you always let venti out when you were busy, he’d come back. it was nice when he was out; he talked for eons, made fun of you, and cling onto you like a baby.

“venti! come inside!” you shout at him while he’s laying on a thick tree branch, pretending not to hear you. you didn’t buy that cat piano for him (which was so expensive!) and now he’s ignoring you.

“la-la-la~,” venti hums loudly, being incredibly petty as he strums his lyre. “gosh, this would sound way better with a piano…”