Work Text:
“You worry too much, doc. See? I’m just fine! All according to plan.”
The outright dismissal stings like an open wound.
Veritas Ratio is not one to express his feelings so openly. Sometimes, he himself is unsure of how he truly feels, with the layers upon layers of masks that his emotions are buried beneath. But he had been so, so very worried for Aventurine, which was clearly not in his best interest to be. The suicide plot had always been a foolish idea, but of course the IPC had urged him to go for it — Aventurine is just another disposable asset, after all. Replaceable.
God forbid that Ratio care for him, see him as a human who deserves to live and be treated as equal.
In all honesty, he’s crushed. He had finally taken the steps to unload the abundance of horrible things he’d felt during Aventurine’s absence, unknowing of his status or if he would ever return home. When the man had waltzed right through his front door as though nothing at all had just happened, the relief at the sight of him, alive though perhaps not well, had nearly brought him to his knees in tears.
“Is that all you have to say?” The words are forced out of his throat, because otherwise he would not be able to respond. It’s an impulse. For someone who prides himself on being logical and rational in every situation, he’s struggling to hold himself together. There is truly nothing worse to Veritas than having his feelings dismissed or being treated as lesser.
“Huh?” And oh, Aventurine has the audacity to look confused. The emotions bubbling up in Ratio’s system leave him with clenched fists — not to be violent, never violent, especially not towards Aventurine. Just so very frustrated and hurt.
“I expressed that I was deeply worried for you while I was unsure of your status,” he starts, trying to mask the tremble of his voice, “and your response is to tell me that I worry too much?”
The blond just stands there, as though the weight of his actions on others is now just starting to click. It’s about time, Ratio can’t help but think cynically. And yet he can’t even respond, it would seem. He crosses his arms over his chest and tries to not let the irrational, ugly anger burn away at his insides.
“Point taken,” he speaks up again, voice eerily calm, “I’ll refrain from expressing my emotions in the future. My apologies.”
“Huh– I mean, Ratio, what?” Now it’s the scholars turn to look confused. “That wasn’t what I was trying to say at all. I’m not trying to downplay your feelings, but now I think you’re spiralling, doc.”
The man can only bark out a laugh at the utterly ridiculous conclusion. “And who are you of all people to determine whether I’m ‘spiralling’ or not?”
“Veritas.” Aventurine is really, really trying his best to reason with him here, but it’s difficult. And yet, he knows it’s just as difficult for Ratio to reason with him in times where he starts to spiral, too.
“Don’t put words in my mouth, gambler.”
The more Ratio’s evident frustration persists, the more that the ugly feelings of potential abandonment from the only man who truly sees him for who he is start to seep in, and it hurts as though he’s been stabbed in the gut. In fact, being stabbed in the gut hurts less than this — Aventurine would know. There’s truly no worse feeling than being pushed away again.
“I–I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.”
“But what are you sorry for? Apologies mean nothing when you don’t provide a reason.”
He opens his mouth, and yet the words just aren’t there. He watches as the scholar shakes his head, looking anywhere but at him before he speaks again.
“I think it’s best if we take some time apart.”
Aventurine is moving forward before he can even think about it, grabbing onto Ratio’s wrist tightly before he can walk away from him, desperation in his eyes.
“You can’t leave me,” he pleads with him, his grip firm. “Please. Please, don’t leave me.”
Throughout this entire conversation, Veritas has been fighting two halves of his brain — the logical half, telling him that he’s acting a fool and being utterly irrational, and the disordered half that’s telling him to push Aventurine as far away as possible and lock him out so that he can’t be hurt by his ignorance again.
But when the man begs for him to stay, to not abandon him, something clicks.
Ratio’s relationship with empathy is… complicated, to say the very least. He has empathy for the tragedies that face the world, hence why he does his job and plays his part to prevent them, to cure things such as sickness and energy crises. He has empathy for all sentient lifeforms, for the suffering that they experience. But when it comes to humans as individual people, there comes nuance. It’s difficult for him to connect, to well and truly care deeply for another individual as their own person rather than a collective group. That’s the way that things have always been.
Aventurine is the exception to this nuance.
He’s always been the exception, ever since their strictly strategic partnership had started and swiftly devolved. Ratio has never once pitied the man, aeons no, but he has empathised to the little extent that he’s able to. He sees the things others have done to him through his life have caused deep damage to his self image, his ability to maintain relationships, to keep a level head in the face of abandonment — Veritas finds that he relates to him, though perhaps in a slightly different manner.
His therapist had described Aventurine as being an “exception person” to his narcissism. The diagnosis by itself and all that came with it, the stigma, the shunning, the social isolation and the weight of his own emotions, was difficult enough to accept, never mind the actual title of a narcissist. He more than understands his diagnosis. He agrees with it and feels it fits, he’d since discovered after a long while of self reflection, though he never found the label of “narcissist” by itself fit, especially not the typical, stigmatised definition that people throw out. Veritas is just… Veritas. Even the titles of odd and unusual have fit him more throughout his life.
It was a process to accept his diagnosis, never mind then discovering that Aventurine was the exception to his emotions. Aventurine, who was his polar opposite and yet the exact same in so many ways it made him ill to think about; Aventurine, who was a suicidal, reckless gambler. And yet, he cares so deeply for him regardless.
So, it would be fair to say that seeing the man beg for him to stay tugs at something buried in him.
“That…” He flinches at the way his voice cracks with raw emotion, unable to meet his eyes, instead staring right where Aventurine holds his wrist like he’d run and run and never come back otherwise. “I’m not going to leave. I merely thought the best decision was for us to take some time apart so that we can reconvene and speak like rational adults later on. I now see that wasn’t my best idea.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t,” Aventurine grits out bitterly despite how he never once lets go of him, and even with the wave of anger he feels at being criticised, he breathes and tries to understand that he is in the wrong here, despite how this all started because the gambler stepped out of line. It’s incredibly difficult. Five years ago, he would have been entirely unable to do such a thing.
Deep breaths in and out, in through his nose and out through his mouth. He works to rationalise his thought process, to build up the courage to make his wrongs right, no matter how much his pride is screaming to walk away and retain his dignity. As much as his disordered thoughts beg for him to just leave Aventurine behind, logically, he knows he’s too in love with the man to ever dare do such a thing. He knows he will regret making such a decision when he’s calm again.
“I apologise. It was unfair of me to not let you state your intentions and not consider your feelings when I suggested spending time apart. I should’ve been aware you would’ve taken it poorly.” It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to finally get the words out, but he looks just above Aventurine’s eyes as he does so—it’s surprisingly intimate, Aventurine thinks, to actually have his lover look at him for once. He’s not one for eye contact. The apology feels more genuine like this.
Veritas is more than aware of the fact he would’ve been a complete hypocrite for not stating the reason he’s apologising, given he'd chastised Aventurine for the exact same thing barely even five minutes ago. He even feels proud of himself that he'd managed to clearly communicate how he understands he's in the wrong in this situation. Perhaps this is something to discuss with his therapist when they next meet.
"I'm sorry once again, Kakavasha. I wouldn't leave you, especially not over a miscommunication."
Aventurine can feel the twisted sense of fear, irrational hatred, anger, all of the negative feelings he could think of words for, start to unravel themselves in the pit of his stomach. His shoulders untense as best they can, and he slowly starts to loosen the vice grip he has on Ratio's arm, even if he refuses to let go. He still needs the grounding touch of knowing he's standing right there in front of him.
"Okay," he whispers, meeting his eyes as he speaks up a little more, "I'm sorry for undermining your feelings, Veritas. It... makes sense for you to have been worried about me while I was in the Nihility. You know I'm just not used to people caring about me," he chuckles, weakly and pitifully. His gaze shifts.
"And I know that's not an excuse." He swallows back the lump in his throat. It's still so difficult to be vulnerable and open about these things. "Just an explanation. I can't process that there's people that want me to keep living. I want to understand, Veritas. I'm sorry."
The silence that follows makes him nervous that he'd slipped up and said the wrong thing once more, but before he can begin to spiral, he feels himself being pulled into a familiar embrace, strong arms wrapping themselves around his shoulders. He's frozen for a moment before he wraps his arms around Ratio's waist tightly, as though he never wants to let go again.
"It seems we both have things to be sorry for," he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head, "I understand. This is merely something we have to learn from, not a life ending catastrophe. We will be okay."
The words comfort Aventurine more than Veritas will ever even begin to understand. Combined with the warm, comforting embrace he's trapped in, he feels if he had it in him, this is the point where he'd start crying. But he doesn't, so instead he settles to nuzzle his head against his chest.
"I'm sorry, Veritas," Kakavasha whispers.
"As am I, Kakavasha," Veritas responds, running his fingers through his hair even despite how they still tremble ever so slightly.
There is much more for them to talk about, now that their miscommunication is behind them, and also much to continue to work on for the both of them. But all in due time. Healing will come to them slowly.