises, bathing his unmoving figure in silver light.
Nobody comes for him — they don't know where he is, nor are they concerned.
The only one whom he would ever belong to now sits on his palm, and Venti lets out a sigh before he fastens it to his chest. The brooch thrums, then, almost a delighted hum as if it recognizes the rhythm of his heartbeat. As if it's ecstatic to be close to him.
He laughs wetly, pressing it closer to his own body. "Morax, you pervert."
Slowly, he makes the descent, following the road back until he can see windmills towering over his beloved city. It's almost callous, how grief is so familiar to him that the wind simply continues to blow.
Some day, when the next calamity falls, he thinks he might just quietly allow it to run its course. At least then he will be reunited with Morax, in whichever realm gods go to when they finally dissolve back into their elements.
For now, a drink sounds...good.