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‘No, papa, you got it wrong. The third piggie built a house of bricks, not metal.’
He hears Aventurine's yawn all the way from their bedroom, right after their youngest child scolds him for getting his favourite fairytale wrong. As a father, he's found children have a way to make their voices the centre of his world, tearing him away from the book he was reading even when not directing their complaints at him.
Vaalsha, the eldest daughter, said good night not long ago – she's a smart girl that knows she has school tomorrow and must be well rested. Scientia is more difficult, though, having to be told a whole story before sleeping even is on the table.
‘Fine, fine, you’re right. The piggie made a house out of brick, but it could've been out of metal too, you know...’
‘Oooh?’
So Ratio's husband keeps going, despite how exhausted he is, making up some alternate universe where the third piggie did make its house out of metal. Ratio closes the book and takes off his reading glasses, listening to Aventurine's muffled voice narrate this new divergence in the well-loved fairytale's universe instead. Apparently, the evil wolf’s attempt to destroy the metal house ends up in failure, just like in the original, because the waves of his puffs bounce on the metal and hit him instead, confusing the foolish wolf.
Ratio rolls his eyes at the absurdity of it all, but Scientia seems content with this development, for Ratio hears him giggle. He’ll let it be for now, but makes a mental note to tell their boy – and Aventurine – tomorrow that’s not how it works.
Still, he has to admit it’s effective. Ten minutes later, Aventurine peeks into the room with an exhausted, yet satisfied smile. ‘I take it he’s asleep.’
‘Like a log. Finally.’ He yawns, covering his mouth with his hand, and walks towards their bed – with such bad spatial awareness that he ends up hitting the corner of the bedside table with his foot. ‘FU- uuuuck …’ He curls his fist, hitting the table as it is its fault he forgot it was there.
‘Don’t swear within the kids’ earshot,’ Ratio chastises, pulling at the blankets on Aventurine’s side of the bed. ‘Are you alright?’
‘Nnnggh…’ He limps to the bed, flopping pathetically on it. ‘It’s not bleeding or anything, I think. I’ll survive.’
Ratio nods, watching him crawl into bed. One look at the clock tells him they both are dangerously close to getting less than their minimum seven hours of sleep, so he turns off the light on his nightstand and lies down, and Aventurine quickly follows suit.
But for some reason, it’s harder to fall asleep tonight than other nights. Hasn’t he spent enough energy today? He goes over his daily routine in his head, his morning run, the meals he and Aventurine prepared, taking Vaalsha and Scientia to school, teaching his own classes at university. It hasn’t been an especially leisurely day, so he should be tired enough to fall asleep with ease.
Maybe it’s some sort of stress. Or maybe it’s the fact that, by the way he’s breathing, Aventurine isn’t asleep either, and whatever can keep him awake at night can’t be good to dwell in at this hour.
So he sighs. ‘What is it?’
‘So you were awake,’ Aventurine murmurs, not sounding surprised at all. ‘If I say it’s nothing, would you believe me?’
‘No.’
He hears Aventurine huff. ‘Figures.’
There’s more than a few beats of silence between them, as Ratio waits. He’s still no master of knowing when to press on and when to let Aventurine’s thoughts simmer – his husband is unpredictable like that. But he thinks he’s starting to get the hang of it, and if he guessed right, it’s better to let Aventurine put his thoughts together.
After what has been three minutes, but has felt like three centuries, he hears Aventurine take a deep breath, and braces himself.
‘When we grow old, wrinkly, and grey together, would you let me die first?’
The question kicks the air out of Ratio's lungs, sending alarms all over his mind. ‘...Why?’
‘Because I’m… weak.’ It’s such a simple reply, yet fills Ratio with so much… frustration. Even putting aside his own biases, which he is perfectly capable of doing, Aventurine is not weak . That’s just a ridiculous statement. ‘And if any of you dies first, I–’ He stops, but Ratio is perceptive enough to hear the words left hanging between them. ‘By then, the kids would be all grown up, and you– You’d manage just fine without me.’
‘You don’t know that.’
The words come out more as a bite than a reassurance, and in the silence that follows, he can imagine Aventurine flinching.
There have been a few moments like this before, when Aventurine showed this rare vulnerable side, and every one of those times, Ratio has felt like he’s trying to convince a scared gazelle to get closer. It comes so easy to Aventurine to run away, to hide behind those layers of flippancy and indifference, that Ratio is under the impression he doesn’t even think about it. It’s essentially a reflex, a system created by his mind to protect him after all he’s been through.
All of this Ratio understands, at least in theory. But he has found that many times theory just isn’t enough.
He shifts to his side, facing Aventurine in the pitch black darkness of the bedroom of their shared home. A home full to the brim with trinkets and other memories built up over the years, their phone storages full to the brim with pictures of their trips, of Aventurine’s pregnancies, of their kids. Physical souvenirs of all the places they’ve been visiting. Things one of them insisted on buying despite the other thinking it was nonsense.
One would think those were proof enough that this life was worth living, that death wouldn’t keep slipping into Aventurine’s mind and force him awake. And, to be fair, he used to be worse about his own safety in the past, before their daughter came into this world and gave him at least one more reason to hang onto life. He used to actually try to die, before the idea of becoming an orphaned daughter's father started to deter him.
But their family can never be a substitute for what Aventurine has lost. This is logical. This made sense. It was never the intention when they decided to go ahead with the pregnancy, at least not on Ratio’s part.
He understands, though it hurts to know. I love you so much I couldn't bear the pain of losing someone again .
So he pushes Aventurine closer, buries his nose in his hair, and hums. I love you so much I'm willing to bear the pain .
‘You said “grow old”.’
‘...Yeah, I did.’
‘That is too vague. I suggest establishing a specific number.’
Aventurine shifts in his arms, and Ratio can visualise his curious gaze staring at him. ‘What number do you suggest.’
‘One hundred fifty eight years. Anything under that is unacceptable.’
It’s an absurd request. Foolish, even. But Ratio is no fool, has never been, and he's always trusted Aventurine to pick up what he lays down. He knows he did by the way Aventurine laughs, and it rings as clear as a bell in the wind. It's beautiful, and Ratio wonders what would become of the world without it. ‘Alright, then. I shall grow impossibly old for you, Veritas.’
Like that, the air becomes a little less heavy, and Ratio can breathe again. They remain like this for a while, Ratio’s fingers drawing circles on Aventurine’s back.
‘By the way, that fairytale you told Scientia earlier…’
‘...Hm? What about it?’
‘That’s not how physics works. I shall elaborate tomorrow, so he doesn't have an essential misunderstanding of it once his studies begin.’
Aventurine huffs, and then the huff turns into a breathy laugh that he desperately tries to contain for the children's bedtime's sake. ‘You have absolutely no whimsy, my beloved doctor.’
He relaxes in Ratio’s arms, his face buried even deeper into the crook of his neck, his voice fanning on Ratio’s skin, sweet as honey.
‘But I’ll look forward to it.’