Work Text:
It is not often that Aventurine is allowed to dream. Hope, after all, was a four letter word the world made sure to tear away from his vernacular every single time he’d gotten close to having it in his grasp.
He’s never had any need to do so, he’s convinced himself; to simply be able to lay thoughtless and dream and be able to just want. After all, in a game where life or death equated to how many victories he could will himself to endure, barely hanging on by the skin of his teeth every time, what use did hoping have to someone who could never pay back the price of a loss?
(Life was a grand gamble, and he’d always emerge the final victor.)
No matter where else he could’ve been right now if the cruel hand of fate hadn’t already tied the noose around his branded neck, it was useless to think about now; to yearn for what could’ve been, because now there couldn’t be anything else but the empty clattering of rolled dice and the cool barrel of a gun against his temple to prolong a never ending game of roulette. Hell like that had always been preferable to the bottomless depths of the Nihility, nothing, to him.
(If, one day, he would ever be foolish enough to think he could leave any of this behind, the hell that met him during his waking hours, that would be all he’d be left with: Nothing, not even the sixty Tanba assigned to him as his only market value, the price he was so carelessly sold for and could never hope to accumulate again.)
Though, despite everything, he’s tried to do it before: hope. When he was younger, with eyes that still had light behind them, skin unmarred with a brand, and a life that he once believed belonged to him, Kakavasha had tried to dream. Of course, every prayer to HER he’d ever made while noisy tears stained his face had been a fruitless endeavour, but there were moments he, the him that could no longer exist in the universe he now lived in, had yearned. Moments he, as a child, would make unspoken wishes upon the few falling stars visible amongst the smog that surrounded Sigonia’s atmosphere. Wishes for what, Aventurine didn’t remember, didn’t want to remember. After all, to confide in someone else your wish was assurance it would not come true, and the world had already taken so much from Kakavasha.
(If he could postpone Kakavasha’s damnation to the role of Aventurine, he would’ve, for when Aventurine is actually able to see the stars every single day, this time from where he as a boy used to think was “heaven,” it is with none of the wonder Kakavasha had, none of the pondering of what laid beyond the little amount of the sky he could see.
It is seeing and feeling the very weight of what laid beyond his previously small view of the stars, after all, that causes his nightmares instead.)
Nightmares were more familiar to him than dreams. If he couldn’t be dragged to hell without thrashing in his manacles, of course sleep would need to take him in a similar way. His brush with the Nihility after the Emenator Acheron’s blade had sliced through not just his body, but his mind and soul, had left more than just the deep scar in his shoulder with it, stray memoria spilling out of his many invisible wounds as if it were blood blooming from a fresh injury. Almost overnight, the walls he’d so carefully put up like a shield in a desperate attempt to become numb and repress had fallen, shattered like the fragments of the Cornerstone laid in his palm, and he was forced to face the rising tide of memories and information he did not wish to relive in the few hours he could lay without his careful mask, in his sleep. Almost overnight, nightmares had become routine, as did the struggled breaths he would fight to take when he jolted awake, as did the texture of his throat, dry and arid like the deserts of Sigonia.
In some of them he, again, wades the river of nothing in the Nihility’s domain. In it, he can feel the time that passes on his skin as prickles against the back of his neck, he can feel the pattering of rain that is not falling, because aside from the sound of the water sloshing against dress slacks that are not wet, this is all there is. There is nothing here, this is nothing. The river he is knee deep in stretches forever, he knows it does, and yet instead of dread, he’s stopped feeling entirely, because this is not hell.
It’s nothing.
So he walks,
and he walks,
and walks, and walks, and walks,
and walks, and walks, and walks, and walks, and walks, and walks,
until he awakes and finds himself unable to taste when he swallows, because he can’t feel a thing.
(This is not one of those nightmares, because right now, right now he feels. )
Lucidity was not a luxury that ever came to him when he was dreaming. Of course it wasn’t; if in his waking hours he had to fight to maintain any semblance of freedom, to pretend that he hadn’t simply exchanged iron shackles dirtied with blood for those of gold and splendour to imprison him, of course he would be stripped of that small sense of autonomy when his body was forced to succumb to his fatigue and he was in too vulnerable of a state to keep the mask up.
Like sand from the desert he, his mind, slips between his own fingers; slips to a place he has already ran from long ago, slips to a time where he’s running from something that’s already come for him, but despite his pleading, his useless, useless hoping and pleading, it grabs and takes him.
His sister is gone. His sister… His sister-
He mentally repeats her name like a lifeline, like it’s the first breath he takes after his head’s been submerged underwater, because how dare he let his daze upon being pulled under be any sort of excuse for not immediately knowing.
He had to know. He had to remember. There would be no one to remember it if he couldn’t. His entire family was gone.
And he would never be able to join them where they are now, he thinks, as he feels himself sink in more ways than one as the quicksand around him pulls him in.
No, he realizes, because that was not quicksand pooled around his body.
Those were hands.
(…He doesn’t fight it anymore. He’s tired of fighting.)
One hand curls licentiously around his waist, one encircles his throat, searing hot like the brand that mutilated him those years ago, and he lets it, lets himself be dragged back down to hell, the only place that he could ever fall back to. Oh, how lucky he was for surviving, what a wonderful reward for his boundless luck. His sister looks down at him when he takes one final glance back up, her dream-stare as lifeless as her corpse was.
Avgin eyes. Eyes he would not see again in the real world unless he could muster the courage to look at himself in the mirror and not feel a burning sense of shame.
…
Like clockwork, the struggle to find his breath comes first, an awkward dance of forgetting how to breathe properly when he jolts awake in bed drenched in sweat, the oxygen punched out of his lungs.
Like clockwork, his gasps for air finally stutter to a stop when he realizes where he is, in his room, on Pier Point, alone. Like clockwork, the sigh that follows the relinquishment of his unconsciously held breath is loud in a room that is finally quiet, and he gets up on shaky legs to grab a handful of pills to swallow dry in the dark.
(He distantly remembers something Dr. Ratio had once said about pill esophagitis. The thought drifts away across the Horizon of Existence as he gulps, his throat feeling like gravel.)
Like clockwork, he feels his retinas cry out a bit, because the dark void surrounding him has already been replaced with the blinding blue light of his cell phone as he retrieves it from its charging station.
Finding sleep at this point in the night was already a lost cause, he thinks, looking at what time it was and the surprising lack of light pollution outside of his window (for Pier Point’s standards.) At least, that was his favourite excuse amongst a vast menagerie for his self-destructive actions after a particularly bad nightmare had hit him. Brainrot content on social media, he thinks, would be far worse for him than the alcohol he’s so tempted to limp to the fridge to acquire right now, but unfortunately the Doctor of Chaos who’d prescribed him the sleeping pills he’d just taken advised against it, claiming there to be a drug interaction between the two. He’s sure the woman simply didn’t want him to drink himself half to death, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
His thumb drags across the screen mindlessly, as if he were a zombie or some type of moth mindlessly attracted to the stream of light emitted from the screen.
Mindless in his ministrations, he scrolls for who knows how long more, having stopped staring at how time greedily engorges the number on the clock at the top of his screen. He hopes the Amber Lord Qlipoth and the very path of Preservation can find it in THEMSELVES to forgive him, because his eyes certainly don’t, punishing him by stinging in slight pain.
Usually, this would be enough. Eventually, his eyelids, suddenly altruistic and merciful enough to want to cover his strained eyes, would grow heavier and heavier as he continued his scrolling, his mind attempting not to drift to thoughts of the long, winding river of the Nihility. His thumb, much like he himself had been not too many nights ago, would move slow and perpetual in its destinationless journey wading down a path of meaningless posts, until finally sleep, again, would take him, this time without a fight. And if he had a nightmare again? He’d repeat the process, over and over, until the sun peaked out from behind his curtains and he’d decide that he’d gotten just enough rest to not crash in the middle of the day.
This time, though, it’s just not working.
He’s sure someone more normal than he was would simply just stare at the ceiling and count sheep to lull themselves out of consciousness, but if you asked any of the lackeys in his department, what almost all of them would be too afraid to say in response would be that Aventurine of Stratagems was far from normal. (Besides, he’d already counted the tiles of his ceiling enough times to have the value memorized: 42.)
He’s sure too that as he continues to sit, mindlessly and alone with his own thoughts, that the circles under his eyes get darker every second that passes, boring themselves into either side of his face in a way he hopes he can cover with his expensive concealer if he wakes up.
It only dawns on him a few seconds later as his stream of consciousness floats across his brain messily what he’d said: if. And, oh, he realizes, he’s too far gone tonight, and when one is awake and alone with their thoughts and thinking , that is all they can do. Think. And so Aventurine, for the first time in a long time, spirals .
Mentally, before he can even try to fight the pull of his own deteriorating mental state, he’s sinking back into the Nihility once more, the void’s expanse having swallowed him whole without even needing to have lulled him into slumber. This time, amongst the rain that isn’t falling and a river that winds but never stops, his own ragged panting joins the sound of water that splashes against his gangling frame, because this time, when he fights the current, he doesn’t trudge, he’s doubled over and he runs.
Worthless. He hears a voice, (a thought?), join his attempt to wade through water in the dark. He doesn’t care whose it is, because he’s heard it all before. For all he knows, for all he could care, it could be his own. In the expanse of nothing, after all, all there could ever be was him.
Liar.
Worthless Avgin. It spits at him. Sinner. Murderer.
Loser.
“Gambler.”
…What?
“Do stay alive.” Another voice, one he swears he can audibly hear, calls out in the dark, deep and grounding . “I wish you the best of luck.”
Suddenly, from where he stands knee-deep in water, his pocket feels heavier; there's something there now, something that wasn't with him before. The object, the barrel of a sheathed scroll, he remembers, feels cool in his hands as he pulls it out and studies the parchment adorned with golden embellishments.
Insight from the genius of the council of Mundanites; Ratio's note.
His prescription. If you could call being told to live such a thing.
And he blinks. Once, twice, three times. And when he feels something warm prick at his eyes and run down his face, he's able to register that no, that wasn't rain, because under a roof it couldn’t rain. When he opens his eyes, he's not in the swirling pool of the abyss anymore, he's back in bed.
He blinks. One more time, just to be sure that this was real. The sigh that escapes him as he releases breath he didn't know he'd been holding the entire time is almost greedy. For once, he allows himself to simply take and take selfishly as he breathes so deeply he chokes.
A finger instinctively clicks his now cold phone back on, the device surely having fallen asleep during his sleep-aid fueled daze. When light spills out from the screen and floods his room again, his still glassy and now squinted eyes can't help but glance at the Messages app in the corner of his home screen.
He takes a gamble and taps the icon, sifting through his contacts.
[Aventurine]: Hey, Doc
He hesitates before typing any more. Ratio definitely should not be awake right now, even if he was. The indicator at the top next to the doctor’s contact all but confirms this to Aventurine, as when his thumb hits the send button, it does not flick to green to indicate his presence.
Despite this, he continues anyway, his mind burying the part of himself that hopes. For what, he’s not sure, but when he realizes he’s stopped paying attention to his own fingers as they tap on the keypad and his focus is instead on Ratio’s name at the top of the screen, he has a pretty good idea.
Hope, he more chastises than reminds himself, is a dangerous, stupid thing to have in the game.
[Aventurine]: That prescription you gave me,
[Aventurine]: I don’t suppose I could get a refill, could I?
Yet, he doesn’t relinquish his grasp, not now.
…
When Aventurine eventually feels the low and incessant murmur of his phone vibrating against his palm, he almost thinks he’s been knocked into another nightmarish stupor. He’s in even less belief when he sees that it’s not a system notification, perhaps reminding him of the fact his screen time lately has been obscene, but Ratio.
He blinks, just to make sure, and Ratio’s replies to him are still there when his eyes are back open.
[Dr. Ratio]: ?
You have (1) missed calls from Dr. Ratio.
[Dr. Ratio]: Aventurine
Amongst the other conflicting feelings buzzing around in his fatigued mind, surprise is the one that eats away at Aventurine’s carefully held mask the most. Though he wasn’t ever one to easily be defeated, this hadn’t exactly been a gamble Aventurine had expected to win. In his grasp now laid an entirely new hand of cards; one he was entirely unprepared to play. If he wasn’t careful, they would inevitably slip through his fingers and he’d again be left empty handed.
A feeling he can’t place pools in his stomach where his anxiety had already made its home as distantly, another weight presses on his mind, like cotton in his throat he struggles to swallow down. If he had to guess, it was guilt, all that ever seemed to plague his mind as of late, or perhaps even contempt, a dark part of his mind suggests, because how dare he?
For the longest time, he’d had his life and the role he was meant to play down to a science, an infallible mask to add to his growing collection of acts, indiscernible from the truth. In his field of work, assets like what he feared of becoming were called white elephants, more trouble than they were worth that should be disposed of to recover whatever value they had left, perhaps beneficial if written off for tax purposes. Broken things were to be discarded, but he was still here. Ratio frankly had no right to make him feel as if fragments of himself could even be salvaged with his beacon of flimsy, temporary hope. To make him feel like he could exist as something other than a living Ship of Theseus constructed from his countless façades.
(That was a dangerous, dangerous amount of hope to give anyone, let alone himself.)
And for what? Aventurine thinks to himself, bitterly. So he could be likened to one of the doctor’s other countless achievements in medicine and education, like a specimen he’d performed some miracle on? The doctor, after all, was a simple man despite the grandiose of the handsome bust he’d don, only seeking to cure any and all dimwits and mediocre minds of the idiocy they possessed before it became their downfall. Perhaps, in the end, to him he had only been another idiot to educate.
Suddenly, there’s a bitter taste in Aventurine’s mouth at the thought.
And instead of the doctor just imparting his lessons and leaving Aventurine’s brain for good, he just had to rub off on him too, leaving Aventurine, at an ungodly hour of the night, thinking in economic terms, thought experiments, and about Veritas Ratio.
Yet, still… There Ratio was. Not only awake at a time Aventurine would’ve least expected him to be, but having chosen to entertain him as well. There to extend out a hand when he was in the depths, again.
If Aventurine were a wiser man, this would be the part where he’d begrudgingly set his phone down into some far corner of his room and spend the rest of the night sleeplessly fraternizing with the darkness behind his eyelids instead. It’d be the most logical thing for him to do right now, not to mention the best thing he could do for his companion. (And oh, was the fact he was even beginning to sound like the man now— thinking about being logical, selfless— not lost on him at all.) If he was lucky (he knew he was,) Ratio, by now, would’ve already given up on checking on Aventurine after he hadn’t answered his first call. Maybe to Ratio, Aventurine had already said all he needed to by simply saying nothing. After all, Dr. Ratio was one for brief, succinct communication. By now, Aventurine was sure the doctor had probably already set his phone down for the night, having come to his senses, and having learned something new: that he, too, could be a fool. He would honestly be doing the guy a favour.
And it would be for the best.
It didn’t matter how altruistic the man could remain, how almost sickeningly good Aventurine knew the good doctor could be. He was a broken, broken thing, something even the doctor and his stupid saviour complex couldn’t fix. He’d only drag Ratio down to hell with him if he tried.
(The image of his gun in the doctor’s careful hands comes to mind again, the slight falter in Ratio’s normally resolute grasp still as evident in his head as it was those years ago when they’d first met. Imaginary “Aventurine” digs his fingers into Ratio’s just to pull it, him, closer. The mental image of the revolver flickers as if it were a mirage in the desert, yet the dull pain of Aventurine pressing the object against his own heart, the only barrier between the cool metal and his skin being his dress shirt, did not falter, too ingrained in his memory to forget. He swallows, his throat having gone dry again.)
His thoughts are interrupted when his phone begins to vibrate noisily in the dark again, a toast notification with the doctor’s caller ID and an option to accept the incoming phone call appearing on screen. Accompanying the bubble of text and icons, though, is what really snaps him out of his stupor.
[Dr. Ratio]: Pick up.
Aventurine remembers that he’s never been wise, and swipes to take the call.
There’s the live crackle of something in the background; a fan, he thinks, as much as a small, sick part of him almost hopes it’s Ratio’s steady breathing, proof that he’s there and real.
(He does not hope, only allowing himself to teeter on the edge of such a feeling. If only to brace himself for disappointment.)
What follows, however, isn’t the resounding pang of despondency, nor the strike of a hand. What hits him next is instead something familiar: Ratio’s very real and very there voice. “...Gambler.”
“Doc.” He means to drawl, though it comes out as more of a breath, like it’s been waiting to evacuate from his lungs. The thought that perhaps it had been, however, gets quickly stifled as he shifts the mask in his mind around to something more suave, something more befitting of the infallible Aventurine, the Stoneheart who has everything he could dream of, except for the need to dream at all. “My, are you a sound for sore ears.”
Ever impervious to flattery, the doctor on the other end of the line merely sighs, unamused. “Oh, I’m sure they’re sore, I called you twice . Here I was, thinking your punctuality couldn’t possibly get any worse” Ratio scolds, an all too familiar harshness to Aventurine, yet there's something else behind it he can't quite place. “I was starting to get-”
“Worried?” Aventurine replies, much too quickly for his own comfort.
(He shifts uncomfortably as Dr. Ratio is silent on the other end of the line for a while, Ratio probably pinching the bridge of his nose to prevent an idiocy induced migraine at Aventurine’s incredulity, the doctor’s finger likely hovering over the ‘end call’ butto-)
“...What’s troubling you?” Dr. Ratio instead asks after his brief period of hesitation, his voice steadied with a tone Aventurine can’t quite read as he readily changes the subject. Two can play at that game, Aventurine thinks, as he knows for a fact he’s going to avoid tackling that question head-on.
“Who’s to say anything is? Maybe I’ve just been missing my doctor’s voice.” He says with a certain interest to his voice, hoping that maybe Ratio will take the bait if the man can hear the thin smile behind his words. “Maybe I’m fine, and I’ve just been wanting to bother you.”
“How flattering.” The doctor remarks dryly in reply, his tone clearly indicative that it’s very much the opposite. “And I suppose I am to believe that when you’ve had ample opportunities to seek me out within the past few… Months? Since your return from Penacony. Quite the pitiful lie to attempt to sell, if you ask me.”
“I’ve been…” Ruminating non-stop. To hell, doctor, you have no idea the things I’ve seen. Aventurine wants to spill out. He swallows. “Occupied. My bad, my good doctor.” The gambler says instead, fiddling with a loose thread on the collar of his expensive pajamas with his left hand in order to stop its brief tremor. “Didn’t think you’d miss me so much. Or at all. Those Intelligentsia Guild colleagues can’t be that terrible at holding conversation, right?”
“It is not their… Incessant blabbering that I’ve taken offense to.” Dr. Ratio replies smoothly, almost certainly shaking his head at the mention of his IPC peers. He hesitates slightly before finishing his sentence, his voice lowering. “...But rather, your lack thereof.”
“Careful, Doc… If I didn’t know better, I’d say you might enjoy my company.” Aventurine challenges, an annoying grin playing on his face, the absurd thought alone almost enough to make him laugh.
“Can you imagine how much more insufferable I’d be if you managed to give me an ego? Let’s just hope news of this doesn’t come out…”
To Aventurine’s surprise, the doctor actually lets out a brief chuckle of his own, albeit, it’s dry. He’ll take what he can get, though. “The thought of you somehow managing to become even more insufferable eludes even me, gambler.” Despite his harsh tone, Ratio lets out a huff in amusement. (And for an agonizing moment Aventurine realizes he’s stilled his own breathing in order to listen.) “Go ahead, do your worst. I could care less about what others think of me. That, too, applies to the squawking of a noisy peacock.”
He laughs, elated. The metaphor is just as unappealing as it was on Penacony. “So, you’re saying you’ll stick around to see what I’ll do?” Aventurine accuses, his words a statement far more than a question. The fact that they’ve already managed to return to their old banter despite it having been several tense months would almost disturb him, if he weren’t having so much fun.
(It still disturbs him, the fact that he is having fun, but he lets himself forget for a moment.)
“Good heavens, who are you, and what did you do with the Dr. Ratio I ‘met’ on Penacony?”
“Perhaps he was left behind in the Dreamscape, where he belongs.” The other man scoffs disparagingly, his voice seemingly almost incredulous. “Of all people, I needn’t remind you that that was all an act, yes?”
“Of course. After all, you were far too sweet to me than I deserve.” Aventurine remarks, ensuring his tone stays neutral.
(It has to, because now he’s brought up a crisis neither have spoken about since the day Aventurine departed to IX’s domain. To bring up the note directly would be out of the question, would leave him in a position far too vulnerable, too dangerous.)
“Not the part I was referring to. Do not act the fool.” Is the doctor’s placid reply, an accusation of his own entirely unshaken by his companion’s. There’s the slightest hint of a warning to the edge of his voice. Aventurine smirks before he can stop himself.
“Oh? So the good doctor really has been looking out for me the entire time?”
Obviously, a small part of him chides, before he can stop himself. Him and you, perhaps that’s what it’s always been: you, alone with your dearest and only friend as your witness.
Unlike before, he’s able to make that tiny, lonely part of himself still its starving mouth.
His companion sucks a chary breath through his teeth. “You don’t have to sound so pleased.” The other man simply states, neither confirming nor denying Aventurine’s (delusions) boldness. “When you so often throw your life away, someone has to ensure you are still of sound mind.”
(“...I do not think anyone else would be fit to keep you at bay.” Aventurine thinks he hears. He swallows, as does the tiny, greedy corner of his mind as it's fed. It chews on its meal in silent thought. Aventurine chews on the inside of his cheek, trying his damnedest not to have a single thought about it at all.)
“Perhaps.” He finally replies with feigned indifference, a thin smile stretching its way across his face. “Though, for a man of logic and reason, it’s quite the foolish venture if you ask me. I hope you’ll be able to forgive me if I ask to be pinched every now and again.”
He says it so casually. “Again,” as if he’s sure there’s going to be an again.
Though, there always was an again when it came to the two of them, wasn’t there?
…What an odd pair the two of them made for, he thinks to himself idly.
(He thinks it so casually, the word “pair.” He doesn’t want to stop.)
The man on the other end of the line is unphased, simply letting out a sigh. “Must you have so little faith in me?”
“Right, right. I suppose I do owe that much to you now, don’t I?” Aventurine lets out a little laugh, though it comes as more of a breath knocked out of his lungs. A shiver, one produced in spite of his room being heated with the finest equipment money can buy. “I’ll hear you out, friend.”
Friend. The tired part of his mind greedily repeats. Friend, friend. He thinks perhaps he’s finally lost it from the sleep deprivation.
He tries to will his mind to instead think of work. Maybe he could convince Topaz to handle that neglected report due Thursday. She wasn’t as impervious to bribery as she’d like to believe, especially when it came to new toys for Numby. God knows he’ll be too tired in the morning to even look at it. Friend, friend.
(His good friend, Dr. Ratio, who he knows can’t stand him. He doesn’t mean it, the doctor should know better than to even entertain the thought. He just calls Ratio that because that’s what he calls everyone. His friend, his…
Aventurine tastes iron as he realizes he’s still biting down on the inside of his cheek. A dangerous smile makes its way onto his face, the same one he can’t help but to wear when he knows he’s about to lose.
But Aventurine of Stratagems has never lost.)
“You wouldn’t have gotten me to give up anyway.” The doctor deadpans, a subtle amusement to his voice as he shakes his head facetiously. “I would consider it akin to manslaughter if I did, considering your awful sense of self-preservation.” The older man continues, and he isn’t wrong. “By the way, you’ll need to try far harder than that to get me to forget the fact you’ve avoided my question.”
“Ratio, you’re a headache. Well, you can’t fault a guy for trying. What’s my mark, hm? I deserve two points for effort at least.” Aventurine quips, though he lets up as he hears Ratio grumble on the other end. He throws his free hand up in mock surrender, even though the other man can’t see the gesture. “Okay, okay, no need to get all grumpy. It was worth a shot. But, seriously, trust me, Doc, I’m fine.”
“A healthy patient does not ask for more medication if they’re ‘fine,’ gambler.” Ratio replies humorlessly, not missing a beat.
At this point, he thinks, as his eyes unconsciously flick to the bottom of his cold screen, the wise thing to do would be to end the call here. He’d had his curiosity sated, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he gotten what he’d wanted?
(What did he want, even? To fill the void would be the obvious answer, but even then, that doesn’t sound right.)
Regardless, this was as far as his investment needed to go; anything past this would be mere reckless indulgence. What the wise thing to do right now would be to end the call, before things could enter even more dangerous territory, before he eventually slips up and reveals his entire hand to Ratio. Skin is a foolish thing to have in the game, after all.
But Aventurine is not wise, has never been wise. So, before he can stop himself, he raises the pot, not letting go of his wager just yet.
“...You know, I…”
His throat dries immediately after he starts speaking, his mind going blank as he begins his confession of guilt. What’s it like, anyway, being honest? Unable to lie as easily as breathing? He’d have to ask Ratio about that later, because he wouldn’t know.
(Later. Aventurine thinks to himself as the words float across his mind, and he finds the way he likes the way it sounds. The dangerous, dangerous way it sounds. He decides to go for broke.)
“It’s… Idiotic, that’s what it is, that’s probably what you’d call it.” Aventurine rambles with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I bet you meant for me to discard the thing, but… Well, would you believe me if I told you I held onto it?” He laughs slightly incredulously, as if he can’t believe it either. There’s a weight heavy in his chest as he continues to spill, and it’s not from the doctor’s note this time. “Would you believe that sometimes I still look at it? Read it? Like the words’ll just… Up and vanish off the scroll if I don’t?”
Ratio audibly swallows, remaining silent for agonizing seconds.
“...It was written in ink.” The doctor finally states tersely, breaking the silence with the obvious. He pauses before continuing. “One day they indeed shall succumb to the property of lightfastness.”
“Then, with that fact in mind, would you say no to giving me a refill, doctor?” Aventurine inquires slowly, his voice dropping to a conspiratory whisper despite the already private nature of their call. “You still haven’t given my question an answer.”
Silence again. Ratio, however, doesn’t leave him hanging for long, because Aventurine knows that if anything, the doctor is reliable, has always been reliable.
“...What would you like, Aventurine?” He asks. Aventurine wonders if it’s as dark in Ratio’s room as it is in his own. He wonders if Ratio can also hear the echo of his own voice bounce against the walls.
(With a shudder, Aventurine wonders if the world feels just as lonely as his own does wherever Ratio is, or if he’s truly alone in his deliberations of misery.)
“Depends.” He can’t help but to murmur, his voice originally intending to come out with a slightly more indifferent air. He doesn’t feel indifferent, though. “What would it cost me?”
“...It’s free.” Is Dr. Ratio’s curt and immediate reply, because of course it is, damn the doctor for being a proponent of universal healthcare.
“Friend, friend…” Aventurine faux-scolds, adding a disapproving tut. “Surely you must know… Nothing is free.”
“You are incredibly stubborn.” Dr. Ratio interjects with an incredulous huff. “Fine. If you must be so difficult, consider it, in terms I am sure a man of business such as yourself would understand, a loan. Taken out on trust."
“Ah, trust.” Aventurine hums in acknowledgement. He wonders if Ratio ever finally got a clue how badly he wanted to hear that exact word from his lips back on Penacony. The gambler almost shudders with delight. “Trust… A foolish thing to have in the game, no?” He chides, as if he himself wouldn’t know exactly what it’s like to be foolish.
“I am not playing games.” Ratio snaps, and Aventurine can tell that suddenly he’s far closer to the receiver than before. “You asked me for my faith in return for your own, so I am giving it to you, you damned gambler. Does your nonsense truly know no bounds? This is not your pinball, nor are we at an IPC point-of-sale terminal-” The doctor interrupts himself with the suck in of a sharp breath, seeming to have realized how heated he got. There’s the sound of shuffling, Ratio backing away, Aventurine finds that he misses the mere notion of him being so close. The doctor finally lets out a shaky sigh, his voice lowering to a whisper not in anger, but rather in stern warning. “Do not put a price on my head, and for once, do not put a price on your own. Just. Think.”
“Really, you expect too much of me.” Aventurine chuckles, a deep sigh escaping him. “Would it disappoint you, my dear doctor? If I told you how tired I am of thinking?” He’s sure that they’ve crossed the point of being too dangerously vulnerable long ago, but with his carefully held mask in his hands shattered into pieces, all he can do is ask as he continues to laugh.
“...Then don’t." Ratio replies, slightly more firm. “Just tell me what it is you need from me, and it will be prescribed.”
He’s worked with the man for years, but never in his life has he heard him sound quite like this; as far as he was concerned, desperation wasn’t in any way, shape, or form in Dr. Veritas Ratio’s vernacular. Not like this, anyway. Distantly, he’s brought back to the moment he saw Ratio again while addled with the excruciating influence of the Harmony, how the other man had simply instructed him to tell him if he couldn’t handle the pain any longer, seeming to betray his own belief that others should seek help for themselves in times of distress. Betraying their plan to give him that note. Betraying everything to simply tell him to live.
Ratio clears his throat, interrupting Aventurine’s thoughts, his voice returning to the smooth, low tone it once was, as if nothing happened. “...Aventurine. Answer me. What is it that you need? What do you want?” What will it take for you to want to pull yourself out if one day you take the plunge again?, Aventurine thinks Dr. Ratio means, and it’s at that moment it dawns on him just for how long the doctor has completely eluded him, just how many times the other man had stubbornly extended a hand out for him to take only to have it swatted away.
“I suggest you limit the amount of liberties you’re about to give me here, Ratio. It’s safer for the both of us that way.“ Aventurine murmurs with a thin smile on his face, suddenly conscious of his own breathing. So, he does. He breathes greedily, just as he finally asks the other man, greedily: “...Come here.”
This was his riskiest gamble of the night, not just managing to get Ratio on the phone with him, or getting the man to agree to medicate him again with his infuriating, wonderful tendency to consistently be the slightest sliver of brilliant light in the dark. Ratio scoffs sardonically, shaking his head and letting out a wry chuckle. “...Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Are you really backing out on me now, good doctor? You’ve never been one to disappoint before...” Aventurine laughs, and his smile grows wider. A dangerous thing, so hopeful that he almost feels as if he’s fallen for a carefully laid trap. He can’t find it in himself to care right now. “I told you what I wanted. Now, will you deliver?”
In an instant, a low tone joins the sound of his breathing, the sound of Ratio cutting the line. Aventurine finds that his phone is cool to the touch as he clicks it on, the screen providing no other closure other than to mockingly flash the amount of time they'd spoken to each other. The feeling of rejection should be washing over him right now, or even better, the lack of feeling at all. It'd be quite the convenience if he stopped caring.
He smiles instead, keeps smiling. It’d be quite the convenience indeed. But as the bright, blue light of dancing flames suddenly appears in his peripheral vision only minutes later, almost blinding in the dark of his empty room, he can’t find it in himself to not care, nor can he find it in himself to look away. Not when in the searing afterimage of the shift in reality, out comes Dr. Ratio, and suddenly the room isn’t so empty, nor is the room so dark, nor is he so alone anymore.
Though, he never was as alone as he thought he was, was he? A small, annoying corner of his mind asks. He doesn’t supply the little glutton with an answer. He’s been fed enough tonight.
The flames finally dissipate after Ratio’s feet make contact with the solid ground of Aventurine’s room, leaving the two of them to stare at each other in silence. The vague glow of the halo cast by the golden rings of Ratio’s irises seem to bore into him, as if examining him. “Gambler,” Dr. Ratio calls out flatly, taking a step forward and beginning to stalk towards him, not breaking eye contact. It’s only now that Aventurine can make out the remnants of water clinging to Ratio’s forehead. The doctor’s bangs are slightly dampened, a small bead of water rolling down his cheek and down the inclination of his sharp jaw as he strides to where Aventurine is laying on his bed. He pauses to stare down at him, the slight furrow of his brow deepening. “...You look terrible.” Ratio finally utters low after taking a deep breath, a gaze of analysis laid onto his face as he scrutinizes Aventurine’s own.
Aventurine doesn’t take it as an insult at all, because despite the man’s blunt tone, he’s right. The dark circles underneath his eyes practically colonize his face, not to mention he’s lost a significant amount of weight since his departure from the domain of the Nihility. He feels like a skeleton wearing his own skin, not for the first time. Ratio’s gaze as he stares down at him is hard to read, but his words are hardly out of a place of disgust, much less with the intention to insult.
“Honest as ever, Doc. You, on the other hand, are a sight for sore eyes.” Aventurine replies smoothly, smiling up at the other man as if this weren’t the first time he’d seen him in months. “I must say, you’re surprisingly a natural at breaking and entering. Don’t tell me… Is this what you’ve been up to since I’ve last seen you?”
Ratio stares down at him unamused. “‘Breaking and entering?’ You’re as exhaustingly vapid in your terminology as ever." The other man raises his right hand to reveal a key ring around his middle finger.
Oh. Right. He’d given him those.
The faint sound of jingling fills the room as the doctor idly twirls it around the digit, and Aventurine can’t help but realize this is the first time he’s ever seen Ratio’s wrists bare. Ratio’s voice lowers as he adds, “I take it you haven’t noticed that your animal companions’ bowls conveniently never seem to be empty.”
He did, as did he notice it when the pills he’d so callously scatter across his bedside table in his attempts to find them in the dark would miraculously be back in their correct plastic vials when he returned home from work.
“Perhaps.” Aventurine smiles up at the man in reply, not wanting to admit to paying it any mind just yet. “And I take it you haven’t noticed the water in my bathtub doesn’t drain as quickly as you seem to think it does, my good doctor.”
“Ah,” Ratio’s firm jaw tightens somewhat at that, clearly having been caught off guard. His lips vaguely spread into the slightest, most imperceptible smirk Aventurine has ever seen at the realization of his folly. The doctor’s gaze continues to burn into him, as if he'd said nothing at all. “And what sort of meaning shall you derive from such a conclusion?”
It’s a total shot in the dark, but Aventurine doesn’t miss a beat. “...You knew, didn’t you?” He asks, staring up at him knowingly, meeting Ratio’s gaze with a similar intensity. “You wanted me to know it was you.”
The doctor’s eyes shut in recognition, only supplying him with a curt nod before glancing back down at him. “Should you think back to our various collaborations, you’d be wholly aware of the fact that not once have I deigned to take credit for my contributions.” Ratio retorts, though there isn’t a hint of argument to his voice.
Aventurine laughs, shaking his head in disbelief at his revelation before leaning back against the headboard, not breaking eye contact. “But that’s just it, isn’t it? That doesn’t change the fact it was you, Ratio.” The fact it’s always been you, and perhaps if I’d stopped dwelling in my nightmares for just a second, I’d be able to see it. “If I figure it out for myself, you don’t have to lift a finger… You’d simply have to wait for me to do something about it.”
Ratio lets out a small exhale, shaking his head in a sort of wry honesty that makes Aventurine’s heart ache in all the right ways as he yields, moving to stand even closer to Aventurine’s bed. The doctor leans towards him, as if to study him closer, and for a moment Aventurine doesn’t even breathe. “...One hundred and six days.” Ratio utters quietly, breaking the silence that had washed over the room while staring him directly in the eyes.
“...Wha-”
“One hundred and six days.” Ratio repeats with further insistence, his face not moving a muscle even as Aventurine’s mouth gapes briefly at the interruption. Something seems to burn intensely in Dr. Ratio’s eyes as he inches forward, not looking away from the man in front of him for a second as he leans even further towards him. “One hundred and six days, five hours, and fifty-six minutes.”
Aventurine swallows, continuing to focus on Ratio’s unreadable expression. He wagers a guess, “...That’s… How long I’ve been off Penacony?”
Ratio’s eyes narrow slightly, but the doctor merely closes his eyes briefly to let out a deep sigh. His gaze shifts to the jut of Aventurine’s collarbone before returning to his eyes. “One hundred and six days since I watched you die.” Ratio corrects, staring down at him.
Aventurine isn’t sure why he’s surprised, after all, his closing act took place entirely within Clock Studios Theme Park, a testament to his affinity for theatrics. It doesn’t stop him from feeling as if he’s swallowed sand. The clocks of the Golden Hour are forever frozen to the perfect, idyllic time just before midnight, and yet Ratio had counted to the minute how long it had been since he’d departed, had watched as all that remained of him was a deep gash in the sky.
“For one hundred and six days, I watched.” Ratio continues undeterred, his gaze devoid of an emotion Aventurine could parse. “I watched as you lit the sky up, as you burned along with it as you fell to the Emanator’s blade and not a trace was left of you, you, the man I’d shepherded to his own death like a lamb to the slaughter. I watched as you came back, and still, you suffered.” The doctor confesses, finally placing a cold hand onto Aventurine’s shoulder. He can’t help but shudder as Dr. Ratio brushes his thumb across the silk fabric of his pajamas, the man’s teeth briefly gnashing together as he refers to the trial that netted him back his Cornerstone.
“...And yet I chose to come back anyway.“ Aventurine says quietly, and before he can stop himself, he keeps going. “The note, it… Ratio, why? ” He’s finally able to ask, no mask, no shield, no smile, finally giving a genuine, direct voice to a question one hundred and six days too late. He chides at himself for his ineloquence, but lying comes to him as easy as breathing, and he hasn’t been able to ask Ratio what the hell it’s like being honest in the same way, yet.
“Yet,” he thinks, and suddenly finds it a wonderful word.
Ratio sighs through his teeth, his thumb still idly rubbing against Aventurine’s collar. “...Your life has meaning, yet time and time again you have been denied such a truth.”
The doctor’s gaze drops to where his brand is, though he returns to looking him in the eyes just as quickly. It’s a foreign feeling, not having anyone look at it in disgust, fear, pity. The way Ratio looks at it, him, is objective, critical, but not unkind.
It’s honest, he realizes, honesty from the most honest person he’s met.
“Without the existence of purpose, those who cannot pick themselves back up, those who have nothing to fall back to, risk the rapid descent into meaninglessness...” Ratio continues, his eyes narrowing as if such a thing were far too familiar to him. Nous could capsize in on THEIR own genius self for all Aventurine could care. He could meet the doctor’s gaze forever. “It’s not that I believed you incapable of pushing forward despite the odds… In fact, I would consider you an expert in the field.” Ratio looks towards Aventurine for any sign of offense and finds none, continuing.
“Simply put…Were you to choose to pick yourself back up to live for yourself… I merely wished to be the helping hand to pull you onto your feet. Yet…” Dr. Ratio pauses, before squeezing his eyes shut and continuing, clearly slightly mortified by what he’s about to confess despite his stern expression upon reopening them. “Regrettably, it seems I couldn’t simply leave it at that. Or, you, for that matter.”
Aventurine smiles. Genuinely. Not a careful smirk, or a thin, corporate smile, a smile that is almost ugly in its lack of restraint, in how unabashedly honest it is. He smiles and smiles and then he laughs. Elated, incredulous, mournfully, at how much he has missed the man in front of him, the brilliant, infuriating friend he didn’t know he had. While Ratio has his guard down, he pulls him down to his level by the shoulders, pressing their foreheads together in a way that is far too close, too vulnerable. Ratio’s pupils blow wide at the sudden close proximity, but Aventurine is holding on so tight he’s unsure if the doctor has made a single attempt to pull away.
“My friend…” He breathes, almost as deep as a wheeze. “If you knew me. If you truly, truly knew me, the things I’ve done, the person I really am… You’d hate me so much. You’d regret every foolish thing you just told me.”
Ratio simply stares at him as he digs his fingers deeper into his broad shoulders, and the bastard, that brilliant bastard, rolls his eyes at him. Aventurine is about to scoff in disbelief, but the doctor’s hands trail to the back of his head to thread into blond hair, firmly pressing his own frontal bone against Aventurine’s forehead. He winces slightly as their heads knock together, but it’s not enough to be genuinely painful, just enough to snap him back to lucidity as Ratio continues to stare at him unwaveringly.
“Do you regard me as some kind of deity? I know for a fact you don’t, so don’t answer that.” The doctor interjects before Aventurine can say anything, the gambler’s face scrunching up in a slight pout. “If you knew the same of me, of how much blood could souse my clothing at any moment, you wouldn’t even allow yourself to consider me, nor anything I’ve said, damned gambler.” Ratio mutters. “You aren’t the heaviest burden I’ve shouldered.”
“And what if I told you, my dear doctor, that I don’t even know the first thing about living?” Aventurine laughs breathily, almost feeling remorse at the fact his fingernails have most definitely dug crescent moon shapes into the posterior half of Ratio’s firm deltoid muscles. Almost. “Or staying alive, for that matter? Aren’t you disappointed? That I’ve become so much like the idiots you despise?”
Ratio merely lets out a sigh and chuckles, a rare, precious thing compared to his normally reserved attitude. Aventurine could count on one hand the amount of times he’s seen the doctor smile so unabashedly in front of him before. “I’d be remiss not to teach you, my dear gambler. As I would be not to fail you as many times I deem necessary until you pass with flying colours.”
Something in Aventurine snaps at that, perhaps the tiny part of himself he’s been restraining for so long, the part of Aventurine of Stratagems that’s still able to want. With a swift motion, he grabs onto the neckline of Dr. Ratio’s top and yanks him down with him onto the bed until the man is practically on top of him. Ratio yelps in surprise, bracing his fall by planting his elbows on either side of Aventurine’s face as to avoid crushing the younger man as he lands. His previously amused expression immediately sours, though his pupils are blown wide simply staring at Aventurine, as if he were staring down a star reaching supernova.
“Show me, then. I’m tired of not knowing.” Aventurine breathes, the air punched out of his lungs due to the weight of his companion. “Show me what it’s like to be alive, doctor.”
Ratio simply stares him down, the golden halo of his pupils practically boring into him as he narrows his eyes, and it’s only now that Aventurine realizes the doctor is breathing right alongside him. “...Very well.”
Dr. Ratio takes the hand not currently threaded through Aventurine’s golden hair and trails it slowly down his jaw, down the side of his neck, the coolness of his fingers making the touch almost clinical. Aventurine shivers, squirming under him slightly as Ratio attempts to find his pulse point, digging his fingers deeper into his neck in a calculated method far from haphazard. The doctor parts his lips on a small “ah” as he seems to finally locate it, apparently unaware of how the gambler underneath him is currently burning up to smolders. (Actually, Aventurine was sure he was more than aware. Damn the doctor and his brilliance.)
Aventurine is about to protest, he was supposed to, anyway. Something about the doctor “taking his sweet time,” but the thought is quickly thrown to the side as Dr. Ratio all but jabs his fingers into his pulse point upon locating it, using his other hand to cradle Aventurine’s neck in a way that is by contrast far too gentle. Breath he didn’t even know he was holding until that moment is immediately knocked out of his lungs, and it’s at this point he realizes just how close the infuriatingly beautiful man above him is. He feels lightheaded and overwhelmed all at once, but it’s not because Ratio’s applying too much pressure, no, he’s not choking at all. It’s as he gasps out another breath greedily that Ratio finally speaks, offering the tiniest of smiles down at him.
“Do you feel it, Aventurine?” Ratio leans down to whisper against his ear, and “feel it” Aventurine does. His pulse hammers heavy in his ears, and he realizes the rushing sound he’s been hearing this whole time has been the thrumming of his own blood making its course through his veins, as if it were a river that stretched out infinitely. He breathes in the silence of his room, breathes hard, just so the rise and fall of his chest crushes him even further against the beautiful life resting atop him checking his pulse. He thinks and for the first time in a long time it’s not excruciating, the heavy burden of his nightmares nor the numbness of the Nihility being anything he could feasibly focus on right now. His eyes shoot open as he stares up at the tiles of the ceiling, at the back of Ratio’s head. He feels everything and nothing all at once in his embrace, and he realizes that he’s been lonely for a very, very long time, damn the role he was meant to play to hell, this is everything he’s ever dreamed of and more, and it’s beautiful.
Maybe he could have this. Maybe he could have everything just for tonight.
“Doesn’t the very weight of it frighten you?” Ratio asks as he draws a breath of his own, a certain intensity to his voice not present before as he digs his fingers deeper into his neck. “Your existence, your place in a universe so large? Being able to feel it so intensely?”
“No... N-No.” Aventurine gasps out before he can stop himself, raising his arms to wrap them around and hug the man above him even tighter against him, completely unwilling to let go, if only to be able to selfishly feel their hearts beat as one as they occupy the same space, even just for this moment, and even just for this lifetime. “Doctor, I want to live.” He wheezes out, a low shudder running through his body.
Ratio’s eyes widen, and he lets out a shaky sigh, somehow seeming to be just as overwhelmed as Aventurine is. He shuts his eyes, before pitching backwards to meet Aventurine’s gaze, his hands suddenly dropping to the gambler’s sides to wrap around them and reciprocate his hug. “Then live, you shall. For it is your choice alone to make.” The doctor declares, his voice shaky in a way Aventurine didn’t think was possible for the infallible Doctor of Truth.
They could totally kiss right now, a corner of Aventurine’s mind thinks, definitely not for the first time, and definitely not for the last.
He’s about to shut it up, before he realizes something.
Yeah. Yeah, he’d like that a lot. He wants it a lot. And perhaps of all the gambles he’s taken tonight, this is the one that fills him with the most adrenaline.
So he laughs. He laughs, elated, incredulous, and mournful all at the same time as he leans forward, his breath brushing against Ratio’s lips as he smiles. “...You know what’d make me feel more alive, though?” He whispers conspiratorially, as if the very nature of their conversation weren’t inherently private.
Dr. Ratio looks over at him exasperated as ever, a heavy sigh leaving him as he keeps one arm wrapped around his waist while another aides in pinching the bridge of his own nose.
“...You are incorrigible.”
Yet, despite the insult, Ratio does in fact lean forward, and for a moment the entire world stills, as does Aventurine’s laughter. A thumb gingerly brushes against his jaw.
Ratio shifts downwards to meet the spot, his lips only for a second brushing his face.
He pulls away before Aventurine can do anything to reciprocate.
“Not what I meant.” Aventurine frowns, impassively. “Didn’t take you for a coward, doctor.”
Ratio leans back with an amused sigh. “...Do whatever you’d like.”
Oh, he definitely knew what he was doing. Very well, two could play at that game.
…What an odd pair the two of them made for, he thinks to himself with a wry smile.
(He thinks it so casually, the word “pair.” He doesn’t want to stop.)
“I suggest you limit the amount of liberties you’re about to give me here, Veritas…” Aventurine murmurs as he stares up at the other man, a greedy smile playing on his face as Ratio's eyes widen at the use of his first name. It must've been a long time since he's heard it said in such a manner. “...It’s safer for the both of us that way.“
“Aventurine.” Ratio stares, his tone stern with an edge of a warning to it as he looks down at him. Yet, the doctor merely sighs, leaning in closer to the gambler, having yielded long ago. “...If there is something you want, just take it. It’s yours.”
And so, Aventurine listens, for who was he to refuse what were doctor's orders? For the first time in a long time, Aventurine wants. Grief does not cloy at his heart when he does, no. His heart merely swells in a cocktail of affection for the stubborn, infuriating man who now meets his gaze with a similar look of admiration. This was yearning, he realized, unabashedly. It’d scare him, if he wasn’t one for thrills.
And so he takes, selfishly; as if he’ll find the last breath he’ll ever draw if he ever parts from Ratio again. Is it still selfishness? To take something that is being handed to you, not something you force against your own racing heart?
“I don’t understand you.” Aventurine murmurs fondly through his kisses. There isn’t a hint of negativity to his tone, for it isn’t a negative statement at all.
“Nor do I understand you.” Ratio agrees, a genuine, haughty laugh escaping him. “Nor will I ever, you damned gambler.”
Aventurine laughs, overjoyed alongside a million different emotions at once. They kiss like they’ve been doing this for years, like it’s not more than one hundred and six days overdue. They part for breath, Ratio flipping them over so that they’re now laying side by side on the bed, his arm curled around Aventurine’s waist in a way that is almost unbecoming of the doctor's usually reserved nature.
Somehow, it feels just right, though.
“You cuddle up to all of your patients, Doc?” Aventurine eventually asks with an open-mouthed yawn. So now his sleeping pills finally decided to be of any use. “Or your coworkers, for that matter?”
“You thrash like an animal in your sleep, gambler. Forgive me for wanting to prevent your inevitable plummet to the floor.” Ratio retorts in reply, though his words hold very little weight as he buries his face into Aventurine’s neck, the entirety of both sentences muffled almost incomprehensibly. He doesn't ask how Ratio knows that.
“Mhm,” Aventurine hums with a smile, entirely unconvinced. “And is that also why you’ve delegated yourself to the role of big spoon? My hero.”
Ratio lets out an unamused huff against his neck, the room returning to its original state of silence as neither says any more, feels the need to say any more. Yet, the quiet that washes over his bedroom is far from oppressive tonight, as what previously was the norm, as what used to be the norm. Freedom and homeliness courses through the heart Aventurine thought had run cold long ago, and he revels in it, he basks in the warmth he feels despite Ratio’s body against him being so cold.
“Stay.” Ratio eventually murmurs lowly, the sound almost too quiet for Aventurine to hear in the dark.
Aventurine hums, amused. “Mm? This is quite the nice arrangement we’ve got here, doc, but we both have work tomorrow… And I doubt you’d like it much if I started borrowing your toothbrush regularly.” He smirks as he hears Ratio scoff in disgust at the thought.
“In my peripheral vision.” Ratio corrects more firmly. His arm unconsciously pulls Aventurine’s back further up against the expanse of his chest as he sighs. “Whatever you would like to do, I cannot stop you… But I would at least like the peace of mind knowing you are still alive. Please.”
Aventurine raises an eyebrow, but simply smiles back at him. “Are those doctor’s orders?”
“It’s a request.” Ratio stares back at him, a fondness to the bright halos of his gaze even as his lips press into a flat line. “It’s your choice. I have no desire to have you bound to me in shackles.”
“I know,” Aventurine replies. And what a wonderful thing it was, knowing, he thinks, as he smiles even wider when he looks back at Dr. Ratio, his dearest and only friend. It doesn’t take much thought for him to make up his mind. “Okay, fine, I suppose I can allow you to follow me around for just a little longer, doctor... Just don’t complain when I start latching onto you like a parasite.” He jokes. Half-jokes. Okay, perhaps he was being serious there.
“...Like you haven’t been already.” Ratio sighs exasperatedly through his teeth, though he matches Aventurine’s smile the best he can. “Do your worst, gambler.”
His smile is the most brilliant thing he’s seen, Aventurine is sure, and he realizes that now he can’t count the amount of times he’s seen it on just one hand anymore. He smiles back, feeling everything everywhere all at once as warmth blooms in his once dead heart.
“Sure, Doc. Sounds good.” He whispers in reply, honesty coming to him as easily as breathing. “Sounds good to me.”