Chapter Text
The doorbell's shrill buzz shattered the quiet of Veritas' evening, each sharp note more grating than the last as it echoed through his apartment. He glanced away from his half-written research paper, a furrow deepening between his brows. Visitors were a rarity in his life; unexpected ones, a violation. This one proved persistent too. Veritas exhaled slowly, the controlled breath doing little to mask his growing irritation. He pushed away from his desk, each step toward the door measured despite the continuing drone.
A question formed on his lips as he approached, sharp words ready to dismiss whoever awaited him. But the moment he opened the door, every well-prepared response died in his throat. The harsh lights from the interior spilled out on Aventurine, a misplaced splash of color in the cool darkness of the hallway.
Veritas' jaw tightened, the lingering annoyance instantly hardening into something colder.
Weeks of silence since their entanglement, and now this—an unwelcome apparition at his private apartment, an address that should have been beyond Aventurine's reach. Yet here he stood. The casual violation of Veritas' privacy spoke volumes about what strings he must have pulled through his Guild connections. The real sting, though, lay not in the abuse of power itself, but in the sheer audacity the gambler had to exploit it so brazenly.
When Veritas didn't move, Aventurine draped himself against the doorframe with one arm, head cocked at a jaunty angle, a lopsided grin plastered on his face like a daring wager. Every element of his pose seemed deliberately arranged to force Veritas' hand—either step back to maintain eye contact or remain uncomfortably close within the narrow space. Then, he spoke.
"Good evening, doctor."
The words, simple as they were, sounded over-enunciated, as if Aventurine had rehearsed them before knocking. The overdone formality made his skin prickle, but a retort rose quicker than his curiosity.
"To what do I owe this disturbance?"
Veritas' gaze swept over Aventurine as he waited for a response, the deceptive flawlessness of his appearance betrayed by telling details—a missing button on his cuff, the strap around his neck hanging slightly askew, a light sheen of sweat glistening in the artificial lights. Each imperfection registered like an inconsistency, demanding attention even as Veritas told himself he had no interest in solving this particular puzzle tonight.
The smile Aventurine offered instead of answering was another careful artifice, his tinted glasses poorly hiding the barefaced challenge in his stare. Veritas felt his jaw tighten, instinctive unease prickling at the base of his skull as Aventurine's voice sliced through the tension: "Well? Surely you wouldn't leave a guest waiting at the doorsill, would you?" The words were an indistinguishable replica of his usual charm, only slightly too fast, too fake to be convincing.
Veritas locked eyes with the gambler, his simmering displeasure barely contained. His lips compressed into a thin line, his voice dry as bone when he countered, "Guest implies an invitation."
A humorless chuckle escaped Aventurine's lips. "Given our... little history, I figured it was a gamble worth taking."
Veritas' hand tightened around the doorknob, the urge to slam it rising, sharp and tempting. But those small inconsistencies made Veritas pause. Whatever this was, whatever it meant, it was best handled in privacy. A controlled exhale was all the concession Veritas offered before stepping aside.
Aventurine brushed past him, close enough for his shoulder to graze Veritas, his arrogance as palpable as the scent of his expensive cologne. The door closed with a soft click that echoed through the quiet apartment. He followed a deliberate step behind, Aventurine’s confident strides leading them unerringly through the narrow hallway toward the warm glow of his living room.
The other man didn't so much sit on the two-seater sofa as claim it, his lithe frame sprawling out like a house dealer at his table. His legs stretched outward, fabric taut against the angular lines of his knees. The glint of his gold watch caught the lamplight, and his fingers tapped a rhythm on the plush headrest, each beat precise in their intent.
Veritas stood by the doorsill, an observer in his own home. His mind automatically began parsing each detail: the way Aventurine's gaze darted across the room without settling, skimming over the leather-bound books on the wooden bookshelf, the plants Veritas scrupulously cared for, the plaster head on the coffee table. But it was the subtle tells that drew Veritas' deeper attention—the restless movement of those tapping fingers, the tension poorly hidden beneath the nonchalance, the way Aventurine's glance avoided meeting his for more than a fleeting moment.
"Quaint little place you've got here, doc." Aventurine's words ran together, just enough condescension in his tone to irk Veritas.
"Not all of us require gilt and glamour," Veritas replied drily, stepping further into the space. He folded his arms across his chest, a gesture landing between defensive and confrontational. "But since you're apparently making yourself at home, do continue with your critique. I wouldn't want to miss a single pearl of wisdom."
Aventurine’s smirk curved upward, his fingers pausing mid-tap. "Not critique, merely an observation," he said, gesturing toward the workspace beside the floor lamp with a dismissive wave. "Did I interrupt something interesting?"
"Indeed." Veritas kept his voice steady despite the twitch in his jaw. "And unlike you, I value my time. If you've come here for a reason, I suggest you get to it."
A soft chuckle, and Aventurine reclined further into the sofa, as if Veritas' irritation was a source of amusement. His gloved thumb found the gold ring on his little finger, twisting it almost off before rolling it back down.
"Charming as ever, doctor," he replied, deflecting Veritas' directness with a tilt of his head. "Are social calls truly such a foreign concept to you?"
"As much as propriety is for you, apparently." Veritas lifted his chin, an assertive gesture. "You have a purpose, and it's certainly not idle chit-chat. Out with it, gambler."
The involuntary tic in Aventurine's jaw betrayed more than pique. "Always straight to business." Aventurine's gaze drifted to a point over Veritas' shoulder, the calculated pause unsteady at its edges. "Very well then…"
Something in Aventurine's tone made Veritas' focus sharpen. He watched as Aventurine's right hand rose to his throat, thumb and forefinger finding the golden clasp of his collar strap. The motion was smooth, too perfect—a magician's misdirection before the real trick. Veritas' gaze followed despite himself as Aventurine unlatched the collar, letting the leather ends fall loose against his collarbones.
The pale skin revealed drew Veritas' eye—a deliberate lure, he knew, even as he fell for it. Aventurine's fingers tugged the fabric lower, exposing the dark brand on his neck, as if almost daring Veritas' gaze to linger. He snapped his gaze back to the gambler’s face, a beat too late.
That smile twisted into a shameless sneer when their eyes met again. "I have a proposal for you."
Disappointment chilled Veritas, yet his pulse betrayed him, quickening despite his better judgment.
"No," he said, his voice icy. "I don't think that's wise."
"Your refusal seems premature, doctor." Amusement colored Aventurine's voice, though something in its cadence rang false. "You haven't even heard my terms."
"I can imagine what they entail."
"Oh, come now, doctor…"
His whisper curled around Veritas like smoke, each word carefully chosen to test his composure. A ripple, almost imperceptible, ran through his gloved hand as it trailed along the armrest, the movement momentarily losing its practiced smoothness.
“Don't deny it,” Aventurine purred, but Veritas kept his expression carefully blank, refusing to give ground. "You and I both know you enjoyed every second of it last time."
"The circumstances then were different," Veritas countered, each word a line in the sand. "And frankly, the audacity in making such a request is astounding, even for you."
A pause, then Aventurine's chuckle filled the room—richer and more mocking, yet somehow hollow at its core. "Intriguing word choice..." He shifted, leaning an elbow on the headrest and letting his head fall back against his open palm. The feathered earring brushed down the column of his neck, a detail too precise to be accidental. "Especially coming from the man who cornered me in a smoky bar with words far less veiled than mine."
The accusation made Veritas' posture stiffen. "Dropping unannounced hardly qualifies as subtle seduction either."
Aventurine repositioned himself with studied fluidity, one leg crossing over the other. "Perhaps I've taken a page from your book, doctor," he said, his voice dipping into something sultrier, "I'm a quick study, you see."
Veritas stepped closer, his footsteps muted by the thick pile of the carpet, the shift definitive enough to betray his growing displeasure. He stopped just beyond arm's reach, to observe without being drawn in. "There are limits to courtesy," he said, his voice controlled despite the warning edge creeping in. "And you're approaching them rather quickly."
The smile that split Aventurine's face held all the danger of broken glass. "Is that a threat?"
Veritas' eyes narrowed slightly as they locked onto Aventurine's, measuring the challenge there. His tone remained deceptively calm, each syllable weighed before delivery: "It's forewarning."
The gambler met the warning without retreat. He let himself sink into the sofa's plush cushions with deliberate languidness, uncrossing his legs in a motion designed to draw attention. Veritas’s gaze strayed again to the pale sliver of skin at Aventurine's throat. With that brief glimpse, heat sparked on his tongue, the memory of his sweetness surging back as if he just had a taste of him.
Desire and betrayal tangled together in his chest like mismatched proofs, a conflict he believed he'd resolved. But all he’d suppressed surged as if it had only been lying in wait. Aventurine’s mere presence, the effect it had on him, mocked every logical resolution he'd built when he woke alone in that bed. His breath caught, a momentary lapse he couldn’t conceal.
In the taut silence, Aventurine shifted minutely, his fingers twisting around the loose leather strap of his collar—a fidgety gesture barely perceptible, but to Veritas' practiced eye, the hesitation behind was too revealing. His gaze snapped back to Aventurine’s face, catching a fleeting flicker of genuine emotion, before his usual sardonic mask snapped back into place, polished and obvious.
"You know, my friend…" Aventurine’s voice slithered through the quiet, each word a smooth, unhurried caress that traced shivers down Veritas' spine. "For someone who claims to despise my methods, you seem remarkably captivated by them." He shifted forward, his glasses catching the lamplight like a predator’s eyes.
Veritas held his ground, mind racing to formulate a response that wouldn't betray the conflict within him. The words that finally left his lips were measured, though he couldn't quite hide the agitation underneath. "One might almost believe there's some merit to your crude tactics," he countered, his patience wearing thin, "if only they weren't so transparent."
The shadow that crossed Aventurine's expression was yet another fleeting crack, but this time Veritas caught it clearly. "Always the quick retort, doctor," the gambler sneered, though each syllable carried a sharper edge than his usual mockery. "What if I want to be transparent?"
The question hung between them, weighted with implications that made Veritas' analytical mind stutter. Before he could parse its meaning, Aventurine moved, bracing his hand against the sofa arm. He unfolded himself, rising with feline grace. When he finally stood, he positioned himself a fraction too close to Veritas, the intrusion subtle enough to seem almost accidental.
Veritas' body reacted instinctively with a minute recoil. His self-restraint urged him back, a tactical move to regain control, to keep an objective distance. But that small retreat only seemed to encourage Aventurine. His eyes narrowed with something like triumph behind those rose-tinted lenses as he pressed his advantage, claiming each surrendered inch of space between them.
"You can keep trying to bury yourself under that shroud of impassivity," Aventurine murmured, his voice dropping to a near-whisper that seemed to bypass Veritas' defenses entirely, "but denial, no matter how eloquently delivered, how carefully crafted, can't hide your desire for me."
Veritas found himself cataloguing his own reactions with clinical detachment—the quickening of his breath, the tension in his jaw, the heat building beneath his skin. His eyes remained locked on Aventurine's, maintaining this last line of defense even as physical distance crumbled between them.
"There appears to be a critical miscommunication here," he managed, each word pulled taut as stitches between them.
Aventurine's smile stretched into something feral, teeth gleaming in the lamplight. "Is there?" The words dripped with artificial charm, but underneath lay something rawer, more dangerous. He paused, as though tasting his next thought. "Then why give me chase, doctor?"
With each step forward, Aventurine redefined the space between them, a gradual invasion that forced Veritas to yield ground. He intentionally retreated further, his shoes scraping from carpet to hardwood, until the corner of the bookshelf pressed against his shoulder blades, until Aventurine's presence engulfed him, bringing with it the scent of his cologne. Something about it suddenly struck Veritas as wrong—it was cloying, overdone, as if desperately trying to mask something more acrid underneath. The inconsistency set off warning signals in his mind, deepening the unease already coiling in his gut.
The gambler pressed closer. The room seemed to contract around them, air growing thick. Aventurine's breath ghosted across his cheek, carrying that same undertone that made Veritas' analytical mind stutter into higher alertness.
"You've missed me, haven't you, Ratio?" The words slid between them as Aventurine's gloved hand rose to trace along the leather book spines behind Veritas' head, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You couldn't forget me… The way my body felt under yours... the sounds I made..." His fingers tightened on the spines, the leather creaking under the pressure. "How deeply you pushed into me... how you claimed every inch of me until I could only moan your name…”
A lump formed in Veritas' throat, mouth suddenly parched even as his mind cataloged each inconsistency in Aventurine's delivery—the slight tremor in his hand, the too-sharp edge to his practiced seduction.
"Your abrupt departure the next morning left a more lasting impression," he replied, each word clipped and precise, even as his pulse drummed against his ribs. "Or was that just another part you were playing?"
The plastic sheen of Aventurine's smile creased dramatically. There was a beat of silence, Aventurine eyes locking onto Veritas' with naked disbelief, before his mask settled back with visible effort, its edges misaligned. "What did you expect? A cozy morning after?" The words tumbled out graceless and defensive, like a poorly shuffled deck. "Neither of us is the type that lingers over morning coffee, doctor."
That fumbled response gave Veritas an opening. "A simple message would have sufficed... or was that too domestic for your tastes?" The acrimony surprised even himself—an unfiltered truth he hadn't meant to voice, but the heat of Aventurine’s proximity was melting his self-control faster than he anticipated.
Aventurine froze mid-motion, his performance stuttering visibly before a low, rumbling chuckle escaped him. He leaned closer, as though trying to physically bypass Veritas' words. "Oh, darling doctor..." The endearment dripped with condescension, but Veritas' attention had locked onto something else—that chemical undertone in Aventurine's breath, too sharp now to ignore.
The wrongness of it stirred Veritas' professional instincts. When Aventurine pressed forward again, Veritas raised his forearm, a firm barrier between them. The movement made Aventurine halt, his affected sweetness curdling as he met Veritas' steady gaze.
"Is that it? Is that why you've been playing the aloof host, Ratio?" The taunt came honed to a point, but Veritas caught the quiver beneath it, a note of fragility poorly concealed. "A wounded ego?"
Before Veritas could respond, Aventurine's left hand shot up with startling speed. The heel of his palm slammed into the bookshelf beside Veritas' head, the impact reverberating through the wood. The overbearing force of his advance trapped Veritas against the shelf, Aventurine's chest pressing against him with bruising intensity.
"Or is it because it stings to be on the other side of the microscope?"
The impact jolted through Veritas, yet his composure held. His eyes locked on Aventurine's even as he registered the unnatural warmth seeping through the silk of his shirt.
“I believe it's quite the opposite," Veritas replied, keeping his tone even. "Did you really think I'd fall for your games after you..." He paused, not from uncertainty but to select his words with precise discernment. His eyes locked onto Aventurine's, voice dropping quiet but unflinching. "After you bared your soul to me?"
Detachment cracked across Aventurine's features like thin ice over deep water.
"My soul?" The word crashed against his teeth, spat out like a curse. "A man of your intellect, doctor, should understand the fleeting nature of physical pleasure." That tension rippled across his arm as he lunged forward, the sudden advance an uncontrolled impulse. Veritas could see the war between defiance and fear in the narrowing space between them, each vying for control of Aventurine's faltering composure. "Surely you wouldn't mistake a good fuck for some grand emotional revelation?"
The crude deflection jarred loose the memories Veritas had been carefully containing: not of dominance or surrender, but of Aventurine's artifice crumbling into devastating sincerity, his sweet scent warming the salt of tears. A tightness formed in his chest, anger and something less controlled twisting together until the boundaries blurred.
"Don't diminish what happened between us." The words emerged rough-edged, exposing more than he'd intended. In a quick motion, Veritas' other hand clamped around Aventurine's wrist. He dislodged his hold with decisive pressure, strength tempered but unmistakable. "I won't allow it."
Shock flashed across Aventurine's face, too swift and instinctive to be performance. The sudden shift in control left him momentarily off-balance, his bravado failing. But contempt was quick to resurface, pinching his features in a snarl.
"How generous of you to decide what we shared," he hissed, bitterness cracking at the edges of his voice. "Always the one in control, aren't you?"
Veritas adjusted his grip on Aventurine's wrist, maintaining firm pressure while being careful to avoid harm. Through this point of contact, all the disparate pieces he’d been collecting—the tremors, the unnatural heat, the erratic pulse—clicked into place: Aventurine wasn't upset; he was drugged.
Patterns emerged from the chaos of the evening. The IPC's persistent attempts to pair them together, to exploit Aventurine's particular talents for manipulation and control, hadn't escaped Veritas' notice. Initially, he'd even allowed to be subject to it, fascinated by the subtle art of social engineering. But that night had felt like a rupture, tearing through the expected parameters of their assigned narrative. In hindsight, Aventurine's abrupt disappearance only cemented his belief: whatever role the IPC had intended for him, for them, Veritas had fundamentally altered their equation.
Yet here Aventurine stood after weeks of silence—not sent by the IPC, not following any script other than that of his own heartbreak. The drugs weren't about the IPC, their roles, or anything external; they were about them. That night, Veritas had irreparably broken through Aventurine's performative layers, and now the fissure refused to close. Each attempt to seal it only drove the cracks deeper, like fractals branching into increasingly unstable sequences.
The truth settled in Veritas' mind with the weight of empirical evidence: there was no retreating from this precipice. He'd seen beneath Aventurine's masks once, and now every gesture, every word between them carried the echo of that exposed vulnerability. The same fear that had driven Aventurine to flee that morning had brought him back—but this time, Veritas would leave him with nowhere to run.
A resolve solidified in Veritas' chest, hardening his voice into steel. "Enough games, gambler," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "You owe me the truth, starting with what you took."
The lines around Aventurine's eyes deepened, his smile cracking at the edges. "Owe you?" he retorted, each syllable marked by annoyance. “Are we playing detective now? Another hypothesis to test?”
"Don't deflect." Veritas shuffled his feet, maintaining his measured grip on Aventurine's wrist. It wasn't just restraint—it was a test, a careful probe of boundaries. He guided Aventurine's arm downward with subtle pressure, asserting an authority that Veritas rarely chose to wield.
Aventurine's body went still for a fraction of a second, tension rippling beneath his skin like a wire drawn too tight. Then a spasm jolted through the arm in Veritas' hold—a tell too honest for this game of deception. "It’s flagrant you’re under the influence,” Veritas pressed forward, voice steady and unrelenting, “but that’s not the only source of your unraveling. You're hiding something and I tire of repeating myself."
Veritas watched that painstakingly maintained nonchalance drain from Aventurine's bearing, shoulders closing defensively against that close scrutiny. "Watch your assumptions, doctor." The words snapped out as Aventurine's arm coiled in Veritas' grip, a viper poised to strike. Veritas held firm, unmoved by the display. Aventurine met his gaze, deep faults carving into his expression. "And especially your demands."
Veritas focused with systematic precision, studying the man before him. "What I asked for," he stressed the word, shifting his tone deliberately, "is a certain level of honesty from you. A quality that seems sorely lacking in your repertoire, especially tonight." Though calm, the words emerged with serrated edges—a slip of emotion he recognized too late.
A harsh laugh scraped from Aventurine's throat, the sound scraping against the charged air. "Oh, I see." Bitterness crackled through his voice like static discharge. "Perhaps you should enlighten me, then, about this honesty you hold so dear…”
He met Veritas' gaze, his eyes narrowing, the contrasting colours of his irises almost swallowed by the amber light. “After all, your messages have been anything but clear, my friend."
The jab struck deeper than Veritas anticipated. This wasn't just deflection—it was a precise strike at something he hadn't even realized was exposed. Understanding hovered just beyond his grasp, like a half-remembered equation, the crucial variables missing. Faced with this uncertainty, his usual analytical rigor faltered; for a moment, he could only stare back.
"What do you mean, Aventurine?" The question tumbled out, clumsier than intended.
Aventurine's expression darkened, tension radiating from every line of his frame as his shoulders drew up. A muscle twitched in his cheek—another crack in his failing composure. "Really, doctor?" The words emerged in a careful drawl as he tilted his head, fixing Veritas from beneath his disheveled fringe.
In those hypnotic eyes, Veritas caught sight of something that petrified him more than any show of malice could have—deep, raw hurt opening a yawning chasm, a shattered emptiness that snagged into Veritas. Its pull held him transfixed, stealing the air from his lungs.
Aventurine seemed to savor his rare speechlessness, letting it settle between them like an unexpected victory. "Quite the eloquent response, doctor." Mockery seeped through his tone, though it felt more reflexive than deliberate. "How many points would that be worth, I wonder?"
Veritas' focus narrowed, the colorless venom curling through Aventurine's voice feeling like a useless barrier—each word wielded like a shield meant to deflect attention from that vulnerability he could clearly see in his eyes. Veritas allowed the space between them to contract slightly. "Points?" An edge crept into his voice despite himself. "If you're going to mock me, Aventurine, at least try harder. I'd hate to dock you for lazy material."
Something shifted in Aventurine's bearing—a subtle straightening of his spine, a catch in his breathing that scraped into a harsh scoff. "Harder, you say?" The attempt at sultriness faltered, his jaw hardening as if bracing for a high-stakes gamble. "That inflexible conviction of yours might be a little presumptuous here, doctor.”
“That isn’t–” Veritas started, his thoughts suddenly scattering. He couldn't articulate the feeling that had just washed over him.
He watched Aventurine’s eyes widen, saw the gambler's smirk curve upward with the satisfaction of someone who'd finally spotted the house's tell. Yet the triumph was made even more stark against the raw pain still in his eyes. The contradiction made Veritas’s stomach clench.
“I’ll be courteous then…” Aventurine's next breath came light and brittle as he pressed his advantage. "One moment, you're keeping your distance, claiming no illusions about our little tryst," he said, each word a ragged tear in his crumbling facade. "The next, you're talking about wanting to see more of me. About playing for keeps."
He leaned in, pressing against the arm Veritas had raised until it rested against his chest. The scant inch of space between them grew colder, the heat of their proximity doing nothing to dispel the sudden chill. “So which is it?” His voice hardened even as his smirk thinned into something stiff and embittered. "Not that it matters—I, at least, know exactly what that was."
The retort crystallized in Veritas' throat, sharp-edged and unsure. That night had changed him too, Aventurine's vulnerability cracking open something inside him he usually kept tightly sealed. He didn’t want to answer, not at first. Logic urged deflection, clinical distance and cool poise. But the tension in Aventurine's frame, the pain bleeding through his acidic facade, made retreat feel like a far greater betrayal than a cold bed.
The realization hit him with the force of inevitability: from his proposal at the bar, perhaps even from their first meeting, they’d been on a collision course. Truth was not a certainty: it was a risk, a blind bet. But to maintain this distance would only compound their mutual deception, irrevocably damage what they had for a fleeting moment.
“I admit…” Veritas inhaled deeply. "I admit you fascinated me," he finally said, precise yet carrying a rougher edge than he intended. "But I didn't plan for it to last beyond one night."
For a moment, the admission seemed to hang in the air without impact. Then dejection crossed Aventurine's features, too raw to hide behind his usual defenses. "How flattering," he spat, his smile a fragile thing. "You must say this to all your specimens.”
Aventurine yanked his wrist with sudden force, but Veritas’s grip held firm. "You're no better than me, darling doctor," Aventurine hissed, each syllable coated in venom, his whole frame rigid. "You even lied to yourself."
The accusation struck deep, but Veritas didn’t deny it. His grip softened, not releasing, but acknowledging the truth in Aventurine's words. The gambler’s struggling ceased for a moment, as if surprised by the concession. "I didn’t mean to be deceptive, Aventurine," Veritas hesitated, caught between the empirical evidence before him and the contradictions Aventurine accused him of. "Everything that happened was real to me. What we had, the intimacy we shared… perhaps in a way neither of us–"
"Wanted?" Aventurine cut in, the bitterness in his voice making his slight recoil more pronounced. "There was nothing real, Ratio. You simply pushed me too far."
Veritas blinked. "That is not–" he began, but Aventurine's free hand slashed through the air between them, silencing him.
"Save it," Aventurine hissed. The feather in his earring trembled with the sharp shake of his head. His breathing grew uneven, chest heaving against the effort of maintaining control. When he looked up again, exhaustion seeped through every faulty line. “The truth is… you can’t have it both ways, Ratio. You can’t claim it’s just a casual fling and then use me to let out your repressed desires for connection.”
Each word struck a sore spot, exposing a vulnerability Veritas hadn't known he possessed. Yet beneath the accusations, he recognized something else—a desperate edge from someone holding onto the last threads of control. This wasn't about unfulfilled desires or misaligned intentions. It ran deeper, striking a chord that both frightened and compelled him. Veritas drew in a slow, measured breath, centering himself as he considered his response.
"You're right," he admitted quietly, the concession as dangerous as it was necessary. "I haven't been entirely clear about my intentions."
Aventurine stilled at that, the deep lines of his scowl softening though tension still radiated through him. Veritas kept his voice steady as his gaze tracked over Aventurine's face, cataloging each detail with new purpose—the fever-bright flush on his cheeks, the bead of sweat trailing down his temple, the slight tremor visible in his chest. "But I don't think you have either, Aventurine."
Aventurine peered over the rim of his glasses, the practiced smirk faltering as he leaned closer, his gaze sharp yet wary. "And what, pray tell, makes you the expert on my desires?"
The careful gap between them had diminished to almost nothing, their breaths mingling in the heated space. Veritas felt the tremor in Aventurine's chest where their bodies touched—a final, unspoken wager. Yet within that boldness, Veritas caught a flicker of hesitation, as though Aventurine had glimpsed the potential pitfalls of his gamble.
Veritas didn’t move his arm away, meeting Aventurine’s daring proximity with composed tranquility. “You didn’t come here to recreate an encounter you could have had with anyone else,” he said, his tone incisive with purpose. “If that were the case, I wouldn’t have been your choice.”
Aventurine tensed beneath Veritas' loosening grip around his wrist, muscles twitching involuntarily. Veritas let his hand slide down, following the lines of Aventurine's wrist until he found his gloved hand. The touch was feather-light, barely there, but it held Aventurine captive. "Sex isn't why you're here," he continued, softening his voice, "And it isn't even about proving you still have the upper hand."
Something savage and wounded twisted across Aventurine's features, a sound like a hollow bark scraping from his throat. "Always trying to dissect my emotions," he retorted, scathing but thin. His fingers twisted into Veritas' palm, then went still, as if realizing the futility of resistance. "It's a bad habit of yours, doctor. Maybe I just wanted to see if you'd fall for my charms again. Can't take things at face value, can you?"
"Not when the face is a mask," Veritas replied evenly, despite his pulse thrumming in his ears. The proximity between them felt electric, each shared breath amplifying the tension. His grip remained steady on Aventurine's hand, noting the clamminess seeping through the glove.
Veritas shifted his restraining arm away entirely, allowing their bodies to brush together. His voice became a low murmur. "Do you believe what happened between us was a mistake, Aventurine?"
Aventurine's head snapped up at the question, eyes widening with something like alarm. That carefully maintained control slipped further, and Veritas watched the conflict play across his features—thoughts warring just beneath the surface, visible in the minute twitches he could no longer suppress. This wasn't just another crack in his defenses; it was the final fracture in a pattern Veritas had set in motion that first night. The urge to press further wasn't mere curiosity anymore—it was the inexorable pull of something they'd started and couldn't stop.
Veritas hesitated, then spoke softly: "For what it's worth, I didn't intend to make you cry."
Aventurine's composure wavered like a bad hand revealed too soon. His lips parted on a soundless exhale before he managed a bitter mutter: "Always so attentive..." The sharp shake of his head seemed meant to scatter the emotions overwhelming him, but the gesture only left him looking more unraveled, his breaths coming in short, uneven pulls. "Even your cruelty comes wrapped in consideration, Veritas."
The sound of his name carried the weight of revelation. Something genuine had slipped past Aventurine’s defenses in the way he said it—that ever-widening fracture deep enough to expose what lay beneath, a yearning thinly veiled in defiance.
Veritas felt his chest tighten. He could still retreat, allow Aventurine the illusion of control he so desperately sought. But that path had closed the moment Aventurine appeared at his door, drugs in his system and pain in his eyes. They were beyond the point of artificial distance now.
"I wonder," Veritas' voice dipped lower, his thumb tracing slow circles on Aventurine’s wrist, "if you chose to come here like this because it's the only way you could allow yourself to need me again." His grip on Aventurine's hand tightened almost imperceptibly, drawing them closer. "As if your absence hadn't left its own mark," he ended up admitting.
Aventurine's breath hitched, the honesty throwing off what remained of his pretense. Veritas felt the pulse beneath his fingers quicken—erratic, fluttering, betraying the instincts warring within.
"That's the problem with you, doctor..." The title caught in Aventurine’s throat. He swallowed hard, his voice tightening, "You may have good intuition, but some cards are dealt face down… And you simply don’t have the buy-in to see them."
The implication made Veritas pause, his grip tightening almost involuntarily on Aventurine’s wrist. He could demand answers, force Aventurine to voice what he refused to admit. But the tension thrumming through Aventurine's frame stopped him—because it mirrored the same tightness constricting his own heart. The resistance wasn't contempt; it was fear of what was forming between them, wound tight and fragile.
"I understand..." Veritas slowly released Aventurine's wrist, his touch lingering for a moment before withdrawing. "But even then, it can't erase what we shared."
The charged air between them shifted, humming with unspoken tension. Veritas' hand rose with deliberate care, brushing the edge of those rose-tinted glasses. Aventurine went very still, his eyes darting to Veritas' when fingers grazed his cheek. "These might shield you from others," Veritas said quietly, his touch gentle against Aventurine's cheek, "But your eyes, Aventurine… they’ve always been your tell."
Aventurine's breath caught sharply, body tensing as if Veritas had pressed against an open cut. For a heartbeat, he was perfectly still, caught between his last defenses and complete surrender. Then, his fingers trembled as they rose to meet Veritas' at the temple of his glasses, all his usual grace gone—a gambler recognizing the moment he lost not just the hand, but the entire house. He pushed Veritas' hand away with the last remnants of pride, drawing a shuddering breath.
The glasses came off, his hand shaking slightly as he held them loosely in his fingers. Aventurine squinted against the dim, unfiltered light, his exposed gaze darting to Veritas' before dropping to study the space between them. Even this final surrender seemed to cost him something vital, his shoulders pulling tight as though bracing for the inevitable collapse of his carefully constructed world.
The sight struck Veritas with an immediacy he hadn't anticipated. In the gentle pool of lamplight, Aventurine's eyes told their own story: wide and restless, red-rimmed, the cyan and magenta irises mere slivers around his dilated pupils. Even glazed and unfocused, that gaze held something haunting—truth stripped of pretense, devastating in its chemical-edged clarity.
Neither of them moved. The tension hung taut, heavy with everything they hadn’t yet said. Veritas' fingers hovered near Aventurine’s cheek, the gesture caught between symptoms assessment and something far more personal. Aventurine’s breath trembled, sighing audibly as though he might lean into the touch—but he stilled himself at the last moment, retreating inward with visible effort.
The hesitation wasn’t enough to stop Veritas . Slowly, his hand closed the distance. His fingers curled gently against the line of Aventurine's jaw, the touch deliberate yet tender, more grounding than invasive. Aventurine flinched initially, a tremor rippling through him, but Veritas didn't pull back. Instead, he cupped Aventurine's cheek with a care that carried unspoken words—an apology, a reassurance, and something softer that neither of them dared name.
Aventurine's composure crumbled entirely, his breath catching as his shoulders slumped under the weight of it all. His defenses didn't just crack; they dissolved, leaving behind something raw and unguarded. Veritas felt his chest tighten, not with triumph, but with a terrible, aching understanding.
"Wait," Aventurine breathed, the word more plea than command. "I–I can still play this hand right…"
The final piece clicked into place with flawless precision. Behind every seduction, every sharp word tonight, lay this desperate pursuit of perfection. He didn’t need to guess; the truth was there, plain to see.
"You came here with calculated risks," Veritas said, his voice a warm whisper between them, "As if the right strategy could restore control… as if treating intimacy like a game could change what's already happened."
Aventurine's head dipped, the motion submissive and uncharacteristic, as though weighted by something he couldn’t hold up any longer. “I tried everything to forget,” he whispered, each word strained. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about those moments… about what you did to me…” His voice caught, coarse with something between resentment and need. “You weren’t supposed to…”
Veritas' thumb brushed his cheek in comfort, and Aventurine's reaction was immediate—breath stilling, body almost recoiling from the touch before freezing in place. When he looked up again, the resentment was eroding, layer by layer, into a vulnerability he could no longer disguise. "You rigged the game, made me bet more than I intended..." he breathed, each accusation trembling with something far more fragile.
He hesitated, the pause heavy with unspoken words, before his free hand drifted to his neck. His fingers pressed there as if seeking an anchor. "You left a hole, doctor... A gaping hole I can't fill, no matter what—"
His hand snapped upward suddenly, clutching at his temple with jerky, uncoordinated movements. A tremor shook his entire frame, the sudden instability making Veritas' concern flare into alarm. When Aventurine swayed, his touch shifted instantly, the gentle caress on his cheek dissolving into a steadying grip on his elbow.
"Don't..." Aventurine tried to slip away, his hand coming up between them in a weak warding motion, even as his other arm shook in Veritas' hold. "Just a momentary lapse," he mumbled, his eyes losing focus. "Nothing worth your—"
His knees buckled mid-sentence, body tilting dangerously to the right. Veritas moved without hesitation, his right arm catching Aventurine around the waist while his left hand shifted its grip higher on his arm, steadying him before he could pitch forward. "You shouldn't have come here in this state," Veritas said, the words a statement rather than an accusation.
Aventurine's response was a weak, humorless chuckle that carried nothing but resignation.
Veritas steadied him, one hand supporting his weight, the other still resting lightly on his wrist. "How much did you take?"
Aventurine ignored the question, his words tumbling out soft and defeated: "It wasn't supposed to go like this..." A quiet sigh escaped him as his body listed slightly to one side. "How come my plans always fall apart when it comes to you......"
Veritas' mind raced, calculating and reanalyzing, but a deep concern held him rooted to the spot. Seeing Aventurine on the verge of breaking stirred a fierce protectiveness within him, a feeling that overrode all logic. It was the same irrational pull that had driven him to seek out Aventurine's undisclosed yearning, the same impulse that had made him kiss away his tears. Now, with the man trembling in his hold, it was no longer a choice—it was an imperative.
"You didn't need them in the first place," Veritas whispered, his voice quiet but certain. He gently pulled Aventurine closer, his hands steady as they guided his unbalanced weight.
Exhaustion finally claimed its toll, and Aventurine's weight shifted forward until he collapsed against Veritas' chest. Even in surrender, a trace of resistance lingered—his shoulders shifting restlessly, his head turning away as if seeking an escape his body couldn’t manage.
"This isn't right... I need to..." The words fractured on his tongue, his breath shuddering with effort. Veritas' hold gentled, offering escape without relinquishing support, but Aventurine's unsteady swaying decided for them both. "I should go..."
"No," Veritas said, his voice firm, final. The risks were too high, the variables too unpredictable. "You're in no state to leave." The words were clipped, almost curt, but they carried an undercurrent of something far more personal, a need he couldn't quite name.
Aventurine didn't answer, his body leaning further into Veritas' support despite the hesitation still lingering in his limbs. Veritas felt Aventurine's warmth pressing against his chest, and with it came a truth too large to ignore, tangling in his throat, threatening to choke him. He could still walk it back, retreat into the safety of logic and measured distance, but the sight of Aventurine in his arms, hurting and unbearingly vulnerable, made that unthinkable.
"I—I can't..." The words broke free, haphazard in a way his speech rarely allowed. His breath shuddered as he tried to impose order on that nameless tangle, to give it the shape of words. "I don't want to leave you... Not tonight…"
A beat of silence. Then, softer, more certain: "Not ever again."
The words lingered between them, irrevocable as proof, the only sound the shallow rhythm of Aventurine's breathing. Veritas braced himself for rejection, for a sharp retort that would shatter this fragile thread of connection between them. Instead, Aventurine abandoned himself deeper into his arms, breath warm and uneven against Veritas' neck as he let out a shaky chuckle.
"Even now, you…you know exactly how to break me…” The words came muffled as he nuzzled into the fabric of Veritas' shirt, as though seeking solace in the proximity. “Veritas..."
In response, Veritas drew him closer, arms forming a shelter of flesh and bone. The movement came without conscious thought, his need to protect Aventurine overpowering any remnant of hesitation. His hand slid upward with careful certainty, cradling the back of Aventurine's head as he pressed a kiss to his temple, feather-light. The gesture carried its own confession—one spoken without words, meant as much for himself as for the man in his arms.