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Dr. Ratio stood with his back to the bulk of the crowd, glass in hand, shoulders squared like a man braced against inevitable disappointment. The drink was some saccharine blend of synthetic wine and planetary export, served in a crystal tumbler that was more valuable than the contents inside. He hadn’t tasted it in twenty minutes, and even then, he’d only taken a sip out of curiosity—morbid, and promptly regretted.
The artificial citrus sting still clung to the back of his throat like a grudge.
The lights above cast everything in a low amber glow, the kind meant to soften sharp angles and unflattering truths. Unfortunately for Ratio, his disdain was immune to lighting design.
He should’ve left an hour ago. He’d tried to leave—twice. The second time, he’d even made it halfway to the docking bay before a direct ping from Herta rerouted him like a lost drone. Now, her voice materialized behind him again, smooth and clinical as always.
“There you are,” she said, as if she’d merely stumbled upon him in a botanical garden and not actively hunted him down like prey.
Ratio didn’t turn to face her. “If this is about another experiment, the answer is still no.”
“No experiment,” she replied, chipper in a way that made him immediately suspicious. “It’s a logistical problem.”
“That’s an administrative euphemism. Not my department.”
“Come now,” she said, stepping into view with her hands clasped neatly behind her back. “Logistics are just applied logic with more variables. That is your specialty, isn’t it?”
He finally shifted his gaze toward her, brow raised. “Define ‘logistical.’”
She didn’t answer him directly. Instead, she glanced toward the far end of the room, chin tilting like she was indicating a rare, irritating species on display. “Your ex-partner has been enjoying the open bar a little too much.”
Ratio followed her line of sight.
He scowled.
Aventurine was sprawled out across a velvet loveseat in a position that defied both dignity and physics. One arm was slung dramatically along the back, the other lazily holding a glass of something golden and wildly flammable-looking. His tie hung askew around his neck like a surrendered flag, and the top three buttons of his dress shirt were completely undone, revealing a sliver of collarbone that was probably intentional. He laughed—loud, unfiltered, smug—and lifted his glass in a theatrical toast to absolutely no one. Or perhaps to the ceiling. Ratio couldn’t tell.
The room around him gave him a wide berth. Whether it was respect, fear, or secondhand embarrassment, Ratio didn’t know. Didn’t care.
He stared for another long second. Then, dryly: “Absolutely not.”
Herta clicked her tongue. “He won’t cooperate with anyone else.”
“Then leave him,” Ratio said, already halfway to turning around. “The IPC has more security personnel than sense. Let them sort it out.”
“Can’t,” Herta said lightly. “He’s too high-profile to be seen passed out on a couch. Bad optics. And frankly, I’d rather not risk the paperwork.”
Ratio glanced at her, unimpressed. “Then he should’ve thought of that before drinking enough to fuel a generator.”
She shrugged. “You worked together in Penacony.”
He nearly scoffed. “And that’s supposed to be a recommendation?”
She smiled in that irritating way of hers, like she was watching a very interesting test subject take the bait. “You have… experience. History. That counts for something.”
“The only thing I managed on that mission,” Ratio said through clenched teeth, “was not strangling him with his own vest.”
“Then this should be easy, ” Herta replied, patting his arm once like she was logging a successful handoff. “Thanks, Doctor.”
And just like that, she turned on her heel and vanished into the crowd, leaving him alone—with the drink he wouldn’t touch, the headache he didn’t ask for, and a man at the end of the room who had no idea how close he was to being murdered with scientific precision.
Ratio let out a slow, measured breath through his nose.
Dr. Ratio stalked across the lounge with the expression of someone walking toward a malfunctioning machine—a dying machine that still managed to beep at the most inopportune moments. He wasn’t angry. Not yet. But the growing tension in his neck and shoulders said everything else about what he’d rather be doing.
The sound of his shoes clicking against the marble floor echoed in the mostly deserted area. The closer he got to his destination, the more the space around him seemed to tighten. He could already feel the weight of judgmental eyes from the occasional bystander who knew what was coming. A tension in the air that told him: This is going to be the longest five minutes of your life.
Aventurine spotted him immediately—of course he did. As if Ratio’s very presence was a magnetic force for trouble, as though Aventurine had eyes in the back of his head.
“Well, well,” Aventurine drawled, voice loud enough to carry across the lounge, “look who they sent.” His grin was wide, a little too pleased for someone who had clearly been drinking far more than was advisable. “Dr. Ratio, professional killjoy and reluctant partner of the year.”
Ratio didn’t flinch. He didn’t even acknowledge the playful jab. He merely stopped a few feet away, just out of reach, arms crossed tightly over his chest.
“You’re drunk,” Ratio stated flatly, the words coming out as dry as a desert.
Aventurine raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed, and took a slow sip from his glass. He stared at the golden liquid inside, as though the glass itself had betrayed him, and then slowly tilted his head back toward Ratio, lips curling into that infuriatingly smug expression.
“You’re observant.” He took another sip, swishing the drink as if savoring it. “Wait… what was this again?”
Ratio’s patience thinned. He exhaled through his nose, sharp and deliberate, trying to keep his temper in check. “You’re making a scene.”
Aventurine stretched out further on the opulent velvet loveseat, sprawling like a man who had all the time in the world to make a mess of himself. His legs were thrown carelessly over one armrest, the other hand still gripping the drink like a trophy. He looked entirely at ease—if not a little too pleased with himself. “You’re making a scowl, but that’s not new.”
Aventurine’s grin only widened, as if his entire existence was a joke waiting to be told. He didn’t seem at all bothered by the presence of the icy, disapproving doctor standing mere feet away. In fact, he seemed to find it entirely entertaining.
“Tell me, doctor,” he continued, eyes sparkling with mischief, “did they offer you hazard pay for this?”
Ratio’s response was immediate—cold, terse. “Stand up.”
Aventurine made a show of considering the request. He tilted his head back slightly, looking like he was contemplating some deep philosophical question, then sighed dramatically, as though the effort of complying would be too much to bear. “I am standing,” he said, slurring the words with unearned nonchalance. “Just… horizontally.”
Ratio’s patience snapped like an overstretched wire. His hand shot forward, grabbing Aventurine’s wrist with precise, if not slightly exasperated, force. He hauled him upright, intending to get him on his feet—one way or another.
Aventurine barely registered the movement before he was unceremoniously pulled from his reclining position. He toppled sideways, barely catching his balance before crashing into Ratio, who instinctively reached out to steady him. The moment was fleeting but enough to set Aventurine off in a fit of laughter, deep and loud, echoing through the empty lounge.
“Careful, doc,” Aventurine gasped between chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief, “you’ll give people ideas.”
Ratio froze, glaring down at him with all the restraint he could muster. “Let them.”
Aventurine didn’t seem to notice the threat beneath the words. He just grinned wider, his head lolling back to rest on the velvet cushion, completely unbothered by the tension that was clearly beginning to crackle in the air.
“I knew it,” Aventurine purred, his voice taking on that irritatingly smug tone again, “you just can’t stay away. You like being around me, don’t you?”
Ratio’s response was a low, tense growl. “I really don’t.”
“Liar,” Aventurine teased, eyes half-lidded, voice far too knowing for someone with a considerable amount of alcohol in his system. “You might not admit it, but I know you, doc. You’re just too uptight for your own good.”
Ratio said nothing. He simply gave Aventurine a pointed look—a look that said everything he needed to say. He didn’t care about the teasing, the easy jokes. He didn’t care about the way Aventurine was pushing at his limits.
What he cared about was getting this over with.
He released Aventurine’s wrist—though not without a lingering flicker of frustration in his gaze—and took a step back, eyes still narrowed.
“You’re going back to your room,” Ratio stated flatly, as if the decision had already been made.
Aventurine paused for a moment, his eyes darkening slightly, the alcohol fogging over a glimmer of something sharper beneath the surface. Then, with a sigh, he lifted himself up from the loveseat, rolling his shoulders as if he were awakening from a nap he never asked for.
“Fine,” he muttered, voice lower than before, “but only if you promise to stop acting like you’ve got a stick up your ass.”
Ratio turned without waiting for a reply, already heading for the door with the same steady, unbothered stride. “You’re lucky I’m here at all.”
“Stop pulling,” Aventurine complained, his heels dragging noisily across the polished floor with an almost musical screech. The sound seemed to mock Ratio at every step, a constant reminder that he was being forced to do this. “I can walk, you know.”
Ratio didn’t even flinch. He kept moving, pulling Aventurine along with the sort of patience usually reserved for herding particularly difficult cattle. “Then walk.”
“I am walking,” Aventurine huffed, his words slurred with an exaggerated pout.
“You’re being dragged,” Ratio countered flatly, his grip on Aventurine’s wrist unwavering. He could feel the loose slack of resistance—Aventurine wasn’t trying to escape, but he was certainly trying to delay.
Aventurine’s voice dropped lower in mock sincerity. “I’m gracefully resisting. There’s a difference.”
Ratio grit his teeth, fighting the urge to do anything more than just get this over with. His fingers tightened around Aventurine’s wrist like a vice, steering him through the sterile halls like a poorly-behaved suitcase with legs. “If I let go, you’ll fall on your face.”
“Maybe that’s what I want,” Aventurine muttered, his voice thick with the half-laughing, half-sarcastic tone Ratio had come to know too well. “Get a concussion, forget Penacony. Forget you. Bliss.”
Ratio stopped in his tracks, freezing long enough to send a scathing glare over his shoulder, though it didn’t break the steady forward motion of their journey. He was more than capable of glaring and walking at the same time. “Try harder. I’d like to forget it too.”
Aventurine gave a lopsided grin, his expression a mix of mock hurt and playful defiance. “You wound me, doc.”
Ratio resumed walking with more force now, practically dragging him. “Not yet.”
They rounded a corner, and Aventurine, predictably, slumped into him with absolutely no warning, his body going limp in that dramatic, over-the-top way he always managed. His head bumped briefly into Ratio’s shoulder, a completely unintended but perfectly timed collision.
“I’m tired,” Aventurine muttered, the words muffled as he buried his face in Ratio’s shoulder with surprising ease. He could have been dramatic for hours, but there was a slight vulnerability in his tone that Ratio hated to admit almost softened him.
“Do you ever stop being this stern?” Aventurine continued, pulling away just enough to look up at him, his eyes half-lidded with a mischievous exhaustion. “I swear, you were born already judging people.”
Ratio’s gaze was as sharp as ever, his lips curling into a dry smile. “I was born intelligent. Same difference.”
“Ugh, that’s the tone,” Aventurine groaned, pulling back dramatically to shoot Ratio a wide, exaggerated look of mock horror. “That’s the Ratio Tone™. The one that says ‘I’m better than you, and I hate that I have to prove it.’” He paused, as though taking a moment to reflect on the weight of his words. “It’s almost impressive how consistent you are.”
Ratio’s face remained unchanged. His eyes flicked over to Aventurine, unamused. “You make it remarkably easy.”
“Why, thank you,” Aventurine smirked, straightening up just enough to avoid crashing into a nearby wall, and then continuing his smug commentary. “Takes real talent to be this irritating while still looking this good.”
Ratio didn’t respond right away. He was tempted, for a brief second, to shove Aventurine in the direction of a passing janitorial bot, just to break up the rhythm of their ridiculous back-and-forth. But that would only make things worse.
Instead, he just focused on putting one foot in front of the other. “I’m trying to stay focused,” he muttered, though he knew that wasn’t entirely true. He was also trying not to strangle his partner.
“Oh, come on,” Aventurine said with an exaggerated sigh, leaning back into him with the kind of relaxed confidence that made Ratio question his sanity. “Say it. Just once. Admit I’m attractive and irritating.”
Ratio didn’t even flinch at the request. He was good at keeping his emotions under tight wraps. He didn’t miss a beat. “You’re irritating.”
“Coward,” Aventurine shot back, his voice dripping with playful mockery, though there was a hint of something else behind the words. Something a little softer, less cutting, buried beneath the layers of teasing.
Ratio paused for a moment as they neared an elevator, and for a brief second, he wondered if he was the one being foolish. Was it even worth responding to this? To this… man who seemed to thrive on chaos?
Before he could answer himself, Aventurine leaned into him again, this time with an exaggerated yawn, his body pressing into Ratio’s side.
“Doc, I really do need a nap.” Aventurine’s voice was lower now, tinged with weariness. “But I won’t sleep if you keep dragging me around. This isn’t… how I imagined my evening.”
Ratio glanced down at him, annoyed but oddly… curious. “Maybe next time, try not drinking your weight in alcohol.”
Aventurine snorted, leaning away and flashing him that absurdly charming grin once more. “Maybe next time, you’ll let me. You know, relax. Have some fun.”
The elevator doors slid open with a polite ding , revealing three well-dressed occupants who looked like they had stepped out of an ad for an upscale luxury brand. Their perfectly pressed suits gleamed under the lights, and their perfectly-styled hair betrayed the kind of people who never had to carry their own datapads and whose idea of stress was having to choose between the finest wine or the exclusive, corporate-only brunch.
They were IPC executives, the kind who never had to ask for permission. Their kind also tended to believe they were entitled to the universe simply by virtue of their title.
Ratio took a slow step back, instinctively wanting to stay out of their way. He could already feel the weight of their judgment. He wasn’t in the mood for this , especially with Aventurine tagging along.
But Aventurine, of course, did the opposite.
"Oh, perfect!” he exclaimed, as though he were stepping into his own personal lounge rather than a cramped elevator with total strangers. His voice was far too bright and enthusiastic, and without a single ounce of hesitation, he breezed past Ratio with the swagger of a man who truly believed the universe existed solely to cater to his whims. “Room for two more, right?”
The executives exchanged tight, practiced smiles—the kind that said, We hate this, but we can’t afford to make a scene, before shifting just enough to make space for them. They were trying to keep the peace, but the unspoken tension between them and Aventurine was palpable. The kind of tension you could feel in the air.
Ratio stepped in slowly, resisting the powerful urge to shrink into the corner, to fold into himself like corrupted code. He was used to being ignored, to being left alone, but this... this was an entirely different level of social dysfunction.
The doors slid closed with a soft whoosh .
Silence hung thick in the air for exactly two seconds. Two seconds where everyone seemed to realize they were trapped in an awkward, unspoken truce. And then—
“So,” Aventurine said, bright as ever, his hands planted on his hips as though he were about to start a presentation at an investor meeting. “How about that market volatility, huh?”
Ratio’s eyes fluttered shut for just a moment, trying to calm the storm brewing inside him. He stared straight ahead at his reflection in the polished elevator doors, counting his own visible teeth to keep himself from screaming. Every passing second with Aventurine in close proximity was another slow, agonizing burn.
One of the execs chuckled politely, clearly unsure whether to entertain the comment or pretend it hadn’t been made. “Indeed. It’s been a lively quarter,” he said, his voice tight, forced. His smile barely touched his eyes.
“Oh, lively’s one word for it,” Aventurine continued, swaying slightly with the motion of the elevator, still grinning like a man who had no idea the social boundaries he was currently obliterating. “Though if I had to guess, I’d say it’s gonna crash in about—mm—three weeks? Four, if the IPC keeps pretending they know what they’re doing with high-yield lunar bonds.”
Ratio turned his head just enough to hiss, voice a low warning. “Stop talking.”
Aventurine tilted his head, as if the idea of quieting down was something foreign and utterly ridiculous. “What? I’m being social. Isn’t that what you always said I lack? 'Basic interpersonal decency?’ Look at me, I’m blooming.”
“You’re hemorrhaging nonsense,” Ratio snapped, keeping his voice low but laced with a thin thread of venom.
Another exec, this time a woman with perfectly polished nails, cleared her throat, clearly unsure whether this was some sort of elaborate joke or a hostage situation. Her eyes darted between Aventurine and Ratio, unsure how to proceed.
Aventurine leaned a little too close to Ratio, almost invading his personal space in the process. “You’re just mad I’m the charming one,” he said, his voice dripping with mischievous sweetness.
Ratio’s eye twitched. He clenched his teeth to keep himself from responding too harshly. “You’re the loud one.”
Aventurine looked over at the executives, grinning like he had just cracked the code to a perfect joke. “Loud is charming,” he said, turning to the three executives as if expecting them to back him up. “Right?”
The entire elevator went still, silent. The executives exchanged looks that were far too brief to be entirely meaningful. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated tension. Then— ding . The elevator doors opened with an almost jarring finality.
Ratio didn’t hesitate.
He moved fast, too fast. His hand shot out, gripping Aventurine’s arm like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. He all but dragged the man out of the elevator, with a renewed, steely determination and a prayer to whatever gods might pity him. His mind screamed at him to keep walking, to just get to the door, to never look back.
The elevator doors slid shut behind them, sealing the chaos away from the executives, who were likely still trying to process the disaster that just unfolded.
Ratio exhaled through his teeth, his patience worn thin. He stood still for a long moment, staring at the hallway before him. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered, though it wasn’t an insult anymore. It was a resigned truth, the kind you say only after too much damage had already been done.
Aventurine’s grin hadn’t budged an inch. He was enjoying himself too much. “You missed me,” he teased, his voice full of that same easy arrogance.
Ratio stopped walking, turned to face him with a slow, deliberate movement. His eyes narrowed into a gaze so cold, so deadly, that it was enough to make anyone else think twice. “I am one hallway away from risking a criminal record,” he said, the words quiet but final, like a warning to both of them.
Aventurine, of course, was unfazed. He leaned in, his grin growing. “Aw, I missed you too,” he said, as though this was just some friendly banter. As though Ratio wasn’t about to strangle him with his own tie.
Ratio turned and started walking again, but this time he kept a firm grip on Aventurine’s arm, almost like a leash. He didn’t stop until they reached the door panel. He keyed in the code Herta had sent to his comms, and with a soft chime, the lock clicked open.
He didn’t let go of Aventurine’s arm until the door had fully slid open, the light from the inside spilling out to meet them.
“There,” Ratio said, voice clipped, every syllable carrying the weight of his irritation. “Inside. Now.”
Aventurine didn’t move.
Ratio’s eyes flicked over to him, narrowing even further. “Don’t tell me you forgot how to walk again,” he said, the words a low growl, like the edge of a knife just waiting for a reason to cut deeper.
Aventurine tilted his head, his eyes half-lidded, as though the alcohol had coated his thoughts in a comfortable haze. Yet there was something sharp lurking beneath that fog—a glint that made Ratio instinctively wary, as if something was waiting to pierce the thin veneer of calm.
“You always stand like that,” Aventurine said, his voice low but knowing.
“…Like what?” Ratio asked, his tone a mix of confusion and annoyance.
“All tight. Shoulders squared,” Aventurine elaborated, the words spoken with a strange sort of affection that only added to the tension.
Ratio crossed his arms tightly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “Is this supposed to be a revelation?”
Aventurine ignored the sarcasm entirely, like a magnet drawn to the opposite pole of Ratio’s frustration. He leaned against the doorframe with casual ease, arms folded, posture loose and lazy, the kind of slouch that could only be achieved by someone who didn’t feel the need to impress or was simply too drunk to care.
“You’ve got this whole aura, you know?” Aventurine continued, his voice pitched low as he studied Ratio. “Cold. Precise. Completely untouchable. It’s honestly kind of impressive, in its own way.”
Ratio didn’t move, his body as stiff and unmoving as a statue, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed the battle waging within him. He was fighting to stay in control, to not engage, but it was getting harder.
“And yet,” Aventurine added, a lazy gesture sweeping in Ratio’s direction, “you keep showing up where the mess is.”
Ratio’s gaze darkened. “Because you are the mess,” he snapped, his voice cutting like a blade.
Aventurine smirked, the smile slow and deliberate. “And you keep cleaning it up,” he shot back, eyes sparkling with something unspoken, something almost too dangerous to name. “I think you like it.”
The air between them seemed to hum with charged tension, and Ratio’s patience was stretched dangerously thin. Without thinking, he stepped forward, moving close enough that the door nearly slammed shut behind him. His voice was low, every word like a command. “Go. Inside.”
Aventurine didn’t budge. He stayed exactly where he was, leaning against the doorframe as if he were at home, almost as if the walls themselves couldn’t contain him. His grin remained in place, taunting. “You know what else your aura says?”
“I’m not interested,” Ratio muttered, barely containing his irritation.
Aventurine leaned closer, his eyes never leaving Ratio, studying him like an open book. “It says you hate being seen. Like, really seen. Not just the doctor, not just the brain. The rest of you. The part that’s… what’s the word? Insecure.” He tapped his temple with a single finger, his grin widening at the impact of his words. “Bet that’s the real reason you don’t talk much. Less risk of anyone looking too close.”
Ratio’s silence was the kind that screamed volumes. He didn’t answer. He didn’t blink. He didn’t even breathe, for one awful second. The weight of Aventurine’s words settled over him like a thick, suffocating blanket.
The tension stretched so tight, it felt like the world might snap. Then, finally, Aventurine let out a breathy laugh, more tired than smug now, as if the moment had lost its edge. “There it is. The silence. You always go so quiet when I’m right.”
Ratio snapped. His hand shot out and grabbed Aventurine by the lapels—not roughly, but firmly, his grip unyielding as he maneuvered him into the suite with military precision, practically shoving him forward. The door slid shut behind them with a soft whoosh, sealing them in a quiet, sterile bubble.
Aventurine stumbled slightly, catching himself on the back of a sleek armchair with a low, amused chuckle. “Careful, doc,” he said, a teasing smirk still playing at the edges of his lips. “Manhandle me too hard and I might start thinking you care.”
Ratio didn’t even flinch. He stood by the door, hands buried in his coat pockets, his gaze sharp enough to cut glass. The calm, almost clinical look on his face contrasted sharply with the chaos of his thoughts.
“Don’t mistake obligation for concern,” he said coolly, his voice like a razor gliding over the edges of a wound.
Aventurine sat down, his grin widening as he leaned back into the chair, eyes sparkling with mischief. “That’s okay. I’m pretty good at seeing through lies,” he replied, a sly challenge in his tone, his gaze still fixed on Ratio like he was trying to peel back the layers of his guarded exterior.
Ratio didn’t respond, his silence thickening between them like a wall. He remained standing, his posture tense, his body an immovable object that would not yield, no matter how much Aventurine tried to provoke him.
It would be easy—simple, really—to just leave. He didn’t owe anyone anything. No one expected more from him. Herta hadn’t asked him to stay. Aventurine was technically alive, and he was inside the room, which met all the basic requirements for someone who was supposed to be "cared for" or "looked after." There was no emergency. Nothing urgent.
Ratio reached for the control panel, fingers brushing against the sleek surface.
“You’re really leaving?” Aventurine’s voice cut through the stillness, softer now. Not mocking. Not teasing. It was… almost tentative, a slight crack in the usual bravado.
Ratio didn’t turn around. “That was the idea,” he said, his voice clipped, betraying nothing. The door was just a few steps away. He could leave and never look back.
But his hand froze just above the control panel, a soft hum of reluctance whispering through his chest. He could hear the faint rustle of fabric behind him as Aventurine shifted. Then, before he could tap the panel, a light pressure brushed against the edge of his sleeve.
It wasn’t tight. It wasn’t forceful. Just enough to pause him. Enough to make him hesitate.
Ratio glanced down at the hand gripping his sleeve. There was nothing desperate about it. No pleading. Just a subtle, deliberate touch, almost like a soft anchor to stop him from walking away. A little tether to keep him grounded.
Slowly, he turned his head over his shoulder.
Aventurine was sitting on the edge of the chair now, his posture slumped, one elbow resting on his knee. His hair hung in his eyes, messy and unkempt. His grip on Ratio’s sleeve remained light, like he wasn’t holding on for dear life, but still holding on in a way that spoke volumes. He wasn’t pushing, just… waiting.
“Just…” Aventurine’s voice was quiet, his usual flippant tone replaced by something lower, almost vulnerable. “Don’t go yet.”
Ratio didn’t answer, his throat tight with something he couldn’t quite name. His chest felt heavy. His feet felt like lead.
Instead of speaking, he simply turned back to the door, staring at the control panel, his finger lingering just above it. It would be easy to leave. So easy.
Aventurine’s gaze followed him, and there was no mocking smile this time. No sarcastic remark. His expression was something more tired, more raw. “You always leave first,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. Almost like a joke. Almost.
Ratio’s pulse thrummed through his veins, each beat slower than the last. His mouth opened like he might say something, some sharp retort, some carefully constructed distance. But nothing came out. No words. Only silence.
He looked at the door again. His hand still hovered above the control panel, but his body refused to move, like some part of him had already made the decision to stay.
Then, his eyes drifted down again to the hand on his sleeve. It was almost imperceptible—the way it held him in place. The way it made him think of things he hadn’t allowed himself to think about in years.
And with a sigh that tasted like defeat, he let it go. Let the hand go. Let Aventurine go.
It wasn’t surrender. It wasn’t a victory. It was just… the space between the two of them closing in, slowly, steadily, as if it had always been inevitable.
Ratio stepped away from the door, walking further into the suite, each step heavy with an emotion he refused to name. His gaze flicked toward the small coffee table in the center of the room, and he pulled out a chair, positioning it in front of him. He didn’t sit yet.
"If I stay," he said slowly, choosing each word with care, “you’re sleeping. No more talking. No more drunk philosophy. No more analysis.” His voice was almost a warning. A boundary. His own way of maintaining control.
Aventurine didn’t respond immediately, but there was a flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No promises,” he said, his voice light, but there was something else there—a quiet acknowledgment that maybe, just maybe, he understood the unspoken terms.
Ratio rubbed his temples, the pressure of the situation pushing against him in all the wrong ways. “Then we’re both going to suffer,” he muttered under his breath, the words laced with resignation.
Finally, he sat down, his body moving with an almost mechanical precision. His posture was rigid, perfect. One ankle crossed over the other knee, his arms folded tightly across his chest as though keeping himself in check, holding the walls of his carefully constructed self-control in place.
The room settled into quiet.
Ratio sat motionless, legs crossed, arms folded like a closed file he had no intention of opening. The chair was stiff. The lighting was too warm. And the quiet hum of the air filtration system had never felt louder.
Across from him, Aventurine had gone still, his earlier smugness tucked away like a discarded jacket. He was sprawled in the armchair, one leg hooked over the armrest, gold eyes half-lidded, tracking the edges of the ceiling.
Ratio didn’t look at him directly. He kept his gaze just off-center, trained on some neutral point beyond the coffee table. If he didn’t make eye contact, maybe the night could end in relative silence.
Of course, that was asking too much.
“You ever think,” Aventurine said suddenly, voice a little rougher now, less playful, “about how things might’ve gone differently?”
Ratio didn’t answer. The silence was his line in the sand. A warning.
Aventurine went on anyway.
“Not the mission,” he clarified, waving a hand vaguely, like Penacony was just a nuisance on the calendar. “I mean us.”
Ratio blinked once. Slowly. “There is no ‘us,’” he replied, tone precise and cold. “There was a joint operation.”
Aventurine gave a small laugh, soft and crooked. “Right. That’s what I kept telling myself too.”
Ratio’s fingers tapped once against his arm, then stilled. He didn’t like where this was going. He especially didn’t like the tremor in Aventurine’s voice—like the words were slipping past his usual armor before he could stop them.
“You were the worst partner I ever had,” Aventurine said, smiling faintly, eyes unfocused. “So rigid. So careful. Always ten steps ahead, like you couldn’t bear to be surprised by anything.”
Ratio narrowed his eyes. “Glad the feeling was mutual.”
Aventurine nodded. “Yeah. I figured.”
There was a beat of quiet. Something about it wasn’t comfortable—it was full of jagged things left unsaid, sharp edges brushing against both of them.
“I still memorized the way you planned,” Aventurine added, almost to himself. “Like a blueprint I couldn’t stop looking at. Took me months to stop running simulations in my head.”
Ratio looked up at him sharply. “You’re drunk.”
Aventurine grinned tiredly. “I’m honest.”
“You’re always honest when it costs the least,” Ratio said coolly. “But now it’s costing you your dignity.”
“I think I lost that somewhere back at the elevator,” Aventurine replied, and the smile faltered. “But thanks for caring.”
“I don’t.”
“You do. In your way. Quiet. Violent. Begrudging.” He closed his eyes briefly, head tipping back against the chair. “It’s fine. You don’t have to say anything.”
Ratio didn’t. Couldn’t. Not right away.
Aventurine exhaled, long and low. “I wanted you to trust me. Back then. Not because I earned it—hell, I probably didn’t. But because I wanted it. And wanting something from you is like trying to bargain with a black hole.”
Ratio felt something flicker in his chest—something old and familiar and dangerous.
“I don’t want anything now,” Aventurine added quickly, eyes still closed. “Just wanted to say it. Out loud. Before I forget again.”
There was a long, weighted silence.
Then Ratio stood slowly, pushing the chair back with a soft scrape against the floor. He walked to the small kitchenette, opened a cabinet, and retrieved a glass. Filled it with water.
When he returned, he handed it to Aventurine without a word.
Aventurine took it with both hands, blinking at it like it might dissolve. “…What’s this?”
“Hydration. For the drunk idiot who won’t stop talking.”
Aventurine chuckled softly, something loosening in his shoulders. He looked up at Ratio through his lashes. “Thanks, doc.”
Ratio looked down at him for a long moment. His expression didn’t soften—but it didn’t harden either.
“You’re sleeping,” he said. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”
Aventurine gave a lazy salute. “Aye aye.”
Ratio turned to head back to his seat.
Then stopped halfway.
“I trusted you,” he said quietly, without looking back. “In Penacony. More than I should’ve.”
Aventurine blinked. Slowly.
Ratio sat down again and crossed his arms, staring ahead. “It didn’t help.”
Aventurine didn’t smile this time.
“…I know.”
Aventurine didn’t speak for a long time.
He sat there with the glass still in his hands, fingers curled around it like he’d forgotten what to do next. The room had gone dim, the overhead lights softening to a dusk-like glow that made the edges of everything feel quieter, closer.
Ratio didn’t look at him again. He stared past him, toward nothing in particular, posture still as a loaded weapon. His coat sleeves were crisp. His jaw was clenched. But his foot tapped, once, against the floor—barely audible.
“So,” Aventurine said eventually, voice low, almost lazy, but careful in a way it hadn’t been before. “More than you should’ve, huh?”
Ratio didn’t answer.
Aventurine took a small sip of water, then set the glass down on the table between them with a faint clink. “That your way of saying I screwed it up?”
“It’s not a way,” Ratio replied, voice flat. “It’s a fact.”
Aventurine winced like he’d been slapped. Just barely. But it was there.
He sat forward, elbows resting on his knees, head bowed slightly. “Yeah,” he said, quieter this time. “That tracks.”
The silence stretched again—elastic, tense. Ratio didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.
“You think I meant to?” Aventurine asked. Not defensive. Just honest. “Screw it up, I mean.”
Ratio’s eyes cut toward him, sharp and searching. “No,” he said finally. “I think you didn’t care enough not to.”
Aventurine’s fingers curled into the fabric of his slacks.
“I did care,” he said. “That was the problem.”
Ratio exhaled sharply through his nose. “You care in ways that ruin things.”
“I care in ways I don’t know how to fix,” Aventurine corrected, looking up. “And you—”
He stopped himself.
Ratio’s stare didn’t waver. “Go on.”
Aventurine gave a breath of laughter. It wasn’t amused.
“You’re like a safe with no hinges. You don’t open. You don’t break. You don’t even rattle when someone knocks.”
Ratio’s jaw twitched.
Aventurine leaned back again, this time with his eyes on the ceiling. “Do you know what it’s like trying to get close to you? To anyone who looks at you and sees a threat instead of a person?”
“Spare me the self-pity.”
“It’s not self-pity,” Aventurine said. “It’s regret. You think I don’t know what I cost us?”
Ratio’s silence was answer enough.
“I wanted you to rely on me,” Aventurine continued, voice threading tight at the edges. “Just once. Just enough to prove I wasn’t a liability. But I kept pushing, and you kept pulling away. Until it broke.”
Ratio’s gaze finally dropped to the table.
“You didn’t need to prove anything,” he said quietly.
Aventurine’s head turned slowly. “Then why did you stop trusting me?”
Ratio was quiet for a beat. Then:
“Because I started wanting to.”
That stilled everything.
Aventurine blinked, slowly. “What?”
Ratio’s hands curled into fists on his knees. His voice was colder now, not from distance, but restraint.
“I started wanting to trust you. Past logic. Past reason. Even when you were reckless. Even when you were lying. I kept thinking—maybe. And that’s when I knew I couldn’t.”
Aventurine stared at him like he didn’t recognize the man sitting there.
“Is that why you left?” he asked.
Ratio didn’t look up. “It’s why I didn’t come back.”
Aventurine swallowed. “Then why are you here now?”
Ratio finally met his eyes.
The look he gave him wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t cold. It was… tired. Like holding this distance between them had cost more than either of them wanted to admit.
“Because,” Ratio said, voice low, “I still want to trust you.”
Aventurine’s breath caught—just a little.
The words hung there, fragile and hot and too heavy to touch.
But Aventurine didn’t smile this time. Didn’t laugh or deflect.
He just nodded once. Small. Like something inside him had cracked and let light in.
“Okay,” he said. “Then stay.”