The skies above are bright and boundless in their blue, while down below, the meadows bloom with flowers new. The winds caress each rainbow petal unfurling into rainbow view, for Windblume has arrived once more, crisp and clean as morning dew.

Windblume is so often a quiet time for Venti, and now is no exception. He skips around the lighthouse, so often barren alongside its silence, as he fills its bright lantern room with all the love songs due to such a pretty season, stringing a chain of windwheel asters along the large, open windows. It’s so nice to have a bit of space to breathe, to think clearly, as Mondstadt’s people seek to take action for themselves, following their own lead as they seek answers to the questions they let linger in the air for far too long.

He pauses for a moment when he’s done, quiet gaze trained on the horizon as the tiniest wrinkle in the sky flickers. Xiao is visiting this year, as he’s wont to do as of late, but Venti already sent him off to pick the flowers from the distant, blossoming fields at the unreachable bounds of his dream.

So then what is this feeling…?

A warm, soft breeze rustles his braids, and soon, a gentle wind sweeps past his face and into the room, carrying the sweet scent of blooming dandelions along with a smattering of dark and fluttering flight feathers. Threads of pure Anemo swirl about, and Venti grabs onto his hat with a grin as the energy builds into the familiar form of a falcon before him.

“Salutations, my dear Dandelion Knight,” he greets, hopping down from the window to offer her an arm to roost. She gracefully accepts, flicking her wings as she settles in, a few more feathers shedding in her wake, and Venti laughs as he gently pets her head. “I trust you had a smooth flight?”

But while Vennessa lets him hug her close to his chest, she does not speak or meet his gaze. Instead, a cloud rolls over the sun, and the room grows cold and shadowed.

Venti lets his dear friend Vennessa go, and she flutters to her usual perch. There, she cocks her head at him, sharpening her gaze: something’s coming.

How long has it been since she was last allowed to visit anyway? This he wonders as he chews the inside of his lip, crouching down both to avoid eye contact and to quietly gather the feathers which fell with her arrival.

(A little worm of guilt twists and gnaws at his stomach.)

A hissing sound, like the long, quiet exhale of a monster lurking over one’s shoulder, manifests behind him. Swiftly pocketing his feathers, Venti turns around to see Xiao materializing in a cloud of green-black mist, and his heart swoops with delight at his arrival.

“Xiao!” he chirps, bouncing right back onto his feet. He’s tempted to trot right up to Xiao, but the yaksha shifts before him, subtle but awkward, as the shadows of his mask flicker uncertainly over his face.

“I brought the flowers you requested,” Xiao tentatively offers, and the massive bundle rustles softly in his arms.

There’s very little distance between them, hardly more than a couple steps, but even so, something shifts in the air between them when the gap narrows. Venti lays a delicate hand on the enormous collection of flowers in Xiao’s arms, the fresh petals cool and soft beneath his fingertips. “Thank you,” he says, and there’s something chained in yearning tying down his voice. (He’s showing too much—!)

Yet, Xiao does not let go of the flowers, even as Venti’s calloused hands brush lightly against his leather gloves. (He wishes he could better see Xiao’s naked face.) Curious, Venti traces his gaze to where Vennessa roosts, and while she looks at him for a moment, she soon tucks her head away.

((“O Barbatos, o westerly wind, please, please hear me…”))

(That same faint lump of guilt presses itself into his throat again.)

Venti swallows his thoughts. “She’s just tired,” he tells Xiao, and when Xiao turns back to him, Venti swears he catches the briefest glint of envy in his golden eyes. Unsure of what to do, Venti gives Xiao’s sleeve ribbon a playful tug away. “Let’s go sort these somewhere else.”

Xiao lingers for a minute.

Venti resists the urge to reach out and cup Xiao’s monstrous face in his hands, chest aching with the restraint, and more than anything, he wishes he could be truthful with Xiao. That he could tell Xiao who he is and why he sleeps. That Xiao could know how much he—

Claws dig into his collarbone, threatening to close around his throat and choke him out. Venti traces his fingers through the leaves and petals of the wildflowers in Xiao’s arms, then withdraws his hand altogether, looking away.

It’s a beautiful day today. The pale blue sky outside is filled with rolling white clouds; the gentle ocean breeze carries with it swathes of petals from all the distant flowers in bloom; tiny sea birds gather and play in the sand and the waves. All of it lies outside the castle grounds, beyond the lighthouse which binds him to this dream.

Venti starts for the castle. Fortunately, Xiao follows him wordlessly away.

(Ah, well, that’s just how things are sometimes, when life is but a dream.)

Venti lets out a long, quiet breath when he reaches the bottom of the stairs and feels the boundless skies floating above his head again. Taking a few steps forward, the joys of freedom, however temporary, overwhelm him, and he twirls around in the open air with a laugh like a windchime. Looking back at Xiao, he grins at the sight of the man’s naked face once more, with eyes wide and bright in such beautiful wonder.

Absently, he brings a hand up to his bangs to tuck them away and fix his hat, and he brushes against the perpetual cecilia tucked into his hair.

“Hey, Xiao!” he calls over the dim roar of the ocean waves. “Let’s pretend you were invited to Mondstadt to be their Windblume Star for the year!”

Xiao scoffs at the very idea, but he doesn’t bite when Venti trots right back up to him and pokes teasingly at his cheek. “What reason would the people of Mondstadt have to extend an invitation to a yaksha from Liyue at all, let alone as one of their guests of honor?”

Venti heaves an exasperated sigh, and the fresh air is so sweet on his tongue and in his lungs. “Just pretend!” he half-chirps, half-whines. “If you were the Windblume Star, which flower would you choose to offer as Windblume?”

Still, Xiao seems uninterested in the question. “Mondstadters are always throwing festivals and inventing entire rituals for the tiniest of minutiae,” he huffs. “What difference does it make whether someone leaves a windwheel aster or a dandelion?”

The playful lightness fades from Venti’s steps as he furrows his brow, puzzled. “…Have I ever told you what the various flowers mean as Windblume?”

Xiao makes a sound, off-guard and baffled. “No,” he replies.

“Is that so?” The wind picks up, and a stream of dandelion seeds float into the sky before them. “Let’s fix that.”

Venti tugs Xiao into the castle parlour, tapping a hand on the large, polished cuihua table at its center to grant Xiao permission to lay down his burden. Obediently, Xiao puts down the flowers as Venti moves to throw each window wide open. The spring breeze blows by his cheeks, and he closes his eyes to savor the life it gives him before skipping back to the table to sit next to Xiao, who’s already hard at work sorting the flowers into neat piles for Venti to weave into crowns and strings and things.

Most of the flowers are fresh— perhaps impossibly so, had this not been but a dream— but Venti notices the edges of a few are still faintly faded. Every one is beautiful, of course, even as one or two appear slightly curled and rusted at the tips, for all offerings are equal before the Anemo Archon, each bloom cherished for its thought.

He weaves together the tales of calla lilies, windwheel asters, and lamp grass with effortless skill and charm, spinning together garlands and wreaths from them all the while. It’s clear as day how much care went into finding each flower, how much reverence was held in their delivery, made all the more apparent as Venti watches, tender fondness swirling through his thoughts, as Xiao picks up a windwheel aster and gently pokes at its pinwheeled petals.

“Windwheel asters are famous in Mondstadt for how much they adore the wind,” Venti explains, propping his chin up by an elbow. “When the breeze is sweet and the land’s at ease, far and wide these little ones grow. So common are they, in fact, that many a year has seen one offered to Barbatos by the Windblume Star.”

Xiao blinks curiously, tilting his head at the sunset-red bloom. He says nothing, but his earnest contemplation is amusing to watch nonetheless.

Venti reaches out to pull another random blossom from the heap, ready to continue his story, but stops, all at once, as the flower transforms in his hands, changing from absent nothingness into dreamy reality— petals emerge from the aether, delicate colors spreading over them like fresh watercolors— and once it’s done, a dandelion, light and fluffy and pale Anemo blue, sits inside his palm.

His voice falls short. He thinks of Vennessa, and all his inner organs twist and tumble within him before they all puke themselves out from the wound in his soul, one after another, and he is left with only emptiness.

You cannot sleep forever, Barbatos.

He doesn’t mean to flinch when Xiao touches him. Venti’s heart damn near bursts right out of his chest in shock, and he has to catch it, quick, and train his face away from fear before he blinks away his thoughts— Xiao is sensitive, after all, and getting far too nosy for his own good. “Sorry about that,” he says sincerely. “I got lost in thought for a moment there.”

Xiao studies him with a sharp-eyed stare that looks none-too convinced.

Venti pretends not to notice, deciding to poke at Xiao’s lingering hand with the fluffy dandelion instead. “Did you know?” he softly asks. “In Mondstadt, they say that dandelions represent a romantic spirit of hope and freedom.”

Xiao’s gaze softens, and his eyes brighten with curiosity, even as the rest of his face remains impassive. “I’ve head only that the Anemo Archon loves the taste of dandelion wine,” he replies, and Venti starts to laugh.

“He most certainly does!” Venti lightly responds. On a whim, he dispels the seeds with a warm breath and summons a few faint wisps of Anemo to guide them, floating, towards Xiao. Pulling another flower from the pile, he holds it up between them and studies how the dappled outdoor light shifts the young dandelion’s color until it matches Xiao’s eyes, wide with wonder. “It’s said that if you blow on a dandelion’s seeds with a wish in your heart, the wind will carry your yearning to the Anemo Archon himself, who then leads them as a message to your love.”

Xiao pulls his own yellow dandelion from the pile and fiddles with it curiously. Venti watches, wholly endeared, as the yaksha picks up the end of a garland and tries weaving it inexpertly in with the others.

“I have a soft spot for dandelions,” the bard explains as he twirls his own little dandelion, so soft and round, between his fingers. “There’s just something about the sight of dandelion seeds dispelling into the breeze that inspires many a poet with ideas of hope and freedom, which is why they’re the symbol of a true hero in Mondstadt.”

Xiao gives up. With a smile, Venti takes his hand, flower and garland still in his grasp, and guides him through the motions.

“Many believe them to be the true identity of the Windblume as a result.”

It is late in the day by this hour; the church is likely in the midst of its afternoon prayers. Somewhere inside Venti, he feels the resonance of a thousand hymns as murmured by a thousand voices all in tandem, deep within his soul. Every hope, every prayer, alight like a flare.

(“Please, my Lord, for I am tired of having strength and being wise…”)

The outside wind wanders in and threads itself through the scant space between them. Venti lets go of Xiao’s hands and busies his own weaving a flower crown out of the stray blossoms scattered around the table. Quietly, they work together for a spell, and then:

“Which flower would you pick as Windblume?” Xiao asks him.

The afternoon sunlight doesn’t fall into the parlour, at least not directly, but the room is still filled with its glow. With the window behind him, Xiao’s face is half-shaded; yet his expression of sincere curiosity remains clear as day.

There’s a cecilia already in his hands, whose Venti tucks between two fingers, then rests his chin on that same palm. “My Windblume, huh?” he muses, restlessly kicking his legs back and forth. He pretends to think about it this way and that, just so that he may admire Xiao’s pretty, shining eyes as he waits, with surprising patience, a little while longer.

And then he laughs, reaching out to lightly dust Xiao’s nose with cecilia pollen. “Funny you should ask when you haven’t answered that yourself yet!”

Xiao wrinkles his nose and turns away, and Venti swears he sees a faint blush coloring the arches of his cheeks. “Qingxin,” he murmurs.

Venti’s heart skips a beat.

Xiao casts his gaze downward. “It’s an herb,” he explains, and his voice, while calm and even, carries with it undertones of regret straining at the edges. “Good for fevers and fatigue, but unbearably bitter when eaten raw, it grows alone, atop the highest stone mountain peaks and above even the sea of clouds, where the air is thin and clear.”

Venti shifts his grip on the cecilia stem in his hands.

(“What a coincidence,” he barely breathes.)

But before he can change the subject, Xiao steals the briefest of glances from him. “And you?” he asks. What’s your Windblume?

Venti opens his mouth, only to close it when he finds his jaw trembling, and once he captures his voice again, it is teasing— “I don’t know, Xiao~” he almost sings. “What do you think I’d choose?”

((I wish I was a little bird…))

Despite the insincerity in his tone, Xiao takes the question sincerely anyway. He reaches out for something, and Venti feels his own heart grow heavy against his chest with its beating, an insane thread of wanting pulling at him as Xiao picks up a cecilia and holds it up to the light to inspect for half a minute. He then spins it slowly between his fingers, the ambient light still enough to make the pale petals glow as he pulls it down towards his face.

(Something in his face flickers, like candlelight; a desire dyed in uncertainty.)

((Is it hunger? Venti wonders. The craving is obvious, even if its exact object is unclear.))

Venti stares, lost in time with all his breath caught in his throat, enraptured by the sight of Xiao’s long, dark eyelashes fluttering as he blinks, studying the cecilia in such perfect reverence. Longing takes root in his throat and captures his lungs, watching and wondering as Xiao buries his focus in that one lonely flower, if perhaps he’d like to…

Xiao touches the tips of the petals to his lips, and Venti feels warmer than spring should allow.

“I don’t know,” Xiao murmurs, voice low and rough with the admission.

(Goosebumps race up Venti’s arms; shivers lace around his throat. Xiao and Venti lock eyes, and in the yaksha’s gaze, the bard feels—)

((“Please, wake up.”))

Xiao looks away, and Venti’s heart bleeds and bleeds and bleeds.

Venti picks up a wreath, crowned with a pair of snow-white cecilias, and drops it playfully atop Xiao’s head. Xiao jolts in surprise. Venti wishes he wouldn’t.

“It’s all right,” he says, only to trail off once he realizes how terribly close their faces are. (If he were to just lean in a little…) He swallows. “There’s one more flower I’ve yet to tell you about.”

A minute passes. Maybe two, or perhaps even an hour. Who’s to say when at the end of the day, this life they share is but a dream?

Xiao raises his hand, and for all of a moment, Venti thinks he’s about to cup his cheek, only to be disappointed when Xiao’s fingertips brush delicately against the cecilia nestled into his hair. He says nothing. Venti dares believe he understands everything.

“That’s a cecilia,” Venti whispers. Daringly, he lifts a hand to touch Xiao’s wrist before he pulls away, and in turn, Xiao stares at him with eyes sharp enough to pierce through any dream. “It’s a lonely flower, just like qingxin.”

(Or so he’d like to believe.)

((Somewhere in his dream, a monster cries, hidden from sight.))

The feathers in his pocket sigh.

“Let’s go outside.”

The sun is low in the sky when they escape the castle walls: as always, time flows differently inside of dreams, in ways Venti has no control over. Soon, night will fall again.

Venti sits on the edge of the stone brick roof with his legs freely dangling and takes in the darkening horizon. Xiao sits silently beside him, about a hand’s breadth away.

Venti takes a quiet breath, taking care to truly feel the space the air occupies in his lungs as he pulls the soft, disheveled feathers from his pocket. “Few today believe the cecilia’s claim to ‘Windblume’,” he says, summoning a breeze to carry that first feather far away. (A pang of loneliness rings through him.) “But, that’s no matter. It has its tale to tell, just like any other.

“Long, long ago, in the days when the Archons still warred,” he begins, pulling on memories fraught with childhood, “in the mountains of Mondstadt lived the Lord of Storms, protected by winds which were sharper than thorns.”

Though his eyes never leave the feathers floating across the dying sky, he senses Xiao’s gaze on him, watching him intently, and Venti is suddenly made just that much more aware of his own conscious breathing. He lays a kiss upon his next feather before setting it free. “But the people were restless, their city a cage; forced into silence, they longed to make change.

“How does one speak without wind there to hear? What lies can be said such that truth doth appear?” The wind pulls at the cecilia in his hair while Xiao remains quiet, attentive as always. Strangely, his attentions only serve to make Venti’s heart ache. “Such were the thoughts that puzzled them so, until one day the Windblume took root in the snow.

“The cecilia once flourished in the outskirts of town, where the storm reigned strongest and never backed down,” Venti explains, and as the sun touches the sea, he steals a glance at Xiao.

His face is bare still, and as beautiful as ever, with his brow furrowed in careful thought. He’s looking for connections, Venti knows, trying to piece together a picture Venti’s only ever offered him in the haziest of strokes.

(What will Xiao see in him?)

((Does he dare hope Xiao will see anything at all?))

The lighthouse comes alive in the corner of his eye. The Gnosis thrums against his ribs. Venti closes his eyes and makes a wish.

“Once the tyrant was deposed and the storm barrier dispelled, Barbatos took over the winds,” he continues, and he feels more feathers take flight from his fingertips. “He cleared the air of ash and smoke, bringing spring through sweet zephyrs and songs of joyous freedom. Now, the windwheel asters grow all over, while cecilias remain solely on the peak of Starsnatch Cliff, blooming high above the sea, with only the lonely winds to keep them company.”

Silence lingers for all of a moment. Venti opens his eyes and lets go.

The memory of his spritehood permeates the air, both weightless and a burden.

As the feathers vanish past the lighthouse, Venti catches wind of a sigh. He looks to Xiao and catches a ripple of envy passing through the yaksha’s face in profile, catlike eyes tracking the distant paths of seabirds in flight as curiously, Xiao shifts his jaw, as if trying to swallow down shame.

The first evening stars have started scattering their pinprick lights throughout the sky; twilight’s falling fast. Venti wonders if tonight, Xiao will stay.

The wind pulls at the long, silk ribbon secured to the back of his collar, right by the nape of his neck, and for the first time, Venti sees the faint, pale shine of scars peeking through Xiao’s back window.

“You had wings once,” he marvels, the words pushing themselves from his throat without thought at the realization. He almost reaches out to trace the patterns carved into the yaksha’s skin, but he holds himself back. Would Xiao appreciate such an intimate touch? He sincerely doubts it. Even with Xiao’s express permission to freely touch him, Venti dares not risk scare him away with such a mistake.

“Once,” Xiao confirms, but says nothing more.

He leans over to get a better look at Xiao’s face as he stares off into the budding night: Tracing his line of sight into the sky, Venti finds the constellation of a bird, wings sweeping towards the heavens, amidst the stars.

“Oh,” he breathes, a sudden realization.

(The lighthouse pulls his gaze.)

He crawls to sit nearer Xiao, their legs dangling off the edge of the roof together— Xiao’s still and heavy, Venti’s light and swinging— and almost near enough to touch.

(Almost.)

“…Can you shift back?”

Xiao shakes his head.

Venti’s heart hollows out, and he thinks of fledgling birds, fallen from their nests. He thinks of their confusion, of their helplessness, of the world keeping them at mercy.

The wind picks up around them, ruffling their hair on the breeze. He purses his lips, trying to choose the right words to say.

He thinks of cages, both forced and self-imposed.

“Neither can I,” he admits. Not here, at least. He tears his gaze away from Xiao, heart lurching painfully with regret. “But…” Here he shifts again, reaching over to pick up Xiao’s gloved hand and tap at his Vision, taking great care all the while to not brush their bare arms together. “I hope that this has allowed you to take flight at least once more.”

The muscles in Xiao’s arms visibly tense for a few seconds, as if he considers pulling away. (Venti hopes he hasn’t crossed a line.) But then, Xiao relaxes. He allows their legs to touch as he, too, shifts in his seat.

“I am not like Barbatos,” he says. “I am not gentle enough.”

There are a thousand memories that come to mind, each with ten thousand reasons which might deny that wretched claim; yet, Venti doesn’t speak. Instead, all he hopelessly thinks is, Oh, but you are.

“My winds are too strong; all I know to use it for is to fight,” Xiao continues. His Vision glows in Venti’s hands, and suddenly, Venti must brace himself to keep from blowing off the roof, only for the wind to stop as suddenly as it came. “Any bird would be frightened to fly on it.”

Venti’s expression falls. There’s a folk tale in Mondstadt that talks about this, and he wants to insist Xiao lacks only the courage to try— but that’s not the problem, not really. It hurts to see Xiao so closed off about the subject, and even if he knows it’s not his place to poke and pry, that he has no right to Xiao’s inner life, that Anemo Vision still calls to him.

He watches Xiao’s gaze turn to the lighthouse, peering curiously at its tower as if it is his first time really seeing it.

Venti’s blood runs cold. You’re not a monster, he wants to say, to reach out to Xiao even as the horns bud on his forehead and the pinfeathers start to sprout, but guilt reaches its hand into his mouth and pushes the words back down his throat.

And yet, despite the pain, he still can’t help but to speak up:

“Whatever you’re thinking, Xiao,” he softly says, “it’s not your fault.” And it never will be.

Xiao looks back at him, pupils blown wide and expression washed with pain. His eyes flick to the ground, but his thoughts are still as obvious as the red that creeps over his cheeks mere moments before his mask fully returns to his face.

“I have duties to attend to,” Xiao says, a quiet sigh laced with regret. As the pale corpse of the moon pokes into the sky, he stands to leave as usual.

But Venti won’t let go of his hand. “Wait,” he says, and although he knows for a fact Xiao could vanish regardless, that he could simply shake his hand free and cut through the threads weaving this dream together with ease, Xiao obeys. Venti scrambles to stand, pulling Xiao away from the edge. “Xiao,” he begins, and just as always, this simple word draws out his sweetest gaze. Venti swallows. “Won’t you stay?”

He can’t see Xiao’s true expression underneath the mask, but his eyes are clear as always, and worn with resigned acceptance. “I can’t,” he answers. “There are duties to the dreamers which call me to attention.”

Venti thinks of all the times Xiao came back less than half-alive. “I know you say Morax commanded it so, but…” Xiao’s eyes sharpen, and Venti falters. Even after all this time, he’s unsure of how to broach this topic.

It’s been a long time since he last spent time with Morax— several hundred years, in fact— but even then, Venti thinks he knows that man. As strict and cold as he may seem, a heart of stone is still a heart, and he highly doubts that damn near killing Xiao is what he had in mind when sending him to dreamland. “…Are you sure that hunting nightmares is what your Lord desired?”

Xiao casts his gaze downward, hand retreating from Venti’s grasp. For a moment, the latter thinks he will escape without an answer, but instead, Xiao says, “I don’t know.”

The wind, as always, is never idle between them. With a quiet whoosh, Xiao vanishes.

Venti folds his hands and holds them near his heart, as if in prayer, as he sighs.

Can’t say he didn’t try.