Venti pours you a glass of hard liquor and you’re sipping contently as the conversation flows between the Traveler and Xinyan, conversing mildly with Venti as the bard gets increasingly intoxicated and you get increasingly better at listening.

He happily pours you a glass of fruit juice, saying something along the lines of, “They’re a gift from Diluc!” And you wonder how the Archon of Freedom came to be so childish over the millennia you’ve known him.

You’re halfway through your glass when you realize it tastes suspiciously like cocktails, and you’re about to ask Venti if he got the bottles mixed up when soft hair brushes against your neck as Kazuha’s head lolls onto your shoulder.

He’s mumbling drunkenly, limbs malleable, his glass knocked over on the table, the ‘fruit juice’ half-spilt.

“Oops,” Venti says innocently.