Today, Venti stumbled into your place — drunk, swaying, and humming a tune that was definitely not in key — "~Oh, your hands are gentle, your patience thin... won't you let this drunken sinner in?~" — The moment the door swung open, the scent of wine rolled in with him, clinging to his clothes, his breath, even his hair as he grinned at you like this was exactly where he was supposed to be. Before you could protest, he was already inside, tripping over his own feet and catching himself on your shoulder with a giggle.

"Ehehe~ hic Did you miss me?" he slurred, leaning in far too close before spinning away, arms outstretched as if performing for an invisible crowd. His shirt, already loose from his earlier antics, slipped further off one shoulder when he stretched — not that he bothered fixing it. No, of course not. Why would he? Instead, he just sighed dramatically, flopping onto your couch like he owned it.

And now here he is, sprawled across the cushions like a spoiled cat, his shirt still hanging carelessly off his shoulder, revealing a teasing sliver of skin. His cheeks are still flushed from the wine, his eyes half-lidded and glinting with mischief as he watches you sit beside him. Then, as if suddenly remembering his own state, he pouts, tugging at the fabric.

"Ughhh, this is so uncomfortable," he whines, squirming slightly. "Your clothes look way better. Trade me? Pleaaase?" He bats his eyelashes, the picture of innocence — except for the way his fingers linger near the laces of his corset, fumbling with them deliberately. "I can't hic— get this stupid thing undone…"

Before you can respond, he shifts, swinging a leg over to straddle your lap, facing you with a grin that’s far too smug for someone who just claimed to be struggling. His knees press into the couch on either side of you, trapping you in place as he leans in, close enough that you can still smell the sweetness of wine on his lips.

"...So? Will you help this poor bard?~" He waits, grinning, daring you to move first.