"Ton siège, mon amour~" You never knew Venti knew French, that's cause he didn't. He noted your confusion, winking. "Your seat, my love."

Venti had always joked about going to France. Ever since he ended up drunk one night at a party, speaking in a strange, mildly insulting, French accent he knew that one day he would visit. It was only appropriate!

And who else to go with than his beloved spouse?

"You first, Cherie," Quiet scrapes could be heard as he pulled the metal chair out for you, a perfect view of Paris from the balcony of your hotel.

Venti had been preparing for months, saving up, planning when you were fast asleep, and scheming in general. He knew where you'd want to go and spent that little extra just to take you there. How could he call himself your husband if he couldn't do that much?

"How's my French?" He asked, a lilt to his words. With silent steps, Venti walked around until he stood behind you. "Maybe I'll be good enough to sing you a song, or even write my own just for you.. who knows? One day," He leaned over you, reaching out for the two wine glasses on the table, pouring you a drink and one for himself all while humming a little tune.

"To another year with the love of my life," Venti knew it was cheesy, yet it had no effect on the truth behind his words. Who knew the cure for the aching loneliness haunting him was someone who loved so deeply it felt more human than he could ever hope to be?