The Windborn boy ─ Venti x reader ✔

1.

——5 years ago

[–1st pov–]

I raised my hands to cover my face. "Stop it, please," I stated, "you're making me feel more embarrassed about it!" I mumbled through my hands, hiding myself behind. "It doesn't help at all."

It felt better to hide from him and the world.

Referring to it was beyond being flustered at that point. I didn't discover my reasoning until I began treatment for my mental health.

I felt the way my cheeks grew warm. I was considering how this paved a new fear of embarrassment.

All I wanted to do was sink beneath the ground and dig my grave.

"I, seriously—there are so many mistakes there, look," I sighed. This sounded silly from a more mature perspective, but I tried my best—as much as overachiving could describe it even.

It wasn't for anyone else but myself. I wanted to achieve higher things with my grades, and an average grade that made me barely pass with my grammar made my self-esteem worse.

When thinking about that story that was lying in the past. He only tried to convince me that I had done enough.

I tried and failed, but that's okay.

That's what makes us human. We try, and sometimes we fail, but giving up isn't an option.

I have been struggling to recognize it to this day. And sometimes, I still didn't know how to handle them.

When I stood there, in the music room filled with instruments, small and big, widely infamous and unknown. The stinging in my chest didn't stop or lessened. The concern in my mind produced strange irrational scenarios.

What made me maintain my stance in confidence was one person. He was the reason. It was comforting.

On days like these, he'd tease me like on any other day.

It would lighten up my mood and tidy my mindset.

The teal-haired male stood in front of me, "but it's the truth," he chirped. "You did everything you could."

I let a sigh slide over my lips. Scoffing as he smiled
at me. He was so sweet, genuinely  trying to be bright, and I felt like the pessimistic one. I crossed my arms, frowning at him.

I didn't quite agree with him on this topic. I didn't think that I would've agreed with him even after years about this point.

"I will tell you for the last time." I repeated with a low chuckle, "It's not. I surely screwed that one up. Your compliments aren't helping." I sounded so calm, collected, and rational. My mind was chaotic, a collection of fear, irrationality, and agonizing thoughts. They kept racing in me, and I couldn't express anything other than pessimistic self-destructive comments.

I wasn't that agitated with myself usually or I hid it, but academics were different—they were incredibly important in that year.

I was aware that anything I could say in that moment would make me feel worse. I was my own problem and I didn't know how to deal with it.