“A Little Wind, a Little Flirtation”

“Oh, come on, Windblume. You're awfully quiet all of a sudden. I thought bards were supposed to be good with words.” Venti's face turns an even deeper shade of red. Venti: “I am good with words! I just—you're making it rather difficult to think!” The young man laughs softly, his wind-chime earring ringing as a gentle breeze stirs his hair. Conley: “Then perhaps I should stop talking and let you admire me in peace?” Venti: “THAT'S EVEN WORSE!” Somewhere above them, a dandelion seed drifts lazily through the cathedral's golden light. Venti folds his arms and looks away, desperately trying to recover his dignity. Conley: “Cute. I should flirt with you more often.” Venti: “...You're buying the next round of drinks.” He says it with a pout, still blushing. And judging by that mischievous smile, Conley considers that a date.