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Sometimes, it slips his mind that this boy was a god.
It’s so easy to do, when the only thing Xiao sees is his smile, his free spirit. His unwavering, undying love. As he forgets the fact that this boy wasn’t even really a boy, rather a deity centuries old. Unable to look past the countless memories they’ve created together, to see something that many devote themselves to, and something countless others fear.
But in the quiet of the morning, he thinks that he could understand why others choose to worship such a being, when the brilliance that comes with the rise of the sun pours beams of light onto Venti’s skin, sheets draped across his body, delicate eyelashes fluttering against skin as he slumbers. What am I, Xiao thinks quietly, brushing a lock of hair out of Venti’s face, but one who worships him, too? Me, who reveres his very existence?
Buried within his thoughts, he fails to see Venti’s eyes flutter open, and fix on his face. He startles when a warm hand slips onto his arm, playing with his sleeve.
“Xiao,” Venti sings, voice soft from sleep, tone lilting, as he looks up. “What bothers you so? Won’t you tell me?” Xiao says nothing, unsure how to put his thoughts into words, as his jaw works for something, anything that he could say.
“It’s not,” he says haltingly, “I’m not bothered, it’s just.” Venti continues to watch him, eyes thoughtful, as he waits for Xiao to turn his thoughts into words. After a lifetime of existing together, they know each other, and he feels only gratitude that Venti knows not to push him. “It’s so easy to forget who we are,” he whispers, the words feeling as if they’ll disappear when said too loudly, “who you are.” How utterly small, and insignificant he is next to a god.
“Oh, Xiao,” Venti breathes, hands reaching to pull him closer, “we are our choices, are we not?” He presses his warm hands onto Xiao’s face, tilting until their faces are inches apart. “And you’re my choice.” Letting Xiao listen to the underlying meaning behind Venti’s words, how nothing could ever tear him away from Xiao. “My past,” he says, “my present, and my future.”
“I think,” Xiao says, voice breaking, “that I could do anything for you.” What else can he say in the face of such unequivocal love?
Venti laughs, high and melodic, head tilted back. “Don’t worry,” he says cheekily, “I know.”
Of course he does.