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Veritas hates a man.
That man is his best partner; they work like a perfectly harmonised melody, their collaborative expertises is congruous with one another.
But that man also happens to be so different from him.
And Veritas hates how humans can be like poles of magnets.
After a mission they successfully accomplished, Veritas stood with clear disdain. His partner's frame bore clear cuts through torn clothes; they bled over the crimson-dried skin of his arms, waist and right cheek.
A miserable state, really. And yet that partner of his dared to wear a smile.
Veritas hates that man's stupid smile.
A fake curve of lips worn like a deceitful mask to inveigle one into believing the impersonation of toughness and unyielding self-confidence he has created out of a fragile, insecure self.
A smile that holds nothing but emptiness .
"Are you going to keep looking at me like that? I know you hate me but, would you please lend me a hand, doctor?" Aventurine requests with such nonchalance—like he hasn't just put his whole life on the line for some reckless plan to achieve their mission.
Veritas examines his posture with narrowed eyes and notes another injury on his leg.
Tsk.
"Since you've gone that far to orchestrate your own downfall, I'd assume you've already arranged your plans for the aftermath."
Aventurine's smile doesn't falter, "I did. But, alas! The subject of my main plan is refusing to cooperate. I guess I'll have to go for plan B.. —like I always do." With a defeated expression (Veritas labelled as 'feigned'), Aventurine tries to carry his weight, realising all over again how badly he's been injured.
His whole body aches in agony, and before he can process it, his knees give out as the sudden dizziness spins the world around him and his body starts feeling the unbearable heaviness, too late and too weak to grab onto anything to save him from an inevitable fall.
"Ugh—" a small whine involuntarily escapes him as his face hits the hard surface—but not that of the cold ground. Rather, the firm impact comes as warm and, to his denial, securing.
Aventurine blinks; his vision is already blurred, his brain is buzzing, there's a clear delay in his reactions as his surroundings are taking longer time to be processed.
"D—Doctor..?" He says, somehow sounding uncharacteristically unsure, and the arms that have been securely wrapped around his frame and pressing him gently against the proportionate chest to keep him balanced, tighten just a little bit in response—not too tight in case he hurts him.
Veritas doesn't answer him. Instead, he does the unexpected by effortlessly picking him up, carefully adjusting his body in his arms so that the wounds won't further unnecessarily agonise him.
Veritas scrutinises the delayed reaction and the brief shock displayed is all he needs to slightly smirk—it makes him feel a sense of contentment.
After all, it's only during such moments where he gets caught off guard, does his mask crack and unveil a part of his inner self.
The part Veritas hates him for masking.
It doesn't take long before Aventurine recreates the veil, a satisfied smile, though weak, is etched.
"See? My plan worked~" Veritas responds by tightening his hold and Aventurine softly groans, "Ow ow ow– Alright, alright...! You win, I won't say anything.."
Aventurine is genuinely too exhausted to argue. His clouded brain keeps buzzing and feeling lightheaded. As if controlled by spontaneity, he lays his head on Veritas' shoulder and allows his eyes to rest.
Veritas' hold feels so.. comforting. He won't allow his brain to acknowledge something that can potentially be a lie conjured up from the one side he endeavours to conceal. However, Veritas’ hold is like an anchor in a fathomless sea; it's like a safe shelter in a bottomless chasm.
It's like everything he's too afraid to hold onto in fear it'll eventually let go and leave him lost in the cold, abysmal depths after he got used to the warmth and safety.
Those are feelings he can't hold onto, because just like the dawn that never came, they're nothing more than transient illusions.
How would anyone even think about caring for a person like him?
And, after all, nothing comes without a price.
Next time Aventurine opens his eyes, he's laying on the soft mattress of a warm bed.
He blinks a few times to sharpen his vision. The more his consciousness is regained, the more painful it feels.
"Argh..."
"Don't move." He hears the calm voice warn him.
When he searches for the source, he finds Veritas tending to his injured leg, apparently cleaning the wound.
He feels the numbness of his sore limbs, as he's unable to move any—or the slightest of movements will have him face excruciating consequences.
"Doctor....?" The same uncertain tone of before; the slip of vulnerability is too palpable to be regarded as a trick of one's imagination.
Veritas momentarily pauses, as if to record that tone in his brain. When he resumes, his touches are even gentler. "I'm here."
Aventurine appears absentminded. Bleary eyes lazily blink, lips are slightly parted in soft breathing, which soon form a light smile when his inner insecurities convince him that everything he's experiencing right now, is nothing more than a part of a lucid dream.
Because if any of that was real, Dr. Ratio wouldn't be by his side and he wouldn't vocalise that 'I'm here' with such gentleness. If this was reality, he would've woken up alone in a cold bed, intolerably aching all over, like he's always been.
And since it was a dream, he needn't hide behind his masks.. right?
He tries to look around him, then at himself and catches his current state.
He's completely.. naked (except for a pair of underwear). Bandages are covering his midsection and arms, his legs are getting a similar treatment.
Aventurine decides to tease his doctor and sees if the Veritas in his dream would give the same reaction.
"Ah.. I wasn't aware you were into stripping, Doctor.." His voice is so weak it almost sounds like a far away echo.
Veritas glances at him for a moment, unimpressed, then applies pressure to his ankle, eliciting a whimper and a wince out of his patient. "It appears that your condition is showing remarkable signs of recovery, considering you're sufficiently energised to carry out your nonsensical attitude."
" .. ngh – b, be gentle, please.."
???
Huh...????
What was that... sound?!
Veritas almost feels a sudden, suffocatingly powerful bang on his heart and his limbs momentarily cut off all commands. The genuineness of such a response sounded like no empty teasing of his..
Thankfully he has just finished cleaning and bandaging the wound, or he could've made—no. He never makes mistakes.
Meanwhile, Aventurine seems unaware of the other's inner struggles. He feels a heat starting to burn his body and face, and through the obscure clouds in his head, he laments how weak his brain is, that it failed to conjure up a nice Dr. Ratio even in his dreams.
Unless... this wasn't a dream..?
He shuts his eyes close..
When he opens them again, he weakly calls, "... doctor..?" This time, however, there's no answer.
Aventurine looks around and finds himself alone. And he's wearing a shirt now? (albeit it didn't seem to be his size).
This explains how everything before has been a dream..
"Ah.." a bitter smile. "Of course.."
Why would Veritas be by his side? Everything has been a sick dream of his.
He slowly blinks, and there's this strange—yet familiar—wetness in his eyes.
His heart feels unbearably heavy, his chest is too tight with those cloying sentiments.
Why was he even feeling disappointed, to the point of.. tears? It wasn't the first time. It won't be last either.
"What's wrong?" That damn dream again! Why is he hearing the urgent and concerned voice now? "Are you hurt anywhere?" It gets closer.
Aventurine turns his face to the opposite side, refusing to indulge in a potential heartbreak caused by mere illusions.
"I'm fine. I don't need you to tend to me...—I'm not some fragile thing that requires your attention." Words are articulated with clear difficulties. The natural dulcet touch of his voice and his fragile sentiments all coalesced into quavering whispers he had no control over.
"Aventurine," not ‘damn gambler’ ? Ah, yes. Definitely a dream. Maybe if he ignores it enough, it'll go away. "Look at me." He doesn't.
There's an exasperated sigh—or perhaps it isn't exasperated. It's followed by a whisper he couldn't quite discern. It carried words similar to "this is the second time you pass out and you're already hallucinating".
Huh? What did that even mean? Aventurine can't tell with this growing headache and suffocating heat.
Then he feels cold yet gentle hands urge his body to turn. An arm is placed around his shoulders and he's easily adjusted in a comforting lap.
There's that cold yet gentle hand again. It's on his face; it caresses the heated skin like it's wiping something off.
" .. ugh.. you're so persistent. I told you not to treat me like I'm something fragile.." and the touch dares to treat him gentler. It's now accompanied by a soft, cold, wet cloth. It wipes over his forehead, his cheeks, his neck and collarbone. The coolness against his heated skin feels so comforting it elicits a spontaneous sigh out of him.
He then turns to look up at the man handling him with this scary gentleness, and what he finds sucks the breath out of him.
There's.. a light—not too bright, but too hopeful. Like the first rays of a warm morning signifying the end of a dark and lonely night.
Like the dawn he's been wishing for..
No. The dawn he stopped wishing for.
The dawn he was too broken to keep wishing for.
"A– Aventurine..?" Veritas, for what seems to be the first time in his life, appears uncertain as he watches an endless flow of tears erupt again.
"Stop.. s– stop, please.." the man in his arms chokes out. "Stop looking at me with those eyes.."
"What eyes?"
"Those eyes.. your eyes..." Veritas is aware of the delirium caused by Aventurine's high fever, but he knows what appears to be a delirious state is this man's actual innermost feelings.
So he asks, "What's with my eyes?"
" .. your eyes.. they are the closest to dawn I've seen.. if I were to accept their warmth, I wouldn't survive the cold again when it (you) leaves.."
Veritas doesn't answer him. Not because Aventurine won't remember any of this when he wakes up again, but because, even with all of his degrees, he genuinely has no idea how to answer.
This side, as foreign as it may sound, was Aventurine's real self; one he'd never handle with carelessness and without deep, careful thoughts and analysis.
Aventurine allows his eyes to rest with quiet, soft sobs, which soon calms down as Veritas continues to wipe his tears and the sweat off.
Last thing he hears before passing out is, "Rest well. I'm not leaving you."
Next time Aventurine wakes up, he's back to his usual masked self, not remembering what has occurred.
And Veritas keeps that night a secret. At least, for now.