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"I am going to take a bath. The door will be unlocked, if you'd like to join me."
In the seconds it takes Aventurine to finish sending out a message and look up from his phone, Veritas has already turned around, not waiting for a response before walking into the en suite bathroom. Aventurine only catches a glimpse of his back as the door falls shut behind him.
Now that was unexpected. Veritas had already been locked in his study by the time Aventurine woke up this morning, and he was still there when Aventurine came back from work, most likely pouring over his most recent research. Not exactly a rare occurrence as of late.
For him to not even greet Aventurine properly, though—
Ah.
Aventurine waits, ears tuned to the sounds coming from the other room. There's the soft rustling of clothes being removed. The murmur of running water. No lock clicking into place, nothing to suggest a sudden change of mind.
It's one of those days, then.
He swings his legs off of the bed, setting his phone down on the nightstand. Veritas usually prefers to enjoy his baths alone. That was one of the first things Aventurine learned about him after they moved in together, with Aventurine’s every attempt to join him being firmly shut down.
It had felt like rejection—stung like it, too—until Aventurine came to understand that Veritas didn’t mean it that way; it was just another one of his many idiosyncrasies. He’d toned down his attempts after that, aside from the occasional playful tease just to see Veritas get flustered.
But then there are days like today, when Veritas is the one to approach him. He always words it as a nonchalant invitation, but Aventurine has learned to recognize it for what it is—a request Veritas never voices outright.
Aventurine already showered earlier. Veritas would have known that just from seeing him in his pajamas. Still, it had not stopped him, and that’s enough of a sign to have Aventurine taking off his clothes and leaving them in a haphazard pile on the bed. The slight chill in the air raises goosebumps on his arms as he makes his way to the bathroom.
They subside as soon as he opens the door. Heat greets him, mild enough to be pleasant instead of stifling.
Veritas turns to look at him from where he’s half-submerged in the bathtub. Despite the floral scent of lavender surrounding them, Aventurine isn’t surprised to see that he couldn’t be further from relaxed—his back is rigid, his fingers thrumming restlessly against the edge of the tub. There are dark circles under his eyes.
“Rough day, huh, doc?” Aventurine says, gingerly stepping into the tub and fitting himself into the space between Veritas’ legs. Careful as he is, some of the water still overflows, sloshing onto the ground. “Maybe you should try filling it a little less next time,” he laughs, resting his weight comfortably against Veritas’ chest. “Unless you want to flood the bathroom, in which case I can think of more enjoyable ways of doing it.”
His teasing lacks its usual sharp edge. It’s not meant to be taken seriously; the first time this happened, Aventurine truly had thought Veritas was after sex, but he knows better now. He also knows bringing in some familiar banter can help pull Veritas away from whatever is overwhelming that brilliant mind of his.
Sure enough, he’s rewarded with an amused puff of air tickling his nape. “Get your mind out of the gutter, gambler. You took so long I was led to believe you wouldn’t be joining me.”
“And miss the rare opportunity to bathe with you? I’d never.”
Besides, you clearly needed this, Aventurine doesn’t say. It’s obvious by the way Veritas presses his nose to his hair, one hand coming up to play with the longer strands while the other holds Aventurine close, tracing rhythmic patterns on the skin of his belly. He takes in a deep, shuddering breath, and his next exhale is filled with something like relief.
Aventurine closes his eyes, lulled by the gentle warmth of the water, the constant beat of Veritas’ heart. These moments used to make part of him—the part that got used to having everything that mattered ripped away from his hands—want to turn around and flee. It’s a terrifying thing, to be entrusted with such a raw, vulnerable part of someone. To realize you are needed on such an emotional level.
He’s gotten better at fighting that fear now, just like Veritas has started coming to him more often when he gets stressed like this. What is it that people say? Baby steps. Aventurine is trying—they both are.
Aventurine is brought out of his almost-doze by the disappearance of the weight around his waist. He blinks groggily, trying to clear the fog in his mind, until Veritas nudges him forward and his brain catches up.
They’ve done this enough times that Veritas doesn’t have to say anything for Aventurine to get his cue, maneuvering around the limited space so he can dip underwater to wet his hair. It works well to wake him up the rest of the way, too.
“Which one?” Veritas asks.
Aventurine studies the colorful bottles of scented shampoos lined up by the edge of the tub. Just like the bath oils, Veritas keeps a variety of them. An oddly endearing quirk. “Hmm. Why don’t you pick for me this time? Nothing too sweet, though.”
Veritas hums in thought, then reaches for a yellow bottle. Moments later, a slightly citrusy scent joins the lavender lingering in the air.
Aventurine smiles. Veritas knows his tastes well.
“Tilt your head back.”
Veritas washes Aventurine’s hair the same way he does everything else, with calm and methodical precision. Gentle hands massage his scalp, slowly working the shampoo into a lather. And with each brush of his fingers through Aventurine’s hair, something about Veritas shifts, unwinds, as if the remaining tension is bleeding out of him little by little.
Aventurine should ask him what it is about washing his hair that relaxes Veritas so much. Is it the repetitive motions? The concentration needed to work through tangles and knots without hurting him? The question hangs on the tip of his tongue, but before he can voice it, Veritas is guiding him to rinse out the shampoo, and the moment passes.
Well, he can always ask him another day. A shiver going down his spine draws Aventurine's attention to the fact that they’ve been in the bath long enough for the water to turn cold and his fingers to prune.
Veritas, without missing a beat, reaches for the fluffy towels he’d set out beforehand, wrapping one around Aventurine’s shoulders as he urges him out of the tub.
“Always so prepared, doc,” Aventurine says, relishing the soft caress of the towel on his skin while Veritas pulls the drain plug. He knew it was a good idea to insist on getting the premium cotton set.
Veritas rolls his eyes. “Keeping towels nearby when you’re bathing is basic common sense, gambler,” he says, doing a much faster job of drying himself than Aventurine. “Not all of us have the need to shout for someone across the apartment to come get it for them.”
He’ll never let him live that down, will he? “Guilty as charged,” Aventurine admits, “but in my defense, I genuinely forgot about it that one time.”
“Perhaps I should come up with a plan to exercise your memory, then?”
“My memory is perfectly fine. For example, I clearly remember how last night you—”
“Aventurine. ”
Aventurine cackles. Red tints Veritas’ cheeks, but Aventurine doesn’t miss the twitch of his lips, the softness in his gaze. He looks better now. Still tired—the bags under his eyes haven’t disappeared—but less like he’s at his limit and more like he just needs a good night’s sleep.
Setting his towel aside, Aventurine takes Veritas’ hand, chest warm in a way that has nothing to do with the bath and everything to do with the man standing in front of him. “Let’s go to bed, Veritas.”
Later, when they’re both dressed and tucked under the covers, Veritas pulls Aventurine closer. “Thank you for always indulging me,” he mutters, voice muffled against Aventurine’s neck.
It’s the closest he’s ever come to acknowledging his real need for these little moments out loud. Such a small thing, but somehow it feels bigger, far more meaningful than meets the eye. It makes Aventurine’s heart clench with that familiar fear and an emotion he cannot name.
He won’t be able to see Veritas’ expression, but he still wriggles around in his arms until they’re lying face to face, breaths mingling in the dark. A thumb traces down Veritas’ cheek, pausing when it meets the corner of his mouth.
“Anytime, doc,” Aventurine says, pressing their lips together. His heartbeat is loud in his ears.
Veritas sighs into the kiss. He seems content to keep it like this, nothing more than chaste, lazy pecks, and Aventurine finds he doesn’t mind it. He sinks into the quiet comfort of it, letting it drown out the persistent voice in his mind telling him that this is a gamble he’s bound to lose.
By the time he pulls back, it has all but faded away. “Does this mean you’ll always let me join—”
“No.”
Aventurine chuckles. “Didn't hurt to ask.” He tangles their legs together and throws an arm over Veritas’ waist. Veritas will probably push him away in the middle of the night claiming it’s too warm, but for now, he lets Aventurine cling to him like a koala, one of his hands resting on the small of Aventurine’s back.
Aventurine nuzzles Veritas’ neck, breathing in the soothing combination of lavender and citrus that lingers on his skin. It's a scary thing, to be needed by someone. Even scarier to accept that you need them in return.
But he's trying, isn't he? They both are.
“Goodnight, Veritas.”
“Goodnight, my dear gambler.”