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There’s one fact that Aventurine is completely sure that the universe is well aware of. So sure, in fact, that he would bet his life on it.
It’s a simple fact, an all-encompassing one: Aventurine is a self-destructive man. He knows this, and it would take a fool to not realize it after one interaction with him. He knows that Dr. Ratio must know this.
Which is why, he was slightly surprised that Ratio had indulged him the first night they had… found pleasure in each other. Which is a crude way of putting that they slept together. But could you blame him? Aventurine, sure, was the type to gamble with his life, but gambling with something like sleeping with him? It was a stupid move on his part. But it happened anyway.
Ratio was a calculated man, and Aventurine was sure that if they had been put to work together on any other planet with less grandiose, this would have never happened. But Penacony was the land of dreams. Nothing truly matters in a dream, does it?
Aventurine was sent to the planet of festivities for a mission, he knows that. But when things started looking bleak, and he was desperately trying to keep up his facade of pretending that he was winning when he felt so incredibly on his own, he needed a break. It wouldn’t be the worst, right? Indulging himself in the beauty that came with the fucked-up dreamscape? I mean for fuck’s sake, he was supposed to be on the planet of festivities. For however ugly the underlying issues were that he would uncover in due time, the surface of the dream was still a beauty to behold.
So the night it first started with Ratio, was the night he had decided to check out Golden Hour’s bars and casinos, using his blessed luck with his fingers crossed behind his back to win some spendings just for fun. Ratio had come to fetch him, anger-ridden, calling him an idiot and reminding him again of his mission and his real purpose of being sent to Penacony. They quarreled, because of course they did, but Aventurine had never bet this small and won this big in simple things like simple Casino machines in a while.
High off his wins, Aventurine had come on a little too strong that night, feeling exceptionally bold to let out his true shallow thoughts of the Doctor in their fight, and Ratio had reciprocated. The rest is history.
Well… not quite. Because if it was history. Aventurine wouldn’t be back in Ratio’s bed. Right now, in fact. Destroying himself again.
The truth of the matter is… there is another fact of Aventurine that he is completely sure the universe is not aware of. So sure, in fact, that he would bet his life on it.
It’s a simple fact, an all-encompassing one: He does not enjoy self-destruction.
But he can’t help it. Aventurine smiles when betting his life. He smiles when throwing himself to the wolves. He smiled through Ratio’s planned betrayal and Sunday’s horrible punishment of Xipe’s Harmony. He smiled when fighting the Astral Express. He smiled while being slashed down by Acheron, the Emenator of Nihility. He smiled while being force fed his past during his whole stay at Penacony. He smiles and pretends he enjoys destroying himself because that is all he knows how to do.
So forgive him for continuing to sleep with the Doctor. Forgive him for still texting the man who is most likely just using that universally known fact that Aventurine is a self-destructive man for his own advantage. Because Aventurine is a self-destructive man, and he pretends to enjoy it.
“Ratio–” Aventurine’s voice gets caught in his throat, and he shifts so the man above him is touching him where he wants to be touched.
Ratio is a kind man in bed, Aventurine notes. Even the first night he had been. It’s too kind. No one touches Aventurine out of kindness, and it is cruel to himself to continue coming back to the doctor’s bed when he knows he’ll be broken when this is all over. For that fleeting moment of feeling cared for. But he comes back every time anyway.
Though their transactions are purely physical, Aventurine still pretends that there’s something else there. Because, to reiterate, he is self-destructive. He will hurt until the end of time, and his mind won’t allow him any other choice.
He pants again, trying to will his thoughts elsewhere as Ratio continues to palm at him through his boxers. He’s too embarrassed to reach up and move his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. He feels a little too vulnerable right now.
Probably because Ratio was still completely clothed, and Aventurine only had his dress-shirt and his boxers still on.
It feels all too familiar. And with his past still at the forefront of his mind, with great thanks to Penacony’s dreamscape memoria, he feels something other than his arousal building up in his veins. A panicky feeling. Suffocating.
“Ratio, please–” Aventurine shut his eyes tight, grabbing onto the other’s shoulder. He’s not sure what he’s pleading for. Release? For him to stop?
He hears a grumble in the other’s throat, and Ratio’s voice comes out thick and deep when he speaks, “How filthy you become when you climb into my bed, hm?”
Aventurine tries not to think about anything else, again, but it’s hard not to. He only knows how to think. How to destroy every moment for himself in his mind, even if it’s supposed to be pleasurable.
“Take this off,” he forces out, breathy. He uses his hand on the other’s shoulder to pull at his black top, signaling what he means.
“Can I not admire you for a bit?” the doctor’s voice was still exceptionally deep, whisper-ish, as though his words were only for Aventurine alone.
Ratio leans down into the side of Aventurine’s face, his lips near his ear and whispers, “You look awfully good like this.”
Aventurine’s eyes still, his mind running haywire before a memory resurfaces like a flashbang. A memory he only recently let himself recover again in Penacony. A memory he sees in his nightmares ever since.
A gravelly voice, a sloppy face with patchy face hair blooms in Aventurine’s vision, and in a discerned voice, with his face, behind iron bars, the voice of his first master speaks,
“You’re an awfully good-lookin’ thing, and that’s why so many customers are bettin’ their fortunes on a scrawny brat like you–”
Aventurine’s branding on his neck suddenly burns at the memory, and the building arousal of Dr. Ratio’s hand on his cock shifts into something much too sinister for him to handle.
Aventurine loses his ability to breathe, and lets out a shout, pushing himself quickly up against the headboard, smashing the crown of his head hard against it as he tries to get away from Ratio’s touch. The other is clearly saying something, but Aventurine’s hearing is too fuzzy and one of the only things he can hear is the violent thrumming of his heartbeat.
He tries to center himself, the phantom burning of the scar on his neck feels too real to shake off.
Ignoring the throbbing of his head, he slaps a hand over his branding.
“Don’t embarrass your master, my lucky hound.”
Aventurine remembers it all a bit too clearly, his days as a slave. The unwanted hands. The way they roamed–
“You’re a good-looking thing–”
Aventurine tries to shake the memory out of his head. Tries not to think, to not allow himself to self-destruct for just one moment. Allow himself to have at least just one moment of tranquility. He breathes panickily, squeezing his skin where the branding had happened because it feels fresh. Penacony’s dreamscape had been Aventurine’s worst nightmare. His past and future coming back to haunt him both in horribly cruel ways.
Aventurine can’t breathe. His left hand is held in a fist so tightly it feels as though he broke through skin with his nails. And the branding. His hand tightens around the skin on his neck.
He feels a soft touch of a hand brush away sweaty hair from his eyes.
“Aventurine.”
His breath hitches. Ratio’s voice is sharp as he says his name. As calculated as it is, as always, it sounds wavering this time, as though the other was unsure what to do. Which was rare for someone who's a part of a guild that was known for its intelligence and logic.
Aventurine’s anxiety, though still peaking, has quelled enough for his hearing to return, and enough for embarrassment to pool in his stomach.
Emotional vulnerability is something you should never show in either of two specific scenarios: In the midst of a deadly battle in front of your enemy, and when you’re half naked in bed with your enemy. Aventurine truly is a master of self-destruction if he can cross at least one off that list. And he can.
He refuses to look the other in the eye. Maybe if he’s lucky enough, Aventurine can get up fast, shove his pants on, wherever they may have been thrown in the room, and run out without Ratio stopping him.
The odds are always in his favor, right?
His heart still continues to pound as the phantom burning of his branding fades. He is suddenly very aware of how hard he hit his head on the headboard, because holy shit, his head is throbbing.
“Aventurine.”
He hates being vulnerable. He hates how Ratio is saying his name. He hates how he’s supposedly lucky, but insists to throw himself in the worst possible case scenarios anyway.
Aventurine, through the emotional torment and physical pain, smirks slightly, hoping to think of some sly remark before–
“If you’re going to waste your words on something snarky, don’t bother,” Ratio deadpans coldly. Though, he feels Ratio’s large hands reach behind the back of Aventurine’s head, cupping it enough for his head to no longer rest against the hardwood, and instead in the palm of his hand. Everything is too gentle, too kind, Aventurine wants to hurl.
When Aventurine finally looks up, Ratio is staring at him with exceptional worry etched into his eyes.
The purple-haired freak talks again, “Are you okay?”
Aventurine knows the rational decision. He knows what he should do. Say something witty and dash out of there, but there’s something in the soft touches of the other that makes Aventurine yearn. That makes him, for once, not want to sabotage his own feelings.
“This has to do with your time in the Penacony’s primordial dreamscape, doesn’t it? Your… memories,” Ratio states, cautious.
“Please don’t ask me,” Aventurine blurts out. His voice is shaking, and he clearly sounds spent. He knows Ratio is smart enough to at least have an idea of what kind of memories had made him retreat so violently, but he still doesn’t want to talk about it.
“I won’t if that is what you want,” Ratio says, and it sounds too genuine. Too soft.
“Ratio, say something diabolical before I throw up in my mouth,” Aventurine mumbles, leaning his head backward into Ratio’s hands.
Ratio snorts, moving his thumb calmly across Aventurine’s hair.
“Sorry for my concern. Completely out of hand for someone who just watched someone slam their own head into wood, right?”
Aventurine rolls his eyes, fighting a smile, “Is this you trying to be sarcastic again?”
Ratio’s small smile dissipates as the silence grows, and his face straightens out. He clears his throat. “I know this… relationship is purely physical. But if you were uncomfortable with it, I would have stopped at any instant, Aventurine. I would never wish for… I would never want you to—.”
“No, that’s not what this is,” Aventurine tries, his neck still tingling as he tries to calm himself.
Ratio moves to get off of him, pulling his hand slowly away from the other’s head. Aventurine’s panic spikes up and goes to grab at Ratio’s arm near his face.
“Wait!” Aventurine shouts, and Ratio looks back at him with wide eyes when his grip tightens around his arm. “Don’t leave, I’m sorry.”
“I’m not leaving,” Ratio says, slowly, taking Aventurine’s wrist in his hands to place it back down on the bed. He continues to climb off of the other, sitting, instead, on the side of the bed to his left.
Aventurine sits up too, his head still throbbing as he tries to situate himself. He feels Ratio’s eyes on him, and they stay there breathing in each other’s company before Aventurine sighs.
“I’ve tried to push away my old memories as a slave ever since I became one of the ten stonehearts,” he starts, rubbing his serial number on his neck. He knows the statement is obvious, but Ratio perks up, listening. “I was sent back through all those memories again because of the memoria on Penacony. It’s just… those memories are all fresh in my mind now, is all.”
Aventurine cringes at his words. How stupid does he have to be to think that Ratio would even want to hear all this. He came here for a good fuck, and now he’s babysitting an emotionally unregulated man-child on his own bed. Self-destructive, right? Aventurine should learn when to keep his mouth shut.
He feels something wet prick at the corner of his eyes and he wishes the walls would swallow him whole. He’s usually good at keeping his composure. Ready to flee. Ready to turn his face away before letting himself crumble, but his head hurts right now, and he feels as though someone had carved his heart out with a spoon.
“Forget it. Let’s continue this another time. I owe you,” Aventurine moves his feet off the side of the bed, grabbing for his pants before Ratio steps in.
“Aventurine,” Ratio calls. And this time, it doesn’t sound sharp. They catch each other’s eyes for a moment, “I apologize if… I apologize if I hurt you.”
Aventurine smirks, laughing before letting his pants fall from his hands again and straightening up on the bed, “Since when did you care for things like ‘feelings’, doc. As you said, this whole thing is purely physical. Don’t suddenly turn sappy on me.”
He flinches when Ratio reaches out towards him, but at the feeling of his hand against the skin of his cheek, soft and unassuming, Aventurine’s body melts into it.
Aventurine stammers. He’s always hurting himself coming back into the doctor’s bed, he knows this. The universe knows this. He’s only here to allow himself a moment of respite, away from prying eyes. Allowing himself to feel as though he is cared for. It all means nothing at the end of the day. But he pretends, just for a moment, that it does. That this matters. That he matters. That if he was to bet his life again tomorrow, that someone would miss him once his luck runs out.
He remembers the “doctor’s advice” that Ratio had given him on Penacony. It was a small statement near the end, when he had written, “Do stay alive”. It was such a small gesture, barely even a gesture at all, but Aventurine still held that notion close to his chest. Because whether Ratio actually cared for him or not, at that moment, he believed that his existence was actually acknowledged. That if he was to disappear, there would be someone out there that would want to come find him.
“Why are you…” Aventurine trails off, Ratio’s soft fingers moving from his cheek to his neck, nearly grazing the permanent reminder that his life was never his. It’s too sensitive of a touch, and Aventurine reaches up to still his hand. “Why are you doing this?” Aventurine finishes.
“Doing what exactly?”
Ratio’s hands don’t move from Aventurine’s skin as he speaks.
“These… transactions with me,” he continues, “I know you’re a person of strategy, Ratio. I’ve been thinking for a while now that the reason you agreed to sleep with me the first night was a calculated move. To one day, perhaps, use these moments of vulnerability against me. If that’s what this is, I’d advise us to cut this short.”
“Why bring this up now?”
The hand on his neck travels, and the skin on Aventurine’s back shudders. “You’re touching me softly against the serial number that you had mocked me for just weeks ago. Can I not be suspicious?”
Ratio’s hand moves away from his neck, and Aventurine would be a liar if he didn’t feel a longing for the loss sensation.
Aventurine doesn’t remember the last time he was touched like this. If he were to not count the nights he had purposefully blacked out of his memory during his time before the IPC with his master, then the last time he had been physically touched outside of battle would be when his sister had hugged him to sleep as a child. Even those memories were too far gone to physically remember.
“Aventurine, I didn’t…” Ratio sighs, “That was before we got… intimate. It’s irrational for me to say this, but I had never pegged you as someone who could get hurt. You carry yourself differently than how you act when you’re under me.”
Aventurine rolls his eyes. “And how is that? Weak?”
“Real.”
Aventurine stills at the call out.
Ratio continues talking, “After our first night together you started acting differently to me. You had shown less of your bravo and more of your… fear. It was unwise of me to not have picked up on it earlier. You’re more human to me than you ever were. You aren’t weak to me, Aventurine.”
A weird anger flares in his stomach. “That’s fucking hilarious, Ratio. You think that just because I let you fuck me, you suddenly know everything about me? Stop pretending that this whole thing was not just you wanting to get an easy lay because it’s hard to find someone to do this with in our line of work. You don’t know me. ”
“I don’t know you because you won’t let me.”
“Because there’s no reason for you to!” Aventurine stands, his dress-shirt falling slightly off his shoulders as he turns around, looking down at the other still sitting on the bed. Frustration courses through his blood. “I don’t want to talk about my past because everybody knows it already. You do too! You know I was a slave before the IPC, and so does the rest of the world because it’s on display, Ratio. People know I’m from Sigonia because of my eyes. People already know my past. I… You’re not special just because I’ve slept with you. I let you sleep with me. That was my choice to make. That was me,” Aventurine emphasizes.
Something hot burns behind his eyes, and he’s desperate trying to remind himself that he let Dr. Ratio sleep with him. His life was never his choice, and so were many other choices that were stripped from him. His life was never his, but if he had let himself have at least one choice outside of work, it was sleeping with the Doctor.
“It was never my intention to use these moments against you,” Ratio says, cautiously, and Aventurine hates that he knows Ratio is being calculative about this conversation. For once he wants him to drop it. For once, he wants to be treated like a human. Not a pawn. Not just a piece of the IPC. Not a gambling chip.
“Just stop the bullshit, Ratio.”
“If you really believed that this whole transaction was just some kind of preplanned strategy, then why did you still come all those times? Why did you come this time?”
“You think I like doing this to myself?!” Aventurine lets out, his voice suddenly raising. He takes a step away from a moment, before turning back to stand in front of Ratio, “You think I like throwing myself into every possible scenario that will hurt me?! I only do these things because I don’t know how else to live, Ratio. I’m only here because you’re so fucking nice to me when I’m under you and I don’t get that anywhere.”
“Aventurine–”
“No. You don’t get to sit there and act like you’re suddenly some righteous, morally sound-proof bastard when you know that I’m a fucking fake. You don’t get to sit there and pretend you’re not using the fact that I’m irrational enough to keep coming back against me. I’m afraid of everything, yet I still throw myself into every possible destructive scenario, Ratio. You know this. I know you know this because you’ve always doubled down on me when I do. I bet my life because I’m ‘irrational’. I destroyed my own fucking stoneheart because I’m ‘irrational’. And I come to your fucking bed every time I’m able to because I’m irrational. You know this,” Aventurine breathes, anger festering in his throat, “I’m stupid. That’s why I’m here, Ratio. Because when I’m here, I can pretend, for one goddamn second, that I’m actually worth having around.”
“I was never trying to take advantage of you. I thought you wanted this too. If I had known–”
“I do want this!” Aventurine yells, cutting the other off again, “That’s why I’m so fucking scared of this.”
“Aventurine,” Ratio says. How he hates the way he says his name. Aventurine tries to not let frustrated tears escape his eyes. He blames Penacony for his sudden loss of control in his emotions. His memories were still too fresh. As though he had just lost his family, as though he was just branded, as though he had just killed his master and traded his life to join the IPC. His life feels too real all of a sudden.
Everyone knows his past. But Aventurine also knows that nobody knows him . They don’t know the fearful days and nights he had to endure as a slave. The comments on his body, the unwelcomed hands. They don’t know the last moments he had with his sister before he was forced to run. They know what he’s lost, what he’s had to give up, but not how it left him. He is such a broken man. And no one will ever know enough of that part of him to care.
Ratio can hold his physical body, make him feel pleasure for a moment, make Aventurine feel wanted. But what about Kakavasha? Is that part of Aventurine dead forever? Has he given up all of his humanity? His own sense of self?
“Let me care for you,” Ratio finishes. And the words slash right through Aventurine’s chest, as deep as Acheron’s blade had hit in Penacony.
Ratio reaches forward as Aventurine keeps his eyes glued to the ground, and Ratio takes Aventurine’s hand in his, so lightly.
Something breaks then, and Aventurine lets himself cry in front of someone, for the first time in so many years. What did that mean? To be cared for?
Ratio pulls him forward, and Aventurine’s falling halfway into his lap before Aventurine realized what Ratio had meant when he had said to let him care for him. In their relationship at the moment, it’s only sexually explicit. Being cared for meant pleasure.
“Let’s just do this, Ratio,” he says, sucking back in his tears quickly. He straddles Dr. Ratio’s lap, ready to destroy himself again, ready to let himself live in the only way he knows how.
He’s reaching to pull at Ratio’s clothes when strong hands grip his thighs, stilling him completely.
“Stop,” Ratio orders, and it sounds so serious that Aventurine feels a spike of fear rush through his core. “This is not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean? What else could that–”
Ratio raises his hands upward, cupping the other’s cheeks to swipe away stray tears. Aventurine chokes on his own words. The moment prolongs itself as Ratio’s hands move softly across his chin.
Everything feels hot, and not in a sexual way. His stomach feels warm, and he breathes heavily as he reaches upward to place his hands over Dr. Ratio’s.
“Just let me care for you,” Ratio repeats. It doesn’t explain anything more, but Aventurine refuses to believe that what Ratio is implying is what he wants it to mean.
A soft pathetic sound leaves Aventurine’s lips, and he lets Ratio’s hands travel down to his ears, to his neck, exploring the surface of his body without harshness, without seeking pleasure. The touch is just there, and Aventurine’s eyes flutter shut at the sensation.
The last couple of times they’ve slept together, they’ve touched each other, of course. But it had been in fleeting bits of immense heat and a need for momentary pleasure. Nothing like this. Nothing so genuinely intimate and kind. Aventurine almost feels nauseous at the unfamiliar contentment.
“Ratio, I dont–” his words are cut short as Ratio pushes him a little more forward, colliding their bodies together. Aventurine’s nearly resting his chin against Ratio’s shoulder as Ratio’s hands travel towards his back. Still unassuming.
“I just want you to feel okay,” Ratio confesses, and it makes Aventurine cling onto the other’s back, shutting his eyes tight, “You’ve been having nightmares too, haven’t you?”
Aventurine laughs, almost out of pity for himself, “How did you know?”
“The last time you stayed over. I was awake when you got up in the middle of the night.”
Aventurine tightens his hold around Ratio’s shoulders, letting his head fall into him. “I didn’t want to remember it all,” he confesses, quietly, “I saw a younger version of myself in the primordial dreamscape and had to come to terms with everything. It's so fresh in my mind. I feel like I’m still there and I just… I wanted it to end.”
Ratio’s hands travel up from Aventurine’s back to the back of his head, tangling itself sweetly in his hair. “It has ended. You’re here now.”
Aventurine feels himself tear up again. Everything’s too new, and he tries not to question it. He hasn’t felt like this in forever, and he wants to cherish it before it’s stripped away from him.
“Ratio, why are you doing this?” he asks again. Ratio’s hands stop its movements, and Aventurine moves back to an upward sitting position until they’re looking at each other again.
“I care about you, Aventurine,” Ratio says. It almost sounds like a confession, and it makes him want to laugh.
“You have no idea how stupid that is,” Aventurine’s voice comes out thick.
“I wrote you that note on Penacony for a reason. When Sunday punished you with Xipe’s harmony, I was truly afraid you wouldn’t make it. I couldn’t stand you before. How irrational you are, but… I want you to be okay. I want you around. I kept asking to see you here because I didn’t know how else I can have you.”
“For someone fueled by logic, this seems like a very illogical statement from you,” Aventurine teases, laughing with conviction. It doesn’t sway Ratio’s resolve, and instead, he feels his hands again rest at his waist, a finger or two underneath his dress-shirt. The touch is welcomed, but it makes Aventurine tense up again.
Aventurine rubs a hand across his own face, “Ratio, I’m not used to… being touched like this,” he mutters.
“If it’s not something you want, I’ll stop.”
Aventurine keeps his face in his hands, breathing slowly.
“I want this too,” Aventurine states suddenly. What exactly ‘this’ is stays unspecified. “I just don’t know how to have it.”
Ratio reaches up to take Aventurine’s hand away from his face. A finger tracing his face again as he pulls Aventurine’s chin down.
They don’t kiss. Ratio pauses before they can, and Aventurine spends a moment staring into intense golden eyes. Longing, and afraid. But that’s where he’s always stood in his life, hasn’t it? Longing for reason, afraid of losing.
This is another gamble. Whether Ratio and Aventurine end up burning each other up or this all actually, in some goddamn impossible way, works out, it’s all a gamble. Aventurine never bets for his happiness though.
Betting for his survival? Sure. That’s the reason he killed his master, the reason he joined the IPC. But when a gamble is for his own satisfaction, real satisfaction, he’d rather run.
Ratio’s hand on his chin, his hand on his waist. His soft words. They’re both dancing around it. And Aventurine is irrational but he’s not clueless. He knows what this all means.
“Do stay alive. I wish you the best of luck.” That’s what Ratio had written in Penacony. When Aventurine was stuck in the Primordial Dreamscape, losing himself to the nihility, he believed he was the only one, possibly, in the whole universe that was on his side. But Ratio had written that to him, told him to open it on his last legs. And seeing that someone out there had still wanted him alive… Well, it made him feel something much more than relief in his heart.
Aventurine held Ratio’s gaze. Their faces were close, but Ratio had not moved. Aventurine thinks for a moment that Ratio is letting him choose. It makes him want to cry again.
This is all a gamble. He knows this.
But he was always one for dramatics, wasn’t he? It’s all in or nothing.
Aventurine shuts his eyes tight and moves forward, letting their lips touch.
It’s not a deep kiss. Nothing like the ones they’ve had before in the heat of the moment. It’s softer, and Aventurine is suddenly fully aware of where Ratio’s skin is touching his, and he wants more. Not for pleasure.
He just wants the warmth.
The kiss feels more like a confession between the two, something that both of them were well aware of but too afraid to say aloud.
He pulls away first, and Ratio’s eyes open slowly, staring at him in a way that feels too open for their dynamic.
And then, Aventurine’s crying. Truly crying. He can’t stop himself. He cries because he can. Because being held by Ratio suddenly feels like he’s genuinely being held, and that does something to him. Somewhere in his chest that always felt cold and empty, now feels warm, and he tries his best to cling onto it.
Ratio pulls him forward again, and Aventurine wraps his arms around the other above his shoulders, shoving his face in the crook near his neck as he cries silently. Ratio says nothing as he hugs him back. The hold is tight, Aventurine would probably have to try really fucking hard to wiggle out of it, but it’s so warm here, and the feeling of Ratio’s arms around his, the body warmth traveling through his thin dress-shirt to his bare back, makes him melt further into it.
“You don’t have to know how to have it. You already do,” Ratio whispers, and Aventurine shuts his eyes harder, feeling their heartbeats against each other.
“You have me,” Ratio mutters. Aventurine breathes slowly, letting the warmth and relief sit in a spot inside his chest that it never has.
For once, he lets himself have this. For once, he lets a universally unknown fact be known by someone else. And without judgement, without anything but genuity, Ratio holds him tighter.