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Ratio swipes the card key to Aventurine’s room in the Reverie hotel and opens the door.
Behind layers of bubbles invariably formed by concentrated memoria, the gambler lies down in the dream pool standing at the very center of the opposite side of the room. His face, usually twisted with cunning, shows no expression. It’s neutral. If Ratio didn’t know better, he’d assume Aventurine simply went for a stroll across the Moment of Dusk.
He kneels next to the dream pool and grabs Aventurine’s wrist. The pulse, albeit a bit weak, is there, signaling that whenever he comes back, his body will be ready to serve its purpose. He will come back. Of that, Ratio has no doubt.
Still, Aventurine tucked the card key under his door, as if knowing Ratio will visit if only to indulge himself in looking at the peaceful face. A person genuinely ready for death shouldn’t look like this.
Aventurine’s locks, slightly damp from the humidity, fall down the side of his neck, barely hiding the ugly scar that the former slave turned into yet another chip. Ratio stops himself from sliding his fingertips over it. The thought that Aventurine wouldn’t want to be touched there, even if he never learns about it, deters him.
Ratio told himself he’ll come to check up on him. To give him a small massage, to fight the numbness spreading in the limbs of a person lying down for too long. Not to stare at how his long lashes adorn the closed eyes, how a loose lock of hair threatens to fall into his parted lips, how his empty hands have grabbed onto nothing.
With tight, round movements, Ratio encourages his blood to resume a steady flow. He moves thoroughly, concentrating on each limb without haste. This is all he can do. The rest belongs to the gambler.
He finishes the ministrations and looks at his handiwork.
Nothing has changed.
Ratio sighs and leaves Aventurine’s side. He cleans the room - opens the window to let out some inexistent dust, and makes sure every chair stands exactly the same distance from the table.
On the table lies a stack of credits, at least a 100k, with a note on top. Take me! it says in wide, ornate letters that stand so close to each other they nearly blend. Aventurine’s handwriting is just like him - deceptively open and ostentatious, but huddled up.
Ratio leaves the credits. Only the note finds itself in his wallet.
With one last peek behind his shoulder, he leaves the room.
***
A knock on the door on the very same afternoon and without a second of delay, Aventurine enters Ratio’s hotel room.
“Hey, doc! Looking as fly as ever!”
He’s visibly tired, bags under his striking eyes and his smile a tad more labored than usual. But he’s there. He’s back.
“Sit down, I made you coffee,” Ratio says.
“How did you know I’ll come?”
Ratio doesn’t answer. Maybe saying that he’s been making a coffee every hour just to have one ready when Aventurine comes back would be too much.
“You don’t look well,” he says instead.
Aventurine sits down and takes the coffee cup in one hand. “I know, right? I almost got to meet IX!” He laughs, but soon his thoughts switch to something else and his expression turns into a pout. “You’ve been to my room, right? Why didn’t you take the credits?”
He manages a single sip of the coffee before his phone rings.
“Sorry, gotta run! See you later! Ah, here you go,” he says and hastily hands Ratio a package with the Alfalfa logo on it.
He rushes out of the room, leaving the full coffee cup on the table. Good thing Ratio didn’t tell him he’s made it specifically for his return - he’d feel like an idiot now.
The package holds a wallet. It’s brand new, from an expensive brand, one with a store in the Moment of Dusk. Ratio’s brows furrow. His old wallet still serves him just fine.
***
One of Black Swan’s cards falls on the bare floor of Aventurine’s IPC office.
“Allow me,” he says, the gentleman that he is, and ducks under the table to get it.
Ratio sits on a chair beside him because he was involved in the deal with Black Swan on Penacony, but he hasn’t inserted himself in the conversation yet. He’s only assisting, after all. Aventurine can do the talking.
He assists him by placing his hand on the edge of the table where Aventurine’s head could strike if he raises it without confirming his surroundings.
Black Swan cocks her eyes at Ratio. Her lips form a mysterious smile.
“You two are such a cute couple,” she says.
Aventurine raises his head so fast he would’ve hit himself right on the edge, had Ratio not anticipated this. Instead, the palm cushions the damage. He emerges with the card and returns it to the Memokeeper.
“Dr. Ratio is my technical assistant,” he states the obvious. Ratio is just his business partner, after all, nothing less and definitely nothing more.
Black Swan snickers.
“He sure worries about you quite a bit for a technical assistant,” she says and her gaze pierces Ratio.
He takes the hand from the table.
“Of course. That’s his job.”
Of course. Aventurine knows well what Ratio is to him. It’s Ratio who can’t help but feel entranced every time he enters the room, opens his lips or even just takes a breath.
“Of course,” she purrs and puts her card back into the deck. For the first time this evening, she addresses Ratio: “Good doctor, would you like a card reading?”
He doesn’t believe in such nonsense, but keeps the sharp remark to himself. Aventurine’s networking might depend on his words. “Their art is rather fascinating,” he starts with a compliment. It’s true - each card presents a piece of a different memory, a technology accessible only to those from the Garden of Recollection. “But I’m sure our dear gambler would enjoy a reading more than me.”
“Is that so, Mr. Aventurine?” she asks with a grin.
Aventurine mirrors her smile. “You know what - I’ll take the deck. Send me the check later.”
After the meeting, he gives the deck of cards to Ratio and leaves without any additional instructions. Ratio can’t read what’s on the gambler’s mind, but he holds onto the deck anyway. If only for him.
Aventurine never requests to use it.
***
After a few months, Ratio’s curiosity takes the better of him.
It’s a day like any other. They’re sitting in an IPC cafeteria, eating fully nutritious lunches that Ratio prepares for both of them.
“What did you buy the cards for?” he asks in his usual, strict tone. Almost as if he’s scolding the gambler, though Aeons know he could never.
Aventurine furrows his brows “Cards?” he asks.
“The ones you bought off the Memokeeper?”
A piece of broccoli falls from Aventurine’s fork. “Those… were for you.”
Ratio stops eating and looks him in those deeply unsettling but oh-so-pretty eyes, hidden behind glasses that he keeps wearing inside for no reason other than to be even more infuriating than he already is.
“For me?”
“Didn’t you say you liked them? I thought…” He never finishes the sentence, instead waving his hand in circles through the air.
“Do you really need to burn through your money that badly? If this were a test in economics, you’d get minus ten,” Ratio says, maybe a bit harsher than he intended. But even if it’s Aventurine, stupidity is the one thing he can’t handle.
The gambler’s shoulders drop.
“I just wanted to give you a gift,” he says.
Ratio doesn’t remember ever asking for one.
“Why?”
Aventurine straightens his back and locks their eyes.
“Because you’re my favorite, doctor,” he says in that irritating, fake manner of his. He even dares to top it up with a wink.
The worst is, Ratio wants to believe his deception. He knows very well that not an ounce of truth ever escapes those red lips, but he’s too lost in every sound they produce, every arch, every breath.
“You forgot sugar, right? I’ll bring some,” he says and stands up to escape the conversation along with his intrusive thoughts.
“Wait! Sit down, I can bring it myself.”
“I can do it.”
Aventurine’s smile falters just a bit. “You don’t have to be nice to me.”
What stupidity. Ratio doesn’t have to do anything.
“I want to.”
This is as much as he can admit. Anything more and he’ll sound pathetic, but this amount of truth can be still plausibly denied even under scrutiny. Aventurine doesn’t have to appreciate nor even notice his actions. As long as he allows Ratio to look after him.
He brings Aventurine two sachets of sugar, exactly how many he usually uses.
This time though, he puts only one of them in his coffee.
“You shouldn’t cut your calories, you barely eat as is,” Ratio says, well aware of his habit of skipping meals.
Aventurine spins the sachet between his fingers. They’re deft, really deft. They could destroy a man with their distal phalanges alone. “I thought I’d keep one.”
Ratio’s brows fly down his forehead. “Why would you keep a sachet of sugar?”
Aventurine shrugs, as if the answer is common sense, except it doesn’t make any: “Well, you took the effort to get it for me.”
“To use, not…” He stops mid-sentence. It clicks.
***
“Gambler,” Ratio says. His voice reaches his own ears and he barely recognizes the tone - sweet and gentle, like a lullaby. He really is just a man. “Do you have a moment?”
Aventurine looks up from his desk where he’s planning something on a sheet, probably those last, respiteful days of travel after a contract secured on a distant planet. “Sure.”
There is no point in wearing glasses in a cabin where only the two of them have access, so his eyes directly lock with Ratio’s. Charming. Mesmerizing. Smart. He could get lost in them.
But there’s a hypothesis he needs to test.
“I made something for you.” He shows Aventurine a coaster made out of sticks. The gambler’s curious sight makes him realize just how vulnerable those words make him. He adds an excuse. “I had an excess of free time.”
That’s not true. He carefully planned the project and discarded a few prototypes. The final product, though not especially pretty, took him some good hours.
Aventurine’s eyes run between him and the coaster, as if he’s still parsing the words. They finally stop switching and settle on the coaster, and if Ratio didn’t know better he’d think he saw them reflect light.
He walks from behind his desk, one hand outstretched in front of him and one behind his back. “Can I…?” he asks in a strained voice and clears his throat.
He accepts the coaster and beams at it. The brightness of this smile could rival the Sun itself and Ratio might burn just from looking at it, but he can’t stop himself.
“Thank you! I’ll cherish it,” Aventurine says, his voice taking an unusual cadence. For the first time since Ratio’s known him, he abandons the sly lilt in a moment of an open, human emotion.
The hypothesis must’ve been correct.
“Can I have something in return?” Ratio asks.
With a singular blink, Aventurine’s signature smirk returns.
“Of course! What would you like? Jewelry? A starskiff? A planet would be a bit questionable, but if you want one, it can be arranged.” He bows with a performative smile and a cheeky note in his words: “Your humble servant Aventurine, at your disposal. Just say a word.”
Ratio only smiles at that. How very Aventurine of him.
“Very well, then. Make me coffee in the morning,” he says.
Aventurine’s head shoots back up. His eyes scan Ratio’s face, but it shows no sign of jest. “Coffee?”
Ratio takes one last deep breath to brace himself and closes the distance between them. The gambler doesn’t back up, instead curiously examining his face, centimeters away from his. Both hands wander to Aventurine’s cheeks, the left gently cusping, the right’s thumb painting soft circles on the skin.
“Tea is also acceptable,” he whispers. “Do something for me, whatever you find agreeable, and I’ll shower you with gifts.”
A shiver runs down his spine. That’s it. He went further than plausible deniability, to a place from which he can’t back out. If, by any chance, his hypothesis turns out to have been wrong, he’s burnt all the bridges.
Aventurine’s eyes mist over. “If I can do whatever…” he wets his lips. “Can I kiss you?”
Not if Ratio can do it first.
Aventurine doesn’t waste a moment to reciprocate. His other hand flies from behind his back into Ratio’s hair, those deft fingers massaging the scalp, pulling and uncurling his locks.
They don’t separate until they can’t breathe anymore, Aventurine’s face tinted with red, half-closed eyes begging Ratio to forgo all his inhibitions. He must look the same.
The hypothesis stands correct.
***
Ratio walks into the kitchen of their shared apartment and cherishes the sight. Aventurine sits at the table, sipping his drink of choice, most likely coffee with two tablespoons of sugar. A newspaper spreads in front of him, its corner caught on another cup of coffee, propped by the coaster made of modeling sticks.
“Hey,” he says and Aeons, does even a single syllable sound enticing when coming from between those lips. “Did you enjoy your nap?”
Even when Aventurine pushes the coffee closer to him, Ratio doesn’t sit down.
He takes a deep breath, readying himself for what he’s about to do.
“I wasn’t napping,” he says.
He waits for Aventurine to give him his full attention. The gambler turns to him and curiously tilts his head.
Ratio drops on one knee and opens a box. It holds a ring adorned with pink diamonds, the color of Aventurine’s eyes.
“Will you marry me?”
Aventurine’s hands fly to cover his gasp. Those eyes, as always holding Ratio hostage, cloud over with tears and he laughs.
“You’ve never even told me you love me!”
Ratio might’ve never used his words, but… “Don’t I, every day?”
Aventurine kneels next to him and embraces him, tightly, like he doesn’t want to ever let him go. Ratio likes it that way.
“You do, you do. Ah, no, that’s not the line,” he laughs at his own joke. “I do,” he says.