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Aventurine didn't remember the day he was injured.
Veritas Ratio was the one who explained it to him while he lay immobile in a hospital bed.
He’d been missing for only half a day, according to the doctor. Veritas had taken it upon himself to search every location possible, everywhere Aventurine had last been seen, until finally finding the Stoneheart slumped in a ditch, barely breathing. He’d rushed the man to the hospital, not sleeping a wink for the three days he was in and out of surgeries, the doctors doing everything they could to stabilize him. There were two times they thought they’d lost him. Veritas didn't mention how each of those times had torn a piece of his heart into smaller and smaller scraps. He didn't need to. Aventurine could tell.
It was on the fourth day, after hours of standing silent vigil by a hospital bed, that Veritas realized Aventurine was awake.
“Aventurine? Aeons, you’re awake-” Veritas said amidst frantic blinking from Aventurine. He worried for a moment that the blinking was just a neural response of some kind, but the panic in Aventurine’s eyes was unmistakable. It was the first time he’d ever seen such a vulnerable expression on the gambler’s face.
The sound of a beeping hospital monitor spiked in frequency to echo Aventurine’s racing heartbeat.
“You can’t move? Hey, hey, it’s okay, calm down. I’m right here, Kakavasha. Give me a second, I’m going to help you.” Veritas grabbed a paper and began frantically scrawling on it while Aventurine hesitated, surprise coloring his stare. He knew Veritas was aware of his real name, but the doctor had never referred to him directly by it. It had been years since someone called him anything other than just Aventurine. Maybe the surprise of it, coupled with the mere fact of Veritas being present, was enough to calm Aventurine down a little bit.
“You’re in control of your blinking, right? Blink once for yes.” Veritas said, and Aventurine squeezed his eyes shut briefly. Veritas exhaled a breathy sigh.
“Good, that’s good. Here, I made you this. You can use Morse code to talk to me. One short blink is a dot, one long blink is a dash, and two in rapid succession is a space.” Veritas finally looked up from the paper he’d been writing on and presented it to Aventurine. On it was hastily written every letter in Morse code, along with the translations. Aventurine paused, considering the paper for a long moment before hesitantly blinking out a message.
I can’t move.
Veritas swore he could feel his heart break in that moment.
“I know, Kakavasha. I’m right here, I’m going to get the doctors and see if they can help you with regaining your mobility.” Veritas was standing up to call a doctor in, when Aventurine started blinking violently again. Veritas sat back down.
“What is it? Oh, right.” He held the paper up for Aventurine, who blinked another message, this time with much less hesitance.
Don’t leave.
“Okay. I won’t. I’m right here.”
Don’t leave.
Don’t leave.
Veritas couldn't tell if he was repeating it to memorize the sequence or just to say it again.
That night, after Aventurine fell asleep, Veritas told the doctors of what had happened and told them to run whatever tests they could, anything to figure out what was happening and how to fix it.
The next morning, he felt his heart lodge in his throat when they spoke to him.
“He’s… I don't know how to tell you this. There’s nothing we can do, he’s only going to get worse, not better. I’m sorry.” A sympathetic doctor told Veritas, eyes downcast like she was touched by the anguish radiating from his skin. It felt like a cold hand was gripping him by the back of the neck. He barely listened while she described the intricacies of his condition, eyes unfocusing until she eventually walked away.
Veritas went to go see Aventurine again that day, and when he walked in, the keen-eyed gambler was staring intently at a spot on the wall, blinking out a message over and over again.
Can’t move.
Can’t move.
Can’t-
“Kakavasha?” Veritas placed a hand on his shoulder, interrupting his focus. Aventurine’s gaze softened, blinking once at him. He positioned the paper with the translations in a place where Aventurine could easily read it before sitting next to him.
Don’t need it. I learn fast.
Aventurine blinked the message quickly and easily, only glancing back at the paper once. A proud smile slipped onto Veritas’ face, reflected in Aventurine’s own eyes.
“I should've known you could pick anything up in just a few minutes. How are you feeling?” Veritas’ smile dropped as Aventurine hesitated, slowly blinking a single word.
Trapped.
“I know, I’m so sorry.” Veritas wasn't careful enough about his expression, unintentionally allowing a mournful look to cross his gaze for a moment. Aventurine stared intently at him.
What?
“It’s nothing, nothing you need to concern yourself with.” Veritas sighed. He knew he wasn't fooling anyone, let alone the one man who could detect even the slightest inconsistencies in someone's behavior.
Let alone the one man who knew him better than anyone else.
Aventurine’s eyes clouded with an emotion that Veritas couldn't quite recognize, something between grief and realization.
… I’m not getting better.
Veritas stayed silent.
Answer me.
Aventurine’s blinking was frantic now, laced with searing hot panic that broke Veritas’ heart again.
“No. You’re not. You’re getting worse.” The words permeated the air, settling into a deadly silence.
How bad?
Veritas inhaled sharply.
“They said about a month until you lose your ability to blink controllably. Then another month until you can't blink or breathe on your own as the condition progresses to affect your unconscious functions. It would eventually put you into somewhat of a coma, except you’re conscious and able to think.” Veritas recited in the same monotone voice the doctor had used when saying it. Aventurine’s expression didn't change the entire time.
Kill me.
“What?” Veritas’ voice was tinged with disbelief.
Kill me.
Aventurine’s gaze was steeled with resolve.
“I can't- I can't let you die, Kakavasha. I can’t. I can’t lose you.” Veritas almost pleaded. Aventurine’s eyes glinted with amusement.
Not up to you.
“You have to live. You have to have something to live for.” Veritas’ pleading was less forceful now, a part of him already realizing he’d lost. He’d never been able to dissuade Aventurine when he was like this, and now certainly wouldn't be the first time.
I’ve done everything I want.
A conflicted look swept over Aventurine’s face.
All but one.
“What is it? Can I help you do it?” Veritas fully gave up on changing Aventurine’s mind.
Yes.
Kiss me.
Veritas’ words caught in his throat as he sputtered momentarily.
“You- Are you sure? You want that?” Veritas felt his heart swelling in his chest until he was worried it might just explode.
Wanted to for years.
I was too scared.
Not scared anymore.
Veritas knelt by Aventurine’s side, meeting his gaze with glowing amber eyes.
“Are you sure?”
One blink in response.
And Veritas pressed his lips to Aventurine’s, holding it there for longer than strictly necessary. Maybe he wanted Aventurine to know that he’d wanted that too. That he wanted him.
He didn't have to see Aventurine's face to tell that he already knew.
When they finally separated, Aventurine’s eyes were still softly closed, a rare innocence in his expression that Veritas had never seen. He’d seen Aventurine smiling cheerfully, he’d seen him scowling in anger, but he’d never seen him this at peace.
After a long silence, Veritas finally spoke again.
“Do you want me to get the doctor? To discuss what you want?” He carefully skirted around saying the actual word, as if saying it would make it real. Aventurine blinked once.
That day was weeks ago, now. Every day since then, Veritas had gone to visit Aventurine in the hospital. Some days he spoke, rattling on about a random topic at Aventurine’s behest. Some days, he sat quietly while Aventurine painstakingly told him stories; he told stories of his childhood, of a forsaken planet and a long-extinct people. Veritas suspected, in some small way, Aventurine didn't want the last memory of the Avgins to die along with him. Some days, Aventurine was inconsolable, completely unresponsive other than the repeated messages he blinked over and over again.
Can’t move.
Can’t move.
Can’t move.
Some days, they both sat in solemn silence and said nothing at all.
It was like the world had been put on pause, everything else slowing to a halt while Veritas was with Aventurine, because it was Aventurine, and Aventurine was his world.
Veritas didn't even know it had been three entire weeks until the day the doctors told him it was time to say goodbye.
He found himself in Aventurine’s room as usual. The air seemed lighter than usual, as if Aventurine himself had been unburdened and freed from some invisible shackles that held him.
“I’m here, Kakavasha. I’ll be here the entire time.” Veritas whispered. Aventurine’s grateful eyes seemed more vivid than usual today.
Thank you.
I love you.
After Aventurine’s blinking slowed to a normal rhythm, Veritas squeezed his hand so hard he could feel his own trembling grip hum through his whole body.
“Please. Say more. Please, Kakavasha, don't let that be the last thing you ever say.” He practically begged. Veritas’ heart twisted viciously as a tear hovered at the edge of the gambler’s violet eyes.
Let me go.
Veritas made a choked noise in his throat before Aventurine had even finished blinking out the words.
“Let you go?” He breathed, as if doubting that he’d seen the message correctly. Or perhaps not wanting to believe he had. Aventurine’s eyes squeezed shut for a long moment before slowly reopening.
I am trapped.
Please.
Let me go.
“I am, I promise, Kakavasha. You won't be trapped for much longer. I’m- I’m so sorry.” Veritas swallowed thickly. Aventurine’s eye twitched so violently it made Veritas jerk his head up.
Not trapped here.
In your head.
A breath caught in Veritas’ throat.
“You- You want me to forget about you.”
No response, just a single blink as confirmation.
“I can't. I’ll never be able to forget about you.”
The corners of Aventurine’s eyes tightened into unfamiliar wrinkles. Veritas had never seen the proud gambler cry, not once in his life, but he recognized the sight as if it were more common than seeing his own face.
Trapped.
A familiar tug of anguish tore through Veritas’ heart.
“I know, you won't be for much longer, I promise-”
You are trapped.
Veritas fell silent.
With me.
Until you let me go.
Aventurine blinked furiously while Veritas shook his head.
Let me go.
Please.
Let me-
“Stop, stop. Please. I hear you. Don't tire yourself out.” Veritas’ hand clamped down on Aventurine’s like a lifeline, and Aventurine’s face noticeably relaxed. A question still remained in his shining vivid eyes.
“I… I will try. To let you go.” Veritas whispered. Aventurine blinked back, his gaze finally unburdened by the sadness that had become all too common to see. If Veritas tried hard enough, he could almost delude himself into thinking he saw the gambler smile.
“Sir, it’s time.” An unfamiliar voice chimed from by the door, and Veritas spun around to see the source of the sound. A doctor clad in a crisp white coat walked in, driving a cart that was completely devoid of anything but a single syringe, laid on a white sheet of paper. The liquid in the syringe was nothing like the iridescent cocktail of death Veritas had imagined. Instead, a crystal clear fluid sat calmly inside the syringe, as innocent looking as water.
Veritas knew what a lethal dose of sedatives looked like. He’d worked with such compounds himself on occasion, he was no stranger to the unassuming look of the chemicals. Perhaps it was just that anytime he imagined Aventurine’s eventual death, it was always with an air of fantasy, a secret belief that it would never happen.
Veritas tore his eyes away from the syringe and looked back to Aventurine.
“Are you ready?”
A single blink in response.
“Go ahead, doctor.” Veritas allowed the doctor room to stand next to Aventurine, even as every muscle in his body screamed to smash the offending syringe on the ground and protect the man who looked so thin on the hospital bed.
Veritas looked at Aventurine, fully looked at him for the first time in weeks, and truly saw how fragile he looked.
“You might feel a little sting.” The doctor said, wiping Aventurine's arm with a pad that reeked of sterile alcohol. Veritas could practically hear Aventurine’s eyes roll at the comment.
“What, you think I can't handle a little shot?” Veritas could almost hear the gambler’s voice, as clearly as if he’d opened his mouth and said it aloud. Veritas managed a half smile, edges of his lips quirking upward. Aventurine hadn't changed a bit.
“I’m scared.” Veritas didn't even realize he’d let the words slip out until they echoed through the room, dropping into the space like a lead marble. Aventurine didn't blink, but the defiant look in his eyes said it better than words ever could.
I’m not.
Veritas refused to look at the syringe as its needle slid into Aventurine’s vein, refused to look at the doctor with a laser focused face, refused to look at anything but Aventurine.
Aventurine, lying on the bed like a statue, eyes drifting shut almost immediately.
Aventurine, breathing rhythmically in time with Veritas, even as that breath grew slower and more ragged.
Aventurine, pulse fluttering in his wrist beneath Veritas’ hand, slowing down a bit, then a bit more, then managing one or two more beats.
Then stopping.
Veritas slumped to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut, still not letting go of Aventurine’s lifeless hand, still searching for the thumping heartbeat in his limp wrist.
It couldn't be over just like that. Aventurine couldn't be gone.
Veritas heard a broken wail pierce the air, clashing with the flatline tone of the hospital monitor. It took him a few seconds to realize that sound was coming from himself.
He felt it, he felt the moment Aventurine took his last breath and fell into the eternal quiet of death. He felt every valve of his heart falter just for a moment, felt the muscle in his chest hesitate as if deciding whether it wanted to beat again. Then as quickly as it came, the hesitation was gone, his heart beating at a normal pace again.
What an injustice, that Veritas’s traitorous heart kept pumping after Aventurine’s had stopped.
It wasn't fair. Nothing about any of this was fair. Against his better judgement, Veritas wanted to scream at the doctor to bring him back, to do anything in his power to let those violet eyes open again.
It would be a futile effort, he knew. More than that, it wasn't what Aventurine wanted. He didn't want a life trapped in his own skin, a life where he was immobile, a life where he was helpless. That kind of life would be like stripping away everything that made Aventurine himself. His fierce independence, his quick wit, his biting sense of humor, all of those were what Aventurine valued about himself. Veritas understood, no matter how deep that understanding cut. Aventurine didn't want to survive if he couldn't live.
Aventurine died the day he was injured.
His fingers flexed involuntarily as if the motion would restore life to hands that would never move again, as if he could give up every inch of his own mobility to free Aventurine from the prison of his own body and bring him back.
Veritas looked down at Aventurine’s pale hand, still grasped firmly in his own.
There was only one thing he could do now. It was what Aventurine told him to do, after all.
Veritas stood up and opened his hand to let him go.