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Aether expects to be the first to wake up and spend a while resting in the quietness of the early morning. However, this time when he reaches for Venti, the other side of their shared bed is already empty. This is new, Aether notes as he raises his head in confusion, his hair disheveled and loose. Venti has never been an early bird.
Aether squints sleepily, feeling the warmth of sunlight on his face as it spills through the windows in gentle rays. The warmth makes him drowsy, seeps into his bones, slows his thoughts. For a moment he allows himself to sink back into the blankets, watching the slow fall of dust particles bathed in the light.
At some point he must have shifted around, because now he’s curled around Venti’s abandoned pillow. He breathes in the faint scent of cecilias and recalls a hand cupping his cheek as Venti lingered to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear before carefully escaping from his embrace.
Always so gentle, so cautious, Aether thinks blearily. As if Venti hasn’t spent centuries cradling Aether in his arms, and he still marvels at the chance to do this, to simply hold Aether like he is something to be cherished.
Aether stretches with a little pleased hum and goes down the stairs, following the sound of cheerful singing from the kitchen. When he steps into the room, he sees Venti holding a small kettle, pouring tea for the two of them. The cups let out clouds of steam and soon fill the room with a refreshing scent of bergamot.
“Morning, Venti,” says Aether, voice rough from disuse. He walks to stand next to Venti and takes a sip of his tea, enjoying the subtle sweetness as it eases his throat. It’s the caring gesture that warms him more than the tea itself ever could.
“Good morning, Aether,” Venti looks up and lets out an exasperated sigh, like he was actually really hoping for Aether to stay in bed. His gaze finds Aether, eyes soft and welcoming despite the dramatics. “You’re a bit early for breakfast.”
“I was left to fend for myself, all alone in a cold bed,” teases Aether as he walks to take one of the aprons, tying it around his own waist with practiced ease.
He pointedly doesn’t look at Venti, who has decided to wear Aether’s clothes underneath the loosely tied apron, and tries to pretend that his chest doesn’t feel a little tight as Venti leans into his space. Breathe in, breathe out. The exhale comes out stuttered and he feels betrayed by his body.
“What are we making today?”
“Does sleep elude my noble warrior when this humble bard is absent? How sweet,” muses Venti with some semblance of a laugh in his voice when Aether doesn’t move away. “Would you help me to make Lotus Flower Crisp?“
“Do you know how to cook it?” Aether reaches out and turns Venti around to re-tie the knot of his apron. Despite the apron very obviously looking proper now, Aether stays where he is, wrapping his arms around Venti’s waist, and perches his chin on Venti’s shoulder to look over the recipe in the book.
"Why are you pretending that I don't know how to cook?" says Venti, giggling and nudging their hips together.
"Remember that time you thought you could get drunk off a wine soaked steak?"
"Ah. I mean, to be fair, there was probably a lot of wine in there—"
It doesn’t take long for them to prepare everything, but Aether is aware of every second. The kitchen has always seemed too spacious to cook on his own, even with Paimon occasionally floating to steal something here and there. With Venti at his side, the space feels cramped. In a good, more chaotic and deliberately playful way that has Aether huffing in amusement. They can barely move without brushing up against each other.
As they go over the list, Venti reaches out to braid Aether’s hair. He separates the strands gently, weaves them together, fingertips brushing along Aether's neck.
Aether doesn’t expect to feel warm lips against the nape of his neck. He startles, hand clutching at the kitchen counter like he needs it to stay upright. Goosebumps go all the way down his spine. His neck is tingling. He shivers when he feels a soft press of teeth, then a chuckle against his hair.
This is unfair, thinks Aether, willing himself not to abandon everything right here and there just to kiss Venti senseless. Venti is supposed to help him, not distract him from cooking.
He takes a deep, calming breath and goes to take out the cookware. Two can play this game.
Satisfied with his little mischief, Venti pulls away and settles down on the kitchen counter so as not to interfere. Aether sighs, shaking his head in fond resignation, but doesn’t ask Venti to come down.
After he finishes with the cookware, when Venti is distracted and relaxed enough, Aether shuffles over to him. He loops his arms loosely over Venti’s waist and leans down so that they're chest to chest.
“Oh? See anything you want?” Venti begins to tease, but a quick glance at Aether’s face makes him pause. There is something about the way Aether simply looks at him, silent in his contemplation, brushing his nose over Venti’s flushed cheek.
It would be so easy to press their lips together. Perhaps Venti can.
“Yes,” says Aether, leaning even closer as Venti closes his eyes in anticipation. Then he promptly pulls away, a chopping board in hand, and goes to the other side of the kitchen. After a bit, he nonchalantly adds, “Could you please get down and start on the mixing?”
Venti blinks, dazed, taking a moment to gather his scattered thoughts. He seems breathless, almost light-headed with the near kiss. Surely Aether would not dare. Surely not.
“The mixing?” repeats Aether, a hint of mischief in his smiling eyes. Venti can’t help a half-hearted groan.
Content with the teasing for now, both flustered, they settle to work.
“That’s it, make a well in the center, then crack the eggs into the well,” says Aether.
Venti stands at his side, diligently measuring the coconut flakes, his hand lightly tapping a silent melody on Aether’s hip. He tries to sneak a glance at Aether a moment later and finds him looking back with a subtle grin.
“Why are you laughing at me, Aether?” pouts Venti, reaching out to tickle Aether’s waist even through the layers of his shirt.
"You just seemed so proud of cracking an egg…" Aether bites back a laugh, trying and failing to suppress his amusement.
The comforting silence stretches on while they tinker side by side, arms brushing.
Venti checks the recipe, ever so focused to make it right. He bites on his lip as he concentrates on mixing the dough, bringing it together. Aether uses this moment to add something on a whim when he thinks Venti isn’t looking.
“I didn’t know it’s supposed to go there,” says Venti, staring at the mix of spices at Aether’s side. He notices, despite Aether’s quick hands. He checks the book for the longest time, tilting his head with his eyes slightly narrowed, then looks up at Aether. “How much did you add?”
“Uh,” Aether pauses in the middle of adding the spices and slowly lowers his hand. “No idea. But it should be good, trust the process.”
“Now those are the words of a true artist! I knew he has been sleeping deep inside of you all this time,” says Venti with a delighted bubble of laughter and closes the book for good. “Cooking is an art, after all.”
"So I’m an artist now, huh? Does being an artist help you in cooking?"
“Who knows,” muses Venti. “You need a sense of artistic freedom for that, and we seem to have plenty. Maybe I should add something, too. This time we just might end up with a masterpiece.”
“I don't think our breakfast would qualify,” Aether shrugs, barely glancing at the knife as he continues to chop the dough into perfect shapes. “I guess you can't fault a bard for expressing his artistic freedom. Just keep in mind that you will have a taste of it, too."
“Your point being?” Venti scratches his cheek, unaware of a dusting of flour remaining on it. Aether huffs as he wipes it off with his thumb. “Ah. Thank you…”
It’s all the same from here, easy monotonous work. Kneading, chopping, rolling the dough into lotus petals, wrapping, chopping again.
They manage not to burn anything, which should be considered a success with all the teasing and bantering. Obviously, Venti ends up stealing a spoonful first. He gives it a try and hums happily.
“See? You shouldn’t question the words of a bard! We did end up with a masterpiece.”
Aether takes the spoon from him and lingers before taking a bite himself, just to stroke Venti’s hand with his thumb. The dish is chewy yet crisp, and the sweet flavor blooms on their tongues like a beautiful lotus.
He finds that he rather likes cooking together, as long as he gets to watch Venti. Sure, at times Venti seems more solemn, but in a peaceful, relaxed kind of way. Immersed in their little tasks, being himself, singing with no particular song in mind. As if he is completely at home here, with Aether.
Aether secretly treasures this rare side of Venti. And oh, he thinks as he pauses to bring Venti his cup of tea. Venti smiles at him, slow and tender. Oh, his house feels like a home.