Chapter Text
Diluc watches as the young man who calls himself Venti down wine glass after wine glass. He’s never quite seen anyone drink like Venti, so quick in finishing a glass yet seeming to enjoy the taste of every drop.
“This is truly the drink of gods,” says Venti. Says Barbatos, Diluc realizes. Venti means every word, with no exaggeration. He is god, and as a god, he approves of this wine.
And even though Diluc does not drink, he’s rather pleased by that assessment of his winery’s wine. Even though Diluc does not drink, he has pride in what his family had worked on for generations.
“Master Diluc,” Venti calls to him. He’s looking at him with eyes that barely focus, with skins flushed. Looks like gods can get drunk, Diluc thinks, but Diluc says nothing as he looks at Venti. As he studies a face that’s beautiful even through inebriation. “You’re so kind, treating me to all this wine.”
“Hmph,” Diluc grunts. “Just make sure you can take yourself home.”
“Are you not going to take me home with you?” Venti teases. Then he laughs. A laughter that is so clear and boyish that for a second, Diluc forgets that the young man in front of him is a god thousands of years in age. But that second passes quickly as Venti downs another glass of wine with those pretty lips, with the face too sweet to truly be human.
“Don’t joke around,” Diluc says quietly. Venti is drunk, he reminds himself. And drunks say things they do not mean. He should know this better than anyone.
Yet when Venti tilts his head, ever so slightly. When Venti smiles at him, ever so prettily.
“But I mean it.”
When Venti says with that light, beautiful voice.
Diluc almost lets himself believe in the follies of a god.