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In a place of distant time, whether it was in the past or the future that he couldn’t wrap his head around, he found himself repeatedly betting his all against the odd, where no sign of winning was within sight. Still, he threw all his chips and rolled his dice.
“All or none at all.”
He wonders how often he has said that sentence as he put his own life on the line. The lady of luck, who was always by his side, his one and only leverage, didn’t seem to be smiling as usual. But, despite the uncertainty, it didn’t stop him from taking out all his chips. Perhaps, he had gotten so used to the thrill that a meaningless gamble didn’t excite him anymore. It wasn’t about the prize, no. For him, the result didn’t matter. As much as it delighted him to see extra points to his wealth, the excitement of destroying the other party was much more delightful. Or, at the very least, he believed so.
The thing is, he knew his value as a replaceable pawn. He could be cast aside within a second, no matter how great he is. For him, who had struggled from the lowest bottom, crawling up to his current position with blood and tears dirtying his limbs, the moment he is no longer useful, then he is no better than those dying beneath his feet. The weak. Meat stock. Cannon fodder; whatever it is called. Even with his seemingly bottomless luck, it’s still not enough to secure his safety. He must crawl longer, climb higher, step farther, and more. And more. More.
More…
It was ended in a flash. The blinding light pierced through time and space, stopping the movement of everything around him and sending him to the deepest pit of infinite darkness. The nihility. The chaos exists amidst the total silence and endless darkness. From that moment on, this is his space. He would exist in this nothingness alone. There would be no lady luck by his side anymore. No annoying voice claimed to be the future version of himself. There will be no innocent little voice formed from his younger self. No memories of the one he lost, no one walking next to him like the present a few moments ago; nothing.
He only has himself to rely on, as always. Just… right now, the solitude feels too much to bear. He didn’t remember when the last time everything had turned so cold and quiet was. The fear he brushed off for decades as he tried to stay alive in the middle of predators trying to devour him to the bone. Albeit the situation is far from that dangerous moment, he feels exactly the same. It's not something he would love to reminisce about.
The impossible in the Dreamscape is not “Death,” but rather “Dormancy.”
Do stay alive. I wish you the best of luck.
“Best of luck, eh?”
He stopped walking. He couldn’t tell how long he had been walking. He didn’t know if he had been derailed from his starting point, how many degrees he curved, was he still walking straight or making a circle. He didn’t know how many hours, days, months, or more had passed since. Honestly, he doesn’t even remember why he was here anymore; what kind of thing he was looking for to the point of throwing the single life he had. He knew he had died; at the very least, he no longer existed in that world, trapped in this infinite darkness all alone. Yet, amidst the memory of his short life slowly dissipating from his brain, the words said--or rather, written--by a certain someone remain carved deep in his brain. He couldn’t even recall who said those words anymore, but the short encouragement became his sole leverage in this cold darkness. The last strain of his sanity.
“However, it seems like my luck has truly run out by now.”
He stares at nothingness in front of him, the same darkness no matter what direction he is staring. What was his purpose, he doesn’t know anymore. With not a single goal to strive for, why is he still trying? Why is he still walking? Why is he still… looking?
Why is he still breathing?
He involuntarily inhales deeply. Honestly, it doesn’t feel like he is even breathing. He doesn’t feel anything from his flesh anymore. It’s as if… he has become one with this darkness.
In that case, it’s fine for him to stop now, isn’t it?
After all, he has nothing to look forward to anymore. No one is trying to kill him, to berate him, to ridicule him, or whatever. The fear he once so familiar with, the nervousness, the anxiety, has long gone without him noticing.
Isn’t it a perfect time to stop?
He raises his head. Black. Darkness. Icy cold nothingness wherever he is looking at, always. Even when he finally closes his eyes, the same thing remains. Nothing. No one.
No one.
“It’s surprisingly… lonely.”
He knows even if he stretches out his hand, no one will take it and send the warmth he desperately needs. Yet, his limb moves on its own anyway.
“If you wish for me to stay alive, the least you can do is… hold my hand, don’t you think?”
But…
Nothing from the other side touches his fingertip.
=====
Aventurine’s eyes snap open thanks to the loud sound of that hideous alarm at the nightstand beside his bed. He groans in annoyance and slaps the thing away, ignoring the crashing sound as the poor glass clock shattered on the floor and left broken. The shattered glass will give him extra chores to deal with later, but it’s for his future self to worry about. For now, he needs a few minutes of silence to sort his messy brain cells.
That dream again
Recently, Aventurine has been having the same nightmare. An all-out fight, a slash from someone’s sword that cut through time and space, endless darkness and nothingness followed until he was woken up by force. Each time it happens, he feels like his body turns so heavy and listless, and he feels unreasonably upset.
“If you dislike hearing alarm clock that much, you must consider waking up without one.” Ratio leans on the door frame with arms crossed. “This is the twelfth clock you broke.”
“I didn’t expect you to keep account.” Aventurine ignores his hoarse voice and nuzzles on his pillow, trying to ease his headache. “However, it also means you have commented twelve times already.”
“Correction; tenth. I didn’t comment for the first couple of times you broke it.”
“Huh, is that so?” Aventurine raises his gaze. “Anyway, it’s rare for you to be here at this hour, O Great Doctor. Don’t you have classes to lecture?”
“It’s my day off.”
“Oh… are you staying home, then?”
“No.”
“Oh…”
“However, you better stay where you are when I return after lunch. We will talk whether you want it or not. You are clearly in dire need of therapy.”
“...are you going to charge me the consultation fee despite the session being scheduled without my consent?”
Ratio snorts as if he just heard the most ridiculous question in the universe. Without replying, Ratio leaves Aventurine’s bedroom--their bedroom--for the latter to deal with his problem. Aventurine lets out an ironic, flat laugh as he is used to Ratio’s apathetic response to his struggle. Well, Ratio was already kind enough by willingly, albeit one-sidedly, becoming his therapist. Since the nightmare has been happening for a while and they shared a bed, it’s natural if Ratio knows what he has been through. Although Aventurine never explains what he sees in his dream, a genius like Ratio can tell how much it weighs him. However, this is the first time Ratio offers to talk about it. Seems like his condition has gotten worse.
Aventurine rises from his bed, heading to the shower, washes himself, eats whatever he can find in the fridge as breakfast, and spends the rest of his time dozing off in front of the TV. The comedic duo throws insults and jokes, inciting a wave of laughter from the paid spectators; Aventurine stares at the screen with a gaze looking at particularly nothing. He doesn’t even hear the sound from the TV as his mind wanders far.
The recollection of the nightmare danced in his brain, playing the scenes repeatedly like a broken record. He can see himself wearing such a glamorous outfit, throwing convincing words that sound so unearthly. The high-stake gambles he took, the unbelievable wins, the risks, everything feels unreal, yet at the same time, uncannily familiar. It feels like it was really him who experienced those things and not some actor who looked like him acting on stage.
Familiar yet foreign
Aventurine doesn’t believe in reincarnation or past life, so he would like to think it’s just his imagination running wild. He is used to having realistic dreams and thinks nothing of it. And the nightmare was just one of the dreams he had. What bothers him more isn’t the content of that repeating scene, but rather…
“The impossible in the Dreamscape is not ‘Death,’ but rather ‘Dormancy.’” Aventurine unconsciously repeats what’s written in the letter he had in that dream. “Do stay alive. I wish you the best of luck.”
Each time he recalls that part, a strange wave of sadness overwhelms him. It feels as if his hopes and wishes were broken down to pieces. The prayer acted as his leverage in that nothingness but also the reminder that he was too late to stop. It was futile. If only he had read that letter sooner, if only he had waited for a few more seconds longer, then maybe--
Ratio turns off the TV, and Aventurine snaps back from his thoughts. When he raises his head, Ratio is seemingly scowling. The crease between his eyebrows is deep enough to tell Aventurine that the other man is displeased. However, living with this apathetic genius makes Aventurine a bit numb to that side of him. After all, looking displeased has become Ratio’s default expression.
“What?”
“You waste the electricity for what?”
“How unusual for you to care.”
“There are other activities for you to waste your time with.”
“For example?”
“Reading.” Ratio points at the bookshelves covering the walls. “With your IQ, I bet your mind will start dancing in less than five minutes.”
Aventurine openly laughs. “Your books work best as a lullaby, Doctor. Unfortunately, it’s not something I need for now.”
Ratio just humph and says nothing else. He took off his coat and sat next to Aventurine on the sofa, leaning on his arm, giving a stern look at the blond silently. A few seconds wasted for them staring into each other’s eyes, waiting for the other to speak their minds. In the strange silence that happens often between them, Aventurine is usually the one breaking it. Now is no different.
“Has the session started?”
“Yes.”
“Aren’t you supposed to ask me questions?”
“Do you want me to ask you questions?”
Aventurine sighs. Ratio is right; he doesn’t want to play quizzes. But it means he has to be the one talking while Ratio is listening to his vent. The thing is, he’s unsure of what to say. And with Ratio one-sidedly acting like a cold therapist doesn’t help. Though Aventurine is aware he is going to talk sooner or later, in one way or another.
“It’s just… a nightmare. Nothing else.”
“The same one as you always have.”
Aventurine purses his lips at the rhetorical statement. “The same one as I always have, yes.”
“Unless it gets worse.”
“How do you know?”
“With how restless you were in your sleep, it would be strange if I didn’t notice any difference.”
“Oh.” Aventurine thinks briefly. “Did I say or do something?”
Ratio doesn’t give an immediate answer. The crease between his eyebrows goes deeper. Aventurine tilts his head slightly, waiting for a response. He knows the silence isn’t because Ratio doesn’t know what to say- the man is too arrogant to look less than a world-class genius, after all- so he wonders what the silence is for. But Ratio’s unusual gesture affirms his suspicion.
“What did I say, Ratio?”
“...a few things.” Ratio looks away and inhales. “But what you said didn’t concern me.”
“What did, then?”
Ratio frowns deeper. He didn’t lie; the thing Aventurine mumbled incoherently in his sleep wasn’t that concerning because it was mainly the same thing as before. However, this time, the way Aventurine clutches his fists after hesitantly reaching out is carved into Ratio’s mind deeper than he is willing to admit. He is worried, though try not to pry too much to Aventurine’s personal boundaries. When the blond was too troubled by his nightmare, Ratio often held his hand briefly, shortly, just enough to give the blond a moment of serenity amidst the storm he was facing; whatever it was.
That night, Ratio did the same. Seeing how tight Aventurine clenches his fist, even a cold man like himself can’t ignore it. As he gently pries open the tight clutch, feeling the sweat from Aventurine’s palm, he also feels the tremble. There is a specific moment when Aventurine’s body reacts that way; the same reason why Ratio’s affection remains happening when Aventurine is in a deep sleep.
“How long are you planning to keep on with this facade?”
“What?”
Ratio looks at him. “I will not comment about your wish to be independent or if you believe in your great luck. However, you need to be convincing if you wish to act that way.”
Aventurine returns the gaze. “So, you’re saying I’m not convincing enough.”
“Yes.” Ratio reaches out to grab Aventurine’s hand. Just like that night, his hand is trembling. “No way near convincing.”
Aventurine instantly wants to pull his hand, but Ratio’s grip tightens. Despite the firm hold, the way Ratio gently rubs the back of Aventurine’s hand is uncharacteristically gentle. The blonde doesn’t remember the last time it happened. As their relationship is a bit strange--it’s unclear whether they are dating or not, whether their relationship is purely physical or if there’s anything else--, Aventurine often holds back from reaching out. Ratio never shows any affection; not that kind. And Aventurine isn’t particularly looking for one from this man. He is satisfied with the invisible boundaries both created. It gives him fewer things to worry about.
Still, when Ratio acts like this, Aventurine is a bit lost in what to do.
“Is this included in your therapy session?” Aventurine chuckles. “Your dedication is amazing, Doctor.”
“I have only done this to you.”
“For real?”
“Do I have any reason to lie?”
“No, just… unexpected.”
Ratio scowls. “I bear with your insult seemingly not enough to convince you that you have a special treatment.”
“I never insult you.” Aventurine laughs. “Though, in your dictionary, maybe it happens once in a while.” Aventurine pats Ratio’s hand which grabs his, then slowly retreats his hand. “Thank you. It helps.”
Before Aventurine fully retreats his hand, however, Ratio pulls him, wraps his arm around Aventurine’s shoulder, and embraces the other man properly.
“It’s a foolish move to waste my genuine kindness, Mr. Gambler.” Despite the apparent mocking in his words, Ratio’s words are the opposite. His tone is gentle, whispered right into Aventurine’s ear. “Even for you, there is a limit on how long you can hold on.”
“...I believe I can still hold myself, Ratio.”
“Let’s say that I believe the otherwise.” Ratio tightens his embrace. “Or you can just pretend that I am drunk.”
“I never see you drunk, though.” Aventurine didn’t realize his body had been so rigid. He gradually relaxes in Ratio’s hug, slowly letting himself drown in the rare affection that tastes too sweet to his liking. But, for once, he doesn’t mind to indulge. He kind of badly needs these sweet-nothings without words. “Thank you…”
Aventurine involuntarily recalls the last moment of his dream before he woke up. The cold feeling in his fingertips as nothing returns his desperate reach out still lingers. But the warmth from Ratio’s body envelopes his being, slowly erasing that loneliness.
“I hope your other patients don’t have this privilege, Ratio.”
“I never said you are my patient. I only said you need therapy.”
“What am I now, then?”
“...whatever you wish to be.”
“Well… I wish to be the only person to receive this special treatment.”
As a response, Ratio pulls him closer, literally seats Aventurine on his lap, and gives him an equally gentle look that Aventurine had never seen before. The distance between their faces was almost non-existent, the mere inches away that close enough for them to feel each other’s breath. For once, Aventurine lets his intrusive thoughts win as he leans forward and briefly kisses Ratio’s lips. He thought the other man was going to pull away or, or the very least, give him a displeased scowl, but no. Ratio didn’t close his eyes, still looking at him with the same flat yet gentle gaze.
“So be it.” Ratio whispers. “Though, you always have a special treatment.”
The following kiss easily washes away Aventurine’s worry, but the memory of that unexplainable nightmare remains. However, this time, he believes he won’t touch cold air when he stretches out his hand.