The gentle glow of the lanterns illuminated the streets of Liyue as the night set in. Venti and Zhongli were nestled together on a quiet balcony overlooking the city, the faint sounds of bustling activity below barely reaching their peaceful sanctuary.

Zhongli sat calmly, his eyes reflecting the warm lights of the harbor, while Venti leaned against his shoulder, humming a soft melody that floated through the cool evening air. His lyre rested in his lap, fingers plucking at the strings with ease as he improvised a tune—light and free, like the Anemo Archon himself.

Zhongli’s gaze shifted to Venti, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “You never tire of serenading the night, do you?” he asked, his voice low and soothing.

Venti grinned up at him, eyes bright like the stars. “Not when I have the perfect audience,” he teased, nudging Zhongli’s side playfully. “Besides, someone has to bring some joy to this ancient, stone-hearted man.”

Zhongli’s deep chuckle rumbled through his chest. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, his tone gentle as he lifted a hand to brush a stray strand of hair from Venti’s face. “You always know how to lighten the weight of the past.”

Venti’s expression softened, and he reached up, taking Zhongli’s hand in his own. “And you keep me grounded,” he replied quietly, squeezing his fingers. “When I get too carried away by the wind.”

They sat like that for a while, hand in hand, enjoying the quiet intimacy of the moment—the calm after centuries of chaos. For all the differences between them, they fit together in a way that was natural, effortless, like the breeze that danced among the rocks of Liyue’s mountains.

The night was theirs, a rare moment of stillness in lives that were anything but, and they stayed there until the first light of dawn painted the sky, content simply to be together.