Chapter Text
Ratio. The all knowing scholar, the one who has eight degrees in different fields, the strictest teacher of Veritas Prime, the representative of the Intelligentsia Guild. The one who is looked upon by many, hated by few, and yet disappointed by himself.
To him, none of this life was one that he chose. He would never choose life as a member of the Intelligentsia Guild over his own dreams. To become a member of the Genius Society, to be placed in the spotlight from a young age, be told that he was a genius, having contents of knowledge spilled into his mind, developing the desire to learn more, just so he could be a member of this Society.
Until one day, he was caught staring at the 8 certificates of his degrees, wondering what he did wrong.
Why hasn’t Nous gazed upon him yet? What did he do wrong, to not yet deserve THEIR gaze? He was told that he was a genius, so why wasn’t he one of those members?
And so, he kept trying. He didn’t care if sleep was an unstable activity within his schedule. He studied until he fainted, isolating himself from his classmates and friends, experimenting until his hands were harmed from the substances, all for that false hope of entering the Genius Society. He crafted mechanical toys, machines, creations that were second to none among the mundane, all for Nous to never open THEIR eye to gaze on him.
He never planned to give up, foolishly, blindly following that endless dream of his.
Until he received the invitation from the IPC.
Staring at the fancy logo of the IPC on the envelope, the man was confident that he never felt his heart drop like this. If he didn’t know any better regarding his health status, he would have been sure that he got a heart attack.
With a shaky hand, he made sure that his assistant was out of his office. Albeit he was confident that he placed on a mask of confidence and calmness, he was sure that his assistant saw those shocked, widened eyes of his, and before she left, he could swear that there was a hint of something in her eyes.
Pity.
No.
Nonono.
The Veritas Ratio does not need the pity of others. He has always been a genius, the one who lectures fools because of their own choices.
So why was he the one acting like a fool now?
He felt like the body wasn’t his, those hands ripping the envelope apart wasn’t his. Those eyes, trembling, reading every single word that soon became a blurry screen, they did not feel like his.
Only when tears were threatening to stain the ink on the letter did he truly snap back to reality.
He didn’t know what’s going on.
But he knew one thing.
He must not cry, the all knowing Ratio did not cry before, not when he had to study from dusk until dawn just so he could ace an exam, not when he punished himself by starvation whenever he failed in something, not when his eyes gleamed with jealousy when he witnessed the younger kids to play, while his parents would drag him back home to study.
He must not cry.
He was in an office, meaning there was a corridor outside, meaning there would be people walking by, and if they heard him, then what could he do?
And so, he laughed.
He laughed, and yet even he could tell that laugh wasn’t real. He could taste the mockery in his tone, and the saltiness in his tears. He witnessed his eyes aching with his own pain, the water droplets turning into staines upon meeting his shirt.
Why was he crying?
Conceal it.
Stop crying.
Stop crying.
Stop.
Crying.
He could feel his chest tightening, his hand forced to grip against the desk, just so he wouldn’t faint. His brain keeps telling him that he needs to breathe. He tried, he tried again. And yet, no oxygen felt like it would get into his lungs.
For the first time ever, amidst the laughter and tears, Ratio finally felt something else for the first time.
Fear, anger.
Disappointment.
He was
a
disappointment.
What was his hard work for?
Why.
Should.
He.
Continue?
He closed his eyes, tasting the lack of oxygen in his throat, his own laughter echoing in his ears.
Why should he continue chasing his dreams?
When it would never be real.
“...Sir, sir? Sir. Please.”
Ratio’s eyes fluttered open, allowing his ringing ears and blurry eyes to concentrate on his surroundings. The familiar scent of oak wood was gone, his desk replaced by a cold, black surface. He was no longer standing, but sitting on a red velvet couch. In front of him was no longer an envelope, but a glass of whiskey.
Judging by how the ice was, he could confirm that the whiskey was just served.
“Enjoy your whiskey.”
“Thank you.”
Ratio watched as the server walked away, allowing his gaze to stare back at the glass of whiskey. Through the hazy surface, he could see his eyes, sparkling with the remains of tears, which his reflection was soon blurry when a drop of tear fell in.
Ah. He must be crying?
Why is he crying? After all, there was no reason for him to do so. And yet, his heart aches, pounding in his chest, screaming for help. It was honestly a miracle that the table he sat at was in a corner, else the news of him crying would surely be on the IPC broadcast for scandals. Not like he cared, but it would be such a bother.
Ratio buried his head in his hands before letting out a muffled sigh of frustration. Either annoyed with his own actions or the lack of reasoning behind his sorrow, even he, the almighty Veritas Ratio, couldn’t determine the reason. His mind was racing against time, pieces of knowledge seemed to cross his head, brushing away everything useless to find a cure for his predicament. Everything seemed like a mess, like the world surrounding him meant nothing. Just like that youthful mundatine that he once was, arrogant, and yet helpless, as his own knowledge couldn’t drag himself out of his own mess.
Everything seemed like a fuzzy dream, one where he would simply close his eyes and sleep it over, then wake up the next day as the strict professor that everyone knew. And yet deep inside his own heart, he knew that this place was nothing like a dream. This was reality, and here he was, feeling everything surrounding him being muffled, tasting the bitterness of what seemed like panic deep inside his throat, mixed with the suffocating and yet blurry images of people chattering, walking, drinking, followed by what sounded like a loud noise of the music “White Night” that pierced through the misty sensation.
Wait, what?
Ratio’s eyes forced themselves to focus, pulling his own body back to reality. His eyes glanced at the phone that was ringing like an ambulance, and he knew it wasn’t possible with his degree in biology, but he nearly felt like his heart dropped, and shattered into pieces.
Aventurine was calling, he knew it. He was the one who set that song as that IPC member’s ringtone. Still, the once cheerful song became like a heavy burden for the scholar. Even picking up that phone, listening to that charming and yet annoying voice of that person seemed like a hard task for him.
Why now?
That damn gambler, calling at the wrong moment.
A trembling hand reached towards the phone on the desk, and he could tell that his hand was drenched with sweat when it made contact with his own device. Normally, he’d frown with disgust, and wipe his own hands with a napkin until they were smooth and clean, but sadly, his brain was too messed up for that.
To fool Aventurine, to answer the call, and make everything seem fine.
That was his current task.
“Hello?” Ratio’s voice came out softer than he expected. The trembling in his voice was hard to hide, with him trying his best with a stern voice to cover his pathetic state. At least that ‘new’ voice of his earned a chuckle from Aventurine himself
“Well this is new.” Aventurine’s chuckle could be heard through the static noise, hinting a tone of amusement and with a lingering sense of surprise. To hear Ratio with a soft voice was like seeing one of that scholar’s students getting a full mark - non-existent and imaginary. Ratio’s eyes darted away from his phone, as if he was talking to Aventurine in real life. He was trembling. Why was he trembling? He couldn’t tell but stare at the quivering of his hands, with the sensation of his sweat sticking against his own shirt was suddenly something he was aware of.
To not be in control of anything in his life was absolutely disgusting. He hated this. Why was this happening to him? Why now?
Was it because of that flashback of his past? He simply spaced out, and that shouldn’t have happened. He threw away that dream several system years ago, throwing it away as an error of his past, all for it to return and ruin him again. He masked himself as someone who is divine, someone who is burdened with knowledge and wisdom, all for the mask to shatter in some stupid bar-
“-Veritas Ratio. Hello! Wake!”
Aventurine’s voice screamed through that device and straight into his ears. Shoot, he forgot that he was on call with Aventurine. His eyes widened when he felt like he messed something up, not to mention that he did so in front of Aventurine.
That man has enough of his own problems. He need not to increase his burden upon the other. He could feel his brain spinning, desperate to search for a rebuttal or an explanation for his actions.
“I’m alive, gambler. There is no need to yell, I can hear you clearly.” Ratio tried his best to retort, to hold up that image of his, one that wouldn’t catch the attention of Aventurine. It was useless, of course. Even Ratio could hear the trembling of his own voice.
“This isn’t like you.” Aventurine murmured quietly, in a tone that Ratio couldn’t quite put his finger on. “Your voice is trembling, doc. I could hear that even with this terrible noise detector on my phone.”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine. Is something wrong, doc? Tell me if you want to.”
Ratio could swear that his heart was aching because of how quick it was. The sound of Aventurine in a stoic voice because of him was definitely not a good one. Usually, it was him being the mean one, with Aventurine being scolded. That was always their dynamic. Look how the roles changed. He was like a rat threading near a cat’s nest - one wrong move, and the cat will swallow him whole.
Swallowing his pride with a gulp, Ratio forced his words to be spoken, spitting them out one by one, just so he could form sentences.
“I said I’m fine,” Ratio replied, quietly. A part of his throbbing heart prayed for Aventurine to turn a blind eye against him, to leave him to be, to let him wear this facade for a few more years.
And a part of him yearned for Aventurine’s attention.
The silence coming from the other side was deafening, as if Aventurine was contemplating on what he should respond to. Whatever Aventurine had in mind, Ratio couldn’t tell, neither could he bear the silence provided by the other.
“Send me your location. I’ll come find you.”
No. No. No no no. Aventurine couldn’t find him, not like this. Not in this state, not when he’s supposed to be the mentally stable one, to be the supporter between them. Ratio was certain that he was going to vomit because of his anxiousness.
“No.” He choked his voice out, shaking his head even though the other wouldn’t see it. “I won’t. I said I’m fine, and that’s the end of this chat.”
“…Don’t be stubborn, doc. You’re a stubborn person alright, but now is certainly not the time.” Aventurine said in a hushed tone, followed by another minute of silence. “Remember a while ago, you made me download something? I believe you and I have some mutual app that we used to share our locations. I’ll find you soon. Stay where you are.”
Shit.
Ratio wanted to reply, to quickly deny that help was needed, to say that everything was fine. Of course that gambler refused to listen to him. Of course, he had to spare his false concerns and come find him.
Aventurine‘s own issues aren’t better than his, and yet his selfish self just had to make the other worry for him, all because he couldn’t hold his emotions back.
He could still flee. He could try. And yet those legs of his seemed like they refused to cooperate at all, like glue was stuck between his body and the couch, making him unable to even stand up.
Why?
Why must he do this to himself?
His eyes glanced at the abandoned whiskey on the table. If he couldn’t leave right now, might as well attempt to calm down before the other arrives. Bringing the whiskey to his quivering lips, he could taste the bitterness of the alcohol, but it would never be as bitter as his true desires, nor the pain of his current state. Alcohol wasn’t useful, but it was good for burying his consciousness.
To be frank, being confronted by Aventurine was the last of his plans. The man was the last person to confront Ratio, judging the gambler’s acts of recklessness and that scent of foolishness surrounding him. Since the day they met, Ratio was seen to constantly assume Aventurine into the role of ‘a foolish and life-threatening gambler’.
After all, not everyone points a gun at themselves on the first day you meet someone.
The feeling of the cold glass cup lingered between his fingers, with the whiskey all down and gone. He would place down his cup, and allow his gaze to trace upon Aventurine’s slim body.
“So,” He said, narrowing his gaze, while tapping his finger against the desk. “What makes you think that pure luck would allow this mission to work out? With all due respect, Mr Aventurine, but I doubt every possibility of this mission being successful because of something called ‘luck and risk’.”
The man with magenta eyes glanced back at Ratio, brushing his own slick, blonde hair backwards with a hum, before shaking his head with a soft laughter.
“Oh? You don’t believe me, Dr Ratio?”
And that’s when the other pulled out a revolver, ‘shot’ himself three times in the chest, and then went on ranting about himself being a final victor.
Aventurine may have forgotten about this conversation, but Ratio hasn’t. That pounding in his chest when Aventurine acted insane in front of him was a sight he would never forget. He remembered Aventurine laughing at his pale face, like a maniac, while he was struggling to recover from the ‘thrill’ he felt for the other.
That was the day Ratio met this person, and that was the day where ‘insanity’ finally slid its way into Ratio’s dictionary. The anxiousness Ratio felt during that day was second to none compared to his past experiences, not even when he had exams to prepare for, or when he had to perform experiments for the Intelligentsia Guild, but he had the sense of anxiety because of a stupid gambler.
He would judge the gambler terribly, criticising every single act he did, and would shake his head at Aventurine’s nonchalant reply, questioning to the Aeons why there was someone with such ignorance in their head. Ratio once questioned why would Aventurine do such a thing, to bet his own life on the line constantly and be that risky daredevil he was.
Only until Ratio knew more about Aventurine did his view truly change. He knew how Aventurine’s hand would tremble whenever he made a bet, he knew how he lost everything, and rose to the top with this cursed luck. Most importantly, he knew how much the other struggled.
And so, he tried to help Aventurine, secretly. Their relations became better, according to the latter. Their constant banter has now become a part of their daily lives, with the style of ‘all bark and no bite’, not actually meaning any harm towards the other.
Seeing how the other would carry so much pain, yet still greeting Ratio with a smile on his face, just fascinates Ratio in so many ways. How is someone able to do so, while accepting everything fate has for them?
Most importantly, it made Ratio feel something.
That Aventurine was talking with Veritas, not Ratio, to interact with him for who he was, and not for what he was.
Eventually, the constant caring banters and gatherings made them even closer. Some might even say they’re as close as lovers, and Ratio once nearly laughed at that assumption.
And yet, as they grew closer, Ratio could swear that the sense of feeling in his heart was changing.
He witnessed how Aventurine could live as he wished to. Aside from being the ‘slave’ of the IPC, he had his sessions of shopping, entertainment, and credits for his own benefits. Ratio wasn’t one to enjoy physical usage of luxurious items, and yet he was mundane. He would still secretly glance at the stacks of credits Aventurine has, to admire from afar.
Aventurine had a life that someone would pay their own lives for, to be able to live freely without any restrictions on who he should become. Ratio couldn’t put his finger on it, but it seemed familiar.
Ah yes, Ratio himself had the same life, before he had the dream of entering the Genius Society.
As a result, every time Ratio glances at Aventurine’s smirk, there would be an aching in his chest. To witness someone having a life that he never had, to enjoy life as he would have been able to enjoy it, it was a dangerous feeling within him.
And he identified it as jealousy.
Supposingly, he shouldn’t be jealous of the gambler. After all, they were friends, somewhat closer than that, even. And yet, through Aventurine’s shadow, he would ponder the life he would have had without the false dream to be a part of the Genius Society.
How ironic. To used to ‘look down’ on someone who is owning everything he could have had. His heart aches for Aventurine, but also for everything that person has.
He shouldn’t be jealous at all, cursing these mundane feelings. He shouldn’t cry, for someone had it worse than he did. He shouldn’t panic for someone else, because that isn’t something Dr Ratio would do. He shouldn’t spill his own thoughts out, because he couldn’t break and fall apart.
This time, it didn’t take long for Ratio to notice his tears again.
He really should stop crying tonight.
Looking down at his empty glass cup, the scholar blinked a few times, before waving his hand to gesture his request for more alcohol.
“Alcohol drains your consciousness.” Aventurine once said to him, and he didn’t believe it at first. Only until he started drinking did he finally buy into the statement. Alcohol isn’t good for the body, but the gambler was correct.
And now, aside from his consciousness, he must bury his desires, to bury the dreams of entering the Genius Society, and settle down for what he has.
For he must not lose more than what he had lost, for he must not be jealous of something he doesn’t have.
One glass of whiskey.
Always Ratio, never Veritas.
Too smart among the mundane, too mundane among the geniuses, too arrogant among the ordinary, too humble within his head.
Another glass.
Doctor Veritas Ratio, member of the Intelligentsia Guild.
That’s all he’ll ever be.
And no amount of alcohol could wash away that thought in his head.
And another.
A drop of tear fell into his cup, salting that glass of alcohol of his. Only this time, Ratio felt something against his face. His eyes glanced upwards, and his body stiffened. Words couldn’t come out of his throat, despite himself recognising the owner of the hand against his cheeks.
“Ratio.” The person murmured quietly, as the gloved hand wiped away another tear of the scholar. He gently placed Ratio’s glass away, then a stack of credits on the table for Ratio’s bill. “Aeons, what have you done…”
“Come on.” The gambler said, using his arm as a tool for Ratio to balance on, while attempting to ignore the clenching sensation of his heart when seeing the all mighty scholar in pain and sorrow.
”Let’s go home. I’ll keep you safe.”