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Aventurine looked at the stars outside the windows of his personal spaceship, whizzing over the window and lulling him to sleep. He was tired as heck, but it was worth it– he just got the slave brand on his neck removed. More accurately saying, it faded a bit.
Before falling asleep right there and then, Veritas’ voice echoed in his mind, saying, “What if it gives you an infection? Or it triggers some reaction in your body that may potentially kill you?”
He remembered himself, in front of the full-body mirror squinting at the brand, shrugging the scholar’s concerns off.
“Chillax, Ver, it's just a tattoo! How bad a reaction can tattoo removal trigger?”
“Nobody has old-fashioned permanent tattoos anymore, Aven,” Veritas said, putting his marble-covered book on the table with a light clank, “That's why that person used it to brand your neck– I highly doubt there's any permanent tattoo removal services in this time and age.”
His statement only made Aventurine more furious about the tattoo– his previous master wanted him to be a slave forever, that he branded something near impossible to remove just to serve as a harsh reminder about his status. Despite knowing his Master was long dead, Aventurine still wanted to prove him wrong.
He said with his arms crossed, “There’s no way I can't find one. The IPC has a wide information network that exceeds your imagination.”
Veritas sighed, as if contemplating whether he should take his chalk out.
“We don't know what health complications may occur, the risk of a problem with the ink itself or the safety of the removal procedure cannot be casually dismissed–”
“I think you should stop worrying about all this first. I'm willing to take the risk and that's it,” Aventurine cut his sentence off, losing the patience for hearing more nagging.
“Aventurine,” the purple-haired man grabbed his book from the table and headed to the bathroom, “You are insufferable.”
The door slammed behind him.
“Old geezer…” Aventurine mumbled, feeling like a boy who had just been told off by his parents.
And so he snuck out of their shared house a few days later, when Veritas was away to another planet for research on exotic plants, so that he could get that slave brand removed in a small clinic on the Xianzhou Luofu.
It was worth it… wasn't it?
XxX
He arrived home before even falling asleep.
Flopping head first onto the couch in the living room, Aventurine, however, couldn't sleep. The weird feeling in his head overrode his exhaustion– his skin itched, every breath seemed to sap a bit more strength than before, and he could feel miniscule electric drills breaking their way into his temples.
It must be due to the sheer amount of time he spent on the spaceship. Despite having been on countless missions on different planets, Aventurine had never grown used to the speed of spaceships or the more humid climate on the Luofu– he’d just sleep the feeling off.
He slipped into his bedwear and went back to the couch, feeling like floating. Veritas had forbidden him from getting into bed without a shower, so he was going to nap on the couch instead.
Everything will be fine.
He closed his eyes, the air-conditioning a bit too cool for his skin. Reaching for the remote, he switched it to a lower power and tried to doze off.
Everything will be fine.
The leaves rustled. The air freshener whirred. People on the streets chatted and walked. Aventurine never had such a sharp sense of hearing to be kept awake by such trivial, mundane background noises. Maybe he just needed sleeping pills.
Everything will be fine.
He had rarely taken them since he shared a bed with Veritas– he was one of the most ruthless people in the universe when it came to intellectual debates, but at the same time he was also one of the most caring people in the universe towards Aventurine. Every time he woke up from whatever nightmare he had, breaking in a cold sweat, the scholar would hold him for hours, whispering sleep-slurred comforts in his ears that would always calm him enough to fall back into sleep, his dreams all about the purple-haired man.
He got himself off the couch, giving up on wearing any slippers and treaded across the cold wooden floor through the corridor, up the stairs and bending into their shared bedroom and reaching the bedside table. First drawer, that’s where he stored the pills for emergencies. He pawed it open, fumbling for the big blue bottle, unscrewed it, and took two red pills. He vaguely remembered a reference from some old movie he saw, but the overwhelming wave of dizziness washed the remnants of it away.
He paused for a while, burning down the last of his rationality to ponder on the choice of swallowing the pills directly, before tumbling to the kitchen and grabbed the glass of water sitting on the counter, nearly spilling the cool liquid on his hand, but in the end he swallowed the pills with the water.
The floor felt uneven, filled with traps that he cannot see– it didn’t matter as long as he made it back to the couch.
E v e r y t h i n g w i l l b e f i n e
Very rarely did No. 31612 have dreams after taking the pills.
It was forced to look at itself in the mirror when servicing its master. It was the most disgusting thing in the world. It itself didn’t even want to see the image of the thing.
“Open your eyes! Or do you want me to gouge them out?”
“Or do you want me to gouge them out?”
“Want me to gouge them out?”
“Gouge them out?”
Gouge them out.
Master ordered it to gouge its eyes out. Had to follow Master’s orders. It needed a knife. The tool was just at its left, just resting on the springy mattress right next to it. It grabbed the knife. No. That’s actually a pill. It could already hear Master scowl. It cannot let Master scowl. It only existed to serve Master.
It was an utter failure.
The knife was at his right. It grabbed the knife– “I wanted you to gouge your eyes out, not play with chalk!”
It had messed up again. It was useless. It cannot do anything. It didn’t deserve to survive. It didn’t deserve to exist.
“NOW FUCKING GOUGE YOUR EYES OUT!”
It had to listen. It had to follow. It had to submit. If a knife didn’t work, it’s bare hands will do just as well.
It raised its arms to its face. Something jingled like a cheerful laugh in its hands. It heard the sound of unlocking a door.
It turned to the ugly man, the knife appearing in its hands. Before the man could react, it brought the knife right down towards his heart, the jingling getting louder and louder–
E v e r y t h i n g i s n o t f i n e
Keys?
The door unlocked, waking the sleeping slave man.
Veritas. He was back. Something told Aventurine that it’s not supposed to be like this, but he can’t put his finger on it. He can’t feel more relieved than seeing the purple-haired man.
“Sorry for waking you up– no wonder you missed all my calls for the past hour,” Veritas made a quick job of getting rid of his shoes, “Our expedition was cut short due to a Swarm attack.”
Aventurine nodded. At least he thought he did so. He looked at the clock, still not knowing how long he had been out for.
“Don’t worry, nobody got severely injured– even though I am quite astonished by the extent of stupidity of humankind,” Veritas started his usual back-from-work criticizing, “A few researchers claimed to be experts on the Swarm but made the fatal mistake of provoking them, I see them as a bunch of hypocrites sitting in the lab all day doing nothing…”
Aventurine wanted to lift himself off the couch or laugh or do anything as a response, but his headache only felt worse after waking up. Every movement seemed to set off alarms in his head, ringing in his skull and making his whole cranium throb.
On the other hand, his lungs were filled with cotton. No matter how hard he breathed he felt like drowning. In air. His neck– the brand– felt itchy, like someone was rubbing it with electric-charged sandpaper.
Grimacing from the pain, he looked down at his arms. Red blotches were scattered on his pale skin. It didn’t seem real.
Veritas seemed to say something, but he somehow couldn’t make out any syllables or coherent words. The scholar repeated his words louder, “You look red. Are you feeling hot? Do you need me to turn the air-conditioning up for you?”
“N-no! Please don’t–” Aventurine’s voice broke. His throat was the land after a prolonged drought– every vibration caused some specks of earth to break out and fall off.
Veritas looked at the remote. “But who would turn it down to twenty-seven degrees Celsius? You have to be kidding me, my dear gambler.”
Twenty-seven? Veritas had to be kidding him. It felt more like seven degrees in the living room.
Fortunately, the scholar set the remote down on the coffee table instead and kneeled down in front of Aventurine.
He raised his hand, resting it on the gambler’s forehead, earning a near-flinch. The hand seemed warm as usual, the touch soothing. His forehead tingled.
“No sign of fever,” Veritas said, looking at the blonde’s once more, “But this can’t explain why the air-conditioning is turned so low, the smart home system shouldn’t be like this– wait, give me your arms.”
Aventurine stretched his arms out slowly so that it wouldn't pull anything that may hurt.
Veritas examined the blotches for a moment. “Rashes. Have you been stung or bitten by some insect or other animal, or touched any plant when I was away?”
He shook his head then soon regretted it. His skull was an iron maiden, spiking his brain every single movement– that was, if his brain could feel anything.
“Then that’s weird. I can’t help you if I don’t know what happened,” Veritas sighed, “So please, tell me what you did when I was away.”
No. Aventurine can’t. He cannot tell anyone, especially Veritas, that he snuck away to have laser tattoo removal. He knew that the scholar would find out sooner or later, but he knew that he would still let him go if there weren’t any side effects.
“You really have to tell me, Aven. Your condition is worrying,” Veritas said, his usually unforgiving red eyes deep with concern.
The air was still. It formed a cage around Aventurine, tying around his neck that it was suffocating, forcing his instincts to kick in and gasp for air. He swore he could hear himself wheezing– or maybe the headache had gone up to his eardrums and spread to his whole body that he wanted to throw up all his guts all over the living room.
Veritas’ eyes momentarily went wide just like the time he realized his calculations didn’t support his hypothesis.
“An allergic reaction. But I never knew that you have any allergens…” He muttered, his brain most likely whizzing in light speed, “I will take care of that, OK? But you will tell me what happened– that is, if you still have the strength for that.”
Aventurine nodded, not realizing that tears were streaming down his cheeks already. Veritas held him close and maybe he could finally die in his lover’s arms when he comforted him, squeezing his hand, telling him that he will be treated real soon, then wrapping him in a blanket and carrying him somewhere else. Yes. He’d be happy to pass away like this.
“Everything will be fine, Aven.”
That was the last thing he heard before he slipped out of consciousness.
XxX
“Oh. You’re finally awake,” He opened his eyes groggily. Everything was bright. Where was this? Heaven? He didn’t deserve this. Hell? Maybe.
Or maybe not. Red eyes. The golden laurel on his hair. Veritas Ratio. He must be in heaven.
Then Veritas caught him in an embrace. “Kakavasha… I thought I’d lost you…”
“???” He tried to ask where he was and what had happened but what came out of his mouth was incomprehensible.
“… Ah. Right. Nothing has gone down your throat for the past few days. I’d get you a glass of water.” The purple-haired man turned away, not even bothering to hide his tears. Just Veritas being Veritas.
When his lover was away, Kakavasha took a while to assess his surroundings. He was safe, in their shared room. Everything seemed like the average morning. If he just ignored the IV drip and the machine he couldn’t name beeping next to him, reminding him that he was alive.
It took a while for his brain to boot up and load. Everything that happened before was a blur, besides a few jumbled-up sentences Veritas had said and the cold air that attacked his skin and on the contrary, the scholar’s warm embrace when he was carried somewhere– now thinking back, it was most likely the makeshift first-aid room in the basement.
So Veritas treated his condition– it was an allergic reaction, wasn’t it? Then he was most likely out for a few days. That must’ve been severe.
He looked out the window. The leaves on the tree outside rustled.
Veritas returned with a glass of warm water. He wanted to grab it, but obviously his arms were still asleep, nearly spilling it all over the sheets.
He greedily downed the water, Veritas holding the glass up for him.
Kakavasha took a deep breath when the scholar finally dropped the bomb. “So. Care to explain this? It seems paler.” He pointed at the Avgin’s neck.
“I– erm…” Kakavasha scratched the nape of his neck, scrambling for the right words to say– this was so not like himself but hey, he just woke up from a coma less than fifteen minutes ago. His tongue felt thick and clumsy. If this wasn’t so serious he’d be joking about the esteemed Dr. Ratio replacing his tongue.
“Ok. I’m sorry. I should’ve listened to you and not gone to remove the brand,” He lowered his head, ashamed of his rashness.
Veritas held him back up, his eyes stern. Kakavasha braced himself for another volley of scientific facts.
“My predictions were right– there was a synthetic allergen that was designed solely to trigger your immune system in the ink, which was released upon laser treatment so as to kill you if you wanted to remove it,” the scholar rubbed his temples, “But I really shouldn’t have lost my patience, knowing that it may irritate you. I do owe you an apology.”
Wait. Veritas Ratio, the most eloquent man in the whole universe, apologizing to him? Kakavasha thought he really was dead and in heaven. He faked a cough to hide his laughter.
Veritas turned to him again, blushing. “Need water? Or anything else? Get some rest. Your body is still recovering.”
“Well then, I guess that old thing ’s got too much money to spare to give everyone their individualized allergen,” Kakavasha folded his arms behind his head, “Which means… I’d have to live with it, one way or the other.”
He looked at his reflection in the window. The brand, despite having slightly faded, was still there. But now it not only served as a memento of his past as a slave, but also a reminder that Veritas would always be with him, no matter what.