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The fifth sneeze in just half as many minutes sounded like it came from a dying banshee. Ratio didn’t bother to look up from the book in his hands.
“Bless you,” he called mildly as he turned over the next page. “That one nearly shattered the sound barrier.”
Aventurine groaned dramatically from the living room next door, voice thick and nasal. “Ratiooooo, you ever think it’s cruel to mock the sick and suffering? Be a good doctor and make me some tea, pleaseee?”
“I’ll let you know when there’s a sick person in the room,” Ratio replied. “All I see is a man who refused to stay inside during pollen bloom season because, and I quote, ‘No one tells me when I can and cannot go to a horse racing event.’”
“I had money riding on that race!” Aventurine’s voice cracked mid-sentence, devolving into a miserable, congested cough.
Ratio sighed, closed his book with a soft thud, and pushed up from his armchair, making his way to the kitchen. The apartment was quiet, save for the whir of the air purifier humming dutifully in the corner and Aventurine’s increasingly tragic sniffling.
Their place was one of the more luxurious units of the IPC’s housing wing—neutral tones, automated ambient lighting, sleek chrome fixtures— Ratio had softened it with books, real plants (non-pollen shedding, thank you), and a few odd antique relics he refused to explain. Aventurine had insisted he didn’t have to decorate the place since it was empty most of the time anyway, with all his missions and travelling. But still, it had irked Ratio seeing the Gambler’s home so empty and unwelcoming, so he took matters into his own hands and turned it into a real home. Their home.
Right now, however, it looked like multiple tissue bombs had gone off on the couch, coffee table and carpet. Aventurine lay sprawled across the couch in a tangle of blankets, limbs, and cat cakes. His hair was a mess, his nose running uncontrollably, his eyes puffy and his pride, utterly demolished. Aventurine was certain his sinuses were staging a coup. His eyes felt like they’d been sandblasted and every five minutes he launched into a fit of sneezes so violent that Ratio half expected to find structural cracks in the wall.
“Ratiooo,” Aventurine croaked again, eyes watering, “if I live through this, I’m suing nature. Full class-action. Me versus all of it. Trees, flowers, the entire biosphere.”
“You’ll lose,” Ratio replied from the kitchen, unimpressed. “Nature has good lawyers.”
“I don’t care! I’m taking the risk, I always win.”
“And yet, here you are. Defeated by some airborne plant dust.”
Aventurine let out a muffled wail and buried himself deeper into the couch, as if sheer dramatic suffering could repel pollen. Or at least earn him some pity points.
Ratio returned from the kitchen with a mug of steaming chamomile tea, the kind Aventurine only claimed to enjoy when he was “in agony and desperate.” He set it down on the coffee table, then pulled the blanket higher up Aventurine’s chest and settled beside him.
“You’re doting,” Aventurine murmured suspiciously, peeking one eye open.
“You’re gross,” Ratio corrected. “But unfortunately, I’m in love with you.”
Aventurine smiled weakly, cracking open both eyes now. “Ugh, you sap. You’re not supposed to say things like that when I’m ugly.”
“You’re never ugly,” Ratio said without skipping a beat. “Even now—puffy-eyed and leaking—your mediocrity is only enhanced slightly.”
Aventurine wheezed a laugh. “How poetic.”
“I try.”
A moment passed. Aventurine slowly sat up, dragging the blanket with him like a cape as he reached for the tea. Ratio helped guide his hands without being asked. It was muscle memory by now.
“You know,” Aventurine murmured, sipping carefully, “if I’d known being in a relationship meant you’d voluntarily play nurse, I’d have tricked you into dating me sooner, doc.”
“Yes, you did trick me,” Ratio said blandly. “You claimed you were a low-maintenance coworker with a mild addiction to chance and zero emotional baggage. And the next thing I know, is you having me press a gun to your heart and daring me to pull the trigger. That was the last time I trusted anyone with a peacock-esque outfit and a soulbond with a roulette wheel.”
“Ahh, but you do trust me now.” Aventurine said smugly.
“In certain aspects, perhaps. Definitely not the kitchen. I still remember the coffee grinder tragedy.” The doctor let out a laden sigh at the thought. “It was brand new, too.”
Aventurine grinned behind his mug. “Pfft, that grinder had it coming. The way it exploded was kind of beautiful, though, you have to admit.”
“You covered the ceiling and walls in espresso dust. Do you know how long it took me to clean it all?”
“And yet you still kissed me goodnight.” the blonde murmured softly, the grin still on his lips.
Ratio reached over and brushed a piece of lint from Aventurine’s hair. “I’m a hopeless fool, I fear.”
“You’re my hopeless fool.”
And somehow, even with a snot-running nose, bleary eyes, and the absolute carnage of tissues surrounding them, Ratio’s heart skipped like he’d just seen a shooting star. Damn that Gambler.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Aventurine’s sniffling gradually faded as Ratio’s hand caressed soothing patterns along his scalp. The dusk-tinted sky outside cast a warm glow through their wide living room window, drowning everything in a lavender hue. Ratio had made sure to keep every window closed so as not to contaminate the air in their home and make things worse for Aventurine.
The doctor leaned back on the couch, and Aventurine eventually followed, laying his head on Ratio’s shoulder with a defeated sigh.
“I can’t breathe through my nose,” he grumbled nasally.
“Then don’t.”
“I sound like a strangled kazoo.”
“You sound like a gambler with allergies. Slightly pitiful, but very kissable.”
Aventurine laughed, peering up at the other man. “You think I’m kissable right now?”
Ratio tilted his head. “Statistically speaking, yes. Your face is still intact. Your personality’s temporarily quieter. It’s a rare improvement.”
“Oh, you are cruel.”
Ratio moved his hand to cup Aventurine’s cheek, thumb brushing gently across his cheekbone. “But I still love you.”
Aventurine blinked. Once. The way he always did when those words caught him off guard, like they still startled him, like he hadn’t entirely come to terms with someone saying them so plainly, so often, and meaning it every time.
“I love you too,” he said, nasally but sincerely.
Ratio kissed his temple.
“You’re going to catch this,” Aventurine whispered.
“It’s allergies, Aventurine, not a cold. I’ll be fine.” Ratio said with a low rumble resembling a chuckle.
Aventurine scowled, but it lacked all bite. “Fine. But if you start sneezing tomorrow, I’m not playing nurse.”
Ratio smiled, brushing a lock of hair away from Aventurine’s forehead. “I’d never subject you to the horror of your own bedside manner.”
“Damn right.” Aventurine yawned and let his eyes flutter shut, cheek still resting in Ratio’s palm. “Though you have to admit, I make a pretty cute patient.”
“You make a disastrous patient,” Ratio corrected. “Dramatic. Demanding. Pitiful.”
“But you still love me~.”
Ratio leaned in, voice dropping to a hush. “Of all the irrational choices I’ve made… yes.”
Aventurine cracked one eye open and grinned, lopsided and sleep-heavy. “Told you. I always win.” He weakly lifted a hand in victory.
“Sleep,” Ratio murmured, catching Aventurine’s hand and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Before nature decides to hit you with a new airborne disaster.”
Aventurine hummed, already halfway there. “If I die, bury me in silk.”
Ratio settled beside him with a low, amused breath. “You’ll live. Much to my dismay, dear Gambler.”