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Ratio likes to observe.
One of his favorite subjects to observe is Aventurine.
The reckless blond is a wild card in Ratio’s carefully ordered world of research and equations—an unpredictable variable impossible to reduce to data.
This evening, Ratio went looking for his favorite person and found him bathed in soft golden light that spilled over the plush carpet, the air laced with a faint trace of expensive cologne.
At the center of it all, Aventurine lounged half-reclined on a velvet couch, shuffling cards with hypnotic ease.
Has he noticed Ratio yet?
Maybe. That smile seems a little too deliberate.
“I recall you mentioning an early meeting tomorrow,” Ratio says, settling onto the nearby couch. “Logically, that means getting ready for bed. So why,” his gaze tracks the token chip flipping between Aventurine’s fingers like it’s dancing, “are you playing with your cards now?”
Fingers flick. Cards cascade. The chip spins again, caught in deft hands before a deck fans out like a silent dare.
He tells himself it’s just observation—yet his pulse betrays him.
Aventurine’s chuckle is low, almost conspiratorial.
“What makes you think I’m not working, doc?”
“Working?” Ratio arches a brow, picturing monitors, documents, and neat desks.
The blond’s laugh is low and amused.
“Come now, Ratio. Did you forget? I’m a gambler—the trump card of the IPC. If I don’t keep my skills sharp, I’ll be the joke at the casino table.”
Aventurine catches Ratio’s gaze with a sparkle of amusement, then gestures casually to the empty seat beside him.
“You look like you’re trying to solve me like a puzzle. How about you come a little closer, hmm?”
Ratio slides closer with practiced elegance, his tone cool but edged with genuine curiosity.
“Maybe I am,” he admits. “From where I’m sitting, casinos are just a flashy illusion—walls drenched in neon, echoing with the sighs of desperate gamblers chasing losses they’ll never recover.”
He scoffs softly, the sound almost automatic.
“And bored rich men tossing their fortunes away like water, hoping to fill some emptiness with chips and chance. It’s not my world—I deal in intellect, structure, thesis research—not luck and chaos.”
Aventurine chuckles, tilting his head with that feline grace that makes it impossible to tell whether he’s amused or intrigued.
“Oh? So you think a casino is just a den of heartbreak gilded in gold?”
He leans closer, voice low and warm—velvet draped over steel.
“Then keep those pretty eyes on me tonight, and let’s see if your neat little theory survives.”
Ratio arches an eyebrow.
“Are you trying to convince me that a gambling den isn’t just a playground for fools and lost souls?”
Aventurine’s fingers trail lightly along the edge of the cards, eyes glinting.
“I’m saying there’s far more beneath the surface. You can watch me play… or—” he flicks a card between his fingers “—I can teach you. Because it’s much more fun to be a player than just an observer.”
Ratio leans back, studying Aventurine as he gathers the cards and chips in one fluid, graceful motion—like they were born to belong in his hands.
It’s not just skill; it’s performance.
Ratio finds his eyes drawn to the subtle choreography of Aventurine’s fingers—the way they spin the token chip, let it vanish, then call it back like a conjured thought.
There’s a strange rhythm there, a language of hands that feels almost hypnotic. He catches himself watching longer than he intends.
Aventurine notices, of course.
“You seem awfully fascinated with my fingers, doc,” he purrs without looking up, the chip dancing over his knuckles, catching the light.
“Tell me—do you like watching my hands… or imagining them somewhere else?”
Ratio exhales slowly, resisting the bait.
“Neither,” he says—though his voice softens, betraying the lie. “I’d like to understand how your mind works when you play. I always thought gambling was just luck, or chaos. But you—you look like you’re solving something.”
Aventurine hums like a cat stroked just the right way, holding the chip between two fingers. Then—without warning—it’s gone.
“Oh? Where did it go?” The blond feigns shock, his voice dripping with playful innocence.
His hand glides up, brushing just behind Ratio’s ear—smooth, deliberate—and when he pulls back, his palm is empty.
“Hm. Strange. Not here.”
Ratio blinks. “What—”
“Perhaps… here?” Aventurine’s fingers drift to Ratio’s chest, and before he can protest, the top button of his shirt comes loose with an easy flick. A soft clink follows.
The token chip has landed in his lap.
“Jackpot.” Aventurine plucks it free, presses a kiss to its gleaming edge, and lets it twirl effortlessly between his fingers again—his wink sharp enough to stop a man’s heart.
Ratio swallows.
“You really enjoy the dramatics.”
Aventurine’s smirk curves like a winning hand.
“All part of the game.”
Ratio exhales, regaining his balance.
“Can you proceed with your lesson now, or are you planning to pull more chips out of my clothes?”
Aventurine shuffles the deck with an easy grace, cards snapping like applause. He glances at Ratio and smirks.
“Tempting but by then it’ll be an entirely different game we’ll be playing tonight. Preferably in bed.” The younger man chuckles, “Alright, doc. Welcome to Card Games 101 with your very charming host.
“This—” he plucks up a cube—“is a dice. Don’t eat it. This—” he flips a card face-up—“is the queen. She’s fabulous, treat her right. This here—” he shows a grinning Joker—“is the joker. He’s me.”
He slides a poker chip across the table.
“And this? Is called a chip. Not for eating either. And before you try—no, you can’t buy groceries with it. The shopkeeper will laugh at you.”
Ratio exhales through his nose, somewhere between amused and exasperated.
“I at least knew those,” he says dryly. “I’m more interested in what players mean when they say ‘house’ or ‘call.’ And why anyone would announce they’re folding instead of just… leaving the table.”
Aventurine gives a soft huff, leaning back like he’s been handed a challenge.
“You can be so cute, Ratio. To answer your questions, I need to do some demonstration.”
He fans the cards out with a magician’s flick, the paper whispering under his fingers.
“Alright, pop quiz. You’re dealt these two—” he snaps a pair face-up on the felt.
Ratio eyes the cards cautiously, like he’s just been handed the keys to a car he’s never driven.
“How does one determine the best strategy in this scenario?”
Aventurine leaned back, a slow, amused smile curling at his lips—one of those infuriating expressions that made Ratio’s pulse hitch even when his tone stayed casual.
“Basically,” he said, “you use that sexy brain, but you mix in a little risk—sometimes you play it safe, sometimes you take a chance. Poker’s all about juggling smart moves and bold guesses.”
He nudged a neat stack of chips toward Ratio. A couple slipped free and landed with a soft clink in his lap.
“Oops. My bad,” Aventurine drawled, eyes glinting. “Don’t stress if a chip drops. In a real casino, the dealer or floor staff scoop them up fast. Players don’t bend down mid-game—it’s bad form.”
As he spoke, his fingers brushed lightly against Ratio’s hand while reclaiming the stray chips.
“Oh—and before you start picturing shady dealers rigging the game,” he added, lips quirking, “most of them aren’t hustlers. They’re pros. The casino’s reputation depends on it.”
Ratio raises an eyebrow, still a little thrown by the casual intimacy of the trick.
“But what about all those movies where the dealer cheats, or the house always wins?” His tone is dry, but the slight flush creeping up his neck gives him away.
Aventurine chuckles.
“That’s Hollywood drama, doc. The house does have an edge—it’s called the ‘house edge,’ built into the game rules. But rigging the actual cards? That’s a whole different risk, and casinos lose their licenses and millions if caught.”
He fans the cards with a flourish.
“The real game? It’s about reading people, bluffing, timing, and psychology—not just slick hands or rigged decks.”
Ratio nods slowly, eyes bright with curiosity, soaking in each term like a studious pupil eager to impress his teacher.
“So, it’s not just luck or sleight of hand—it’s a mental chess match with chips.”
“Exactly.” Aventurine smirks. “Welcome to the art of the gamble, doc.”
Then, with a subtle shift, Aventurine’s expression sharpens into that irresistible game-face—confident, teasing, electric.
“Bet, fold, call. Your move, doc. Show lil ol’ me how your big brain handles the chaos.”
Ratio studies the chips carefully, brow furrowing. The chips feel strange and weightless in his hands—like unfamiliar pieces on an unfamiliar board.
“What exactly do I do with these… chips? And what’s the difference between fold and call?” Ratio asked, holding the chips like they were alien artifacts.
Aventurine smirked, leaning back like he was about to spill a juicy secret.
“Honestly? You’re reminding me of my rookie days—totally lost and wide-eyed.” He tapped a chip against the table. “I remember sitting at a table, clueless as hell, watching everyone else play like pros. One lady even tried to seduce me with her smile, hoping I’d fold. Cute, but I saw right through her little tricks.”
He gave Ratio a playful wink. “Don’t worry, you’re way more beautiful than her.”
“That’s when it hit me—this game’s not about slick hands or rigged decks. It’s about reading people, playing the psychology, knowing when to bluff or fold. A bit like dancing, really… and every player’s got their own steps.”
Aventurine flicked a chip between his fingers with a grin.
“So don’t sweat the chips or the rules. You’ll catch on fast, and who knows? Maybe you’ll even teach me a thing or two.”
Ratio tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips—half intrigued, half skeptical.
“As to answer your question,” Aventurine went on, “think of it like this—call is kinda like when you push your knight forward on the chessboard, yeah? You don’t shove all your pieces ahead, just move one step carefully.”
He winks. “Unless you’re feeling overconfident and wanna shove all your chips in—which is like risking your whole army on a single gambit. Could win big… or lose everything to me. Heh.”
Ratio picks up a modest stack, counting the chips carefully as if he’s paying for a basket of apples at the market.
“…I elect to call, matching the current stake to observe subsequent outcomes.”
Aventurine’s grin softened into something almost fond, eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Well, aren’t you just the most adorable old-school scholar I’ve ever seen? Next time, no need to count every chip—just trust your gut and grab a handful.”
He shook his head with a playful laugh, clearly charmed.
“Since you chose to call…. Not bad. That means, ‘I’ll match your bet and see what you’re hiding.’ Risky? Absolutely. Worth it? Always.”
Ratio arches an eyebrow. “And if I folded?”
“Then you’d be saying, ‘Nah, I’m out this round,’ and holding onto your chips,” Aventurine says, rolling a chip between his fingers again. “Safe move… but safe is boring. You don’t strike me as the boring type.”
Before Ratio can reply, Aventurine leans in, voice low enough to warm the space between them.
“At least… not with me.”
Ratio exhales slowly, eyes narrowing in mock irritation.
“You’re insufferable.”
“Mm-hm, and I love you too, doc.” Aventurine’s grin widens as he sweeps the chips toward himself, the motion casual but charged.
He fans the cards with a flourish, the paper whispering secrets between his fingers.
“Texas Hold’em, Blackjack… even the Prisoner’s Dilemma. Different games, same rule—you’re not just playing the cards. You’re playing me. And everyone else at the table.”
Aventurine doesn’t lecture—he performs.
Chips click like punctuation as he stacks them into neat little towers, each tap echoing softly in the quiet room.
The younger man spreads his cards in a fan, holding them up like a magician showing his best trick.
“What I’m holding here, doc, are called poker hands,” he says, voice smooth and teasing.
“Think of it like chess: these hands are your pieces. Some cards—or pieces—are stronger than others.”
Aventurine tries to recall how chess works.
“Like… remember how a knight can’t beat a queen? Same with poker—a pair of eights can’t beat a queen card.”
Ratio narrows his eyes, arms crossed, the scholar in him switching on.
“You’re simplifying the rules of chess too much, dear Gambler. Technically, in chess we have a rook, a knight, a bishop, a queen, a king. Yes, it’s true a knight can’t beat a queen from the opponent’s side, however—”
“Hold up! Hold up! Ratio, love, I know you can be very enthusiastic about your chess, and you can tell me all about it next time,” Aventurine laughs. “I’m just using chess piece examples to help you visualize poker. You following me so far?”
Ratio blinks, then nods. “Oh, I apologize.”
The blond chuckles again. How is his lover this cute?
“So what I’m trying to say is that you gotta know your cards—or chess pieces—to win the game. When to use your queens, and when to protect your pawns.”
Ratio nods like a student. “I understand now that poker hands are like chess pieces. I also took note that poker’s more about reading the table and players, less about rigid rules.”
“Exactly,” Aventurine leans in, eyes gleaming. “And that’s why you’re here—to learn the dance between logic and chaos.”
Ratio’s eyes brighten, “Interesting. Now what’s next?”
“A pair of eights,” Aventurine continues, “they’re like your knights—solid, but not the highest power on the board. A queen? That’s like a full house or a flush—it’s what you want to beat the weaker hands.”
Ratio leans in, folding his arms thoughtfully.
“So, the goal is to build the strongest ‘hand,’ just like controlling the center in chess.”
“Exactly.” Aventurine flicks a card down. “Now, say you have a pair of eights. What do you do?”
Ratio studies the imaginary hand, brow furrowed.
“Is this a call situation? Or fold?”
“Good question.” Aventurine smirks. “Sometimes you fold to save your chips when the odds aren’t great. But if you think you can bluff your way through, you might call just to see what your opponent does next.”
He leans in, eyes glinting.
“Poker’s not just about the cards. It’s about reading the room—and telling a convincing tale.”
Ratio blinks, curiosity flickering.
“Tale?” Ratio asks, curious.
Aventurine smirks, sliding a card across the table with deliberate slowness.
“Watch.”
He leans back, scans the imaginary crowd, then locks a smug, confident smile on Ratio.
“This,” he says, voice smooth as silk, “is the tale of a player with the winning hand—even if it’s a complete bluff.”
With a flick, he reveals a modest card—definitely not a winner.
Ratio raises an eyebrow.
“So… it’s about the performance?”
“Exactly.” Aventurine’s grin deepens. “Face, posture, bets—you make them buy the image you’re selling. Doesn’t matter if you’ve got a queen or pocket lint.”
He flips another card.
“Now, if the table shows a queen and a ten, what’s your move?”
Ratio narrows his eyes, concentrating hard.
“Statistically, the odds aren’t in my favor. Do I fold or raise?”
Aventurine leans in, voice dropping low, a teasing glint in his eyes.
“That depends... can you keep them hooked? Make them want to see what you’re hiding?”
Ratio tries to put on a poker face but his features stiffen into his usual scowl.
Aventurine smiles. Seriously his partner is so adorable.
“Seriously, doc, you look like you’re calculating quantum physics, not bluffing a hand.”
Ratio flushes, crossing his arms.
“I can make other expressions. I’m not just ‘Professor Scowl.’”
Aventurine chuckles, flicking a card with flair.
“Well, then prove it. Try raising.”
Ratio tries again, this time softer, but still a little awkward.
Aventurine’s grin only grows.
“That’s adorable. But nope, you gave yourself away.”
Ratio huffs, mock-annoyed.
“Please, be serious. I thought you were teaching me poker, not how to embarrass myself.”
Aventurine laughs, voice warm.
“Oh, I’m teaching you how to win, doc. And winning’s always a little bit about charm.”
He flicks a card onto the table, eyes sparkling.
“These are the community cards, doc. Everyone uses them, along with their secret ‘hole’ cards, to build the best hand.”
Ratio blinked, tilting his head like a curious owl.
“So you don’t trade or swap cards during a round?”
Aventurine chuckled, tapping the table.
“Nope, no swapping here. It’s not like Uno, darling.” He winks. “It’s all about betting, bluffing, and reading the room—playing what you’ve got, and playing people.”
Ratio narrowed his eyes, still piecing it together.
“Okay… so it’s less about changing cards and more about strategy, psychology, and timing.”
“Bingo.” Aventurine leaned in, eyes glinting. “Patience, poker faces, and just the right amount of chaos. That’s the real game.”
Ratio lets out a slow, thoughtful breath.
“Sounds like you’re describing life more than a card game.”
Aventurine smirked.
“Well, life is the biggest gamble of all. But I’ll always be the final victor.”
He flicks a card with flair.
“Your move.”
Ratio leans in, drawn to the fluid grace of those hands—hands that could shuffle cards just as easily as they could trace slow circles over his skin.
Focus, Ratio, he thinks, but his mind betrays him, flashing back to last week’s quiet moments—the gentle tuck of a stray lock of hair behind his ear, fingertips lingering just a second too long down his neck...
He swallows, cheeks warming as he watches Aventurine’s hands dance between chips and cards like they were born for this game.
Damn it, Aventurine’s good at this.
So good, in fact, that Ratio almost forgets this is supposed to be a lesson in poker—not the slow unraveling of his own heart.
Aventurine catches his gaze and smirks, voice smooth as silk.
“I was wondering what took you so long, doc. So you’ve been watching my hands, huh? Careful—or you’ll reveal your tells before the game even starts.”
Ratio raises an eyebrow, voice dry and sharp.
“For someone who deals cards, you’ve got the patience of a saint. I usually throw books or chalk at my students when they fumble this badly.”
Aventurine grins wider, eyes sparkling.
“Lucky for you, I’m only this nice to my favorite student. But be warned—if you ever throw a book at me, I might keep it hostage unless you give me a kiss.”
Ratio bites back a smile, feeling something shift beneath his measured exterior.
“I used to think chess was the only game with structure. But… this poker game feels like chaos disguised as strategy.”
Aventurine leans closer, eyes glinting with playful challenge.
“Chaos and strategy. Two sides of the same coin. The trick? Knowing when to flip it.”
Ratio’s pulse quickens as the air between them tightens—charged, electric.
“Maybe,” Ratio admits quietly, “it’s worth losing a little to learn how to play your game.”
Aventurine’s smile deepens—victorious and tender all at once.
“Welcome to my world, doc. That’s the trick. You read people, not just the cards. Bluffing’s just another language,” Aventurine says, voice easy but serious.
Ratio tilts his head, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. His usual calm shifts into something softer, more reflective.
“Tell me… is bluffing really necessary?” His question hangs between them.
Aventurine chuckles softly, shuffling the deck with a slow rhythm.
“It’s like eggs in a cake. You can’t bake one without them.”
Ratio’s brow furrows slightly. “But… doesn’t it worry you? Pretending you hold aces when you don’t? Not just at the table—sometimes even at work. I’ve noticed you… putting on stories among your colleagues and clients. Does it ever feel like you’re acting? Like you’re hiding parts of yourself?”
Aventurine pauses, the cards still in his hands. His eyes meet Ratio’s, flickering with a mix of surprise and something quieter.
“That’s a fair question,” he says after a moment. “And yeah, sometimes it does. But poker—and life—aren’t always about laying your cards face-up. Sometimes, you play the game you’re dealt the best way you can. Sometimes that means bluffing, sometimes that means protecting yourself.”
Ratio nods slowly, the weight of understanding settling between them.
“And in chess,” Aventurine adds, a small smile creeping back, “the moves are clear—but in poker, the real game is the story you tell.”
A soft, knowing smile curls at Aventurine’s lips.
“You know,” Aventurine says smoothly, resuming the shuffle while meeting Ratio’s eyes steadily, “maybe the stereotypes aren’t entirely wrong. After all, I am an expert at using my poker face to deceive opponents.”
He lets out a soft, self-mocking laugh.
“I’ve perfected that fake smile—the one that fools the table but doesn’t fool anyone who knows me.”
Ratio blinks, then frowns, voice low and earnest.
“You’re not some thief or liar…”
The words carry the weight of the hurt he feels for Aventurine, as if each syllable tries to stitch the wounds of unfair judgment.
Aventurine’s grin softens into something more vulnerable.
“I know what you mean. That smile—” he taps his lips lightly “—it’s a mask I’ve worn more times than I can count. But I never forgot how to smile from the bottom of my tiny heart.”
His eyes search Ratio’s, steady and sincere.
“You know, with you, I don’t have to put on that damn poker face. You never gave up on me—never let me hide behind the masks.”
“How could I ever ignore or leave you, Aventurine? Betting your life on risky missions like it’s some game. I’ll continue being your strategic investment partner if you do something reckless again.” Ratio shakes his head, voice firm.
Aventurine chuckles, that mischievous spark alive.
“You can continue be my life partner too, doc.”
Ratio lets out a small laugh, shaking his head.
“You’re impossible.”
“But you love me for that.”
“Alright, Professor,” Aventurine says, dealing two cards to Ratio like he’s sliding over a test paper.
“Pop quiz time. First question—based on the odds you’ve seen tonight, what am I holding?”
Ratio narrows his eyes at the table, still stuck in his chess mindset.
“Not enough info. I’d need to analyze more variables before giving you a grade.”
Aventurine’s smile quirks up, amused.
“Oh, come on, doc. I just want a yes or no.”
“And I want full transparency before passing judgment,” Ratio shoots back, glancing keenly at Aventurine’s hands for any tells.
Aventurine chuckles, shaking his head.
“Still thinking like a chess player, huh? This isn’t a calculated game of fixed moves—it’s a dance with chance and bluff.”
He flips his cards with flair, revealing two kings.
“Full marks on round one. But professor—” He slides a single chip across the table, stopping it just before Ratio’s fingers. “Every right answer comes with… extra credit.”
Ratio’s brow furrows at the challenge, but the mischievous glint in Aventurine’s eyes tells him this “pop quiz” is as much a game of wit as skill.
Leaning back, lips twitching, Ratio smirks.
“Is this your way of assigning homework?”
“Maybe,” Aventurine drawls, spinning a chip lazily across his knuckles. “Pass, and maybe you win a prize. Fail… well, you’ll just have to repeat the lesson until I’m satisfied.”
Ratio exhales a laugh, shaking his head.
“That’s not how grading works.”
“It is tonight,” Aventurine says, dealing the next card with a flick that’s more a caress than a shuffle. “And don’t worry, professor—” His voice drops, smooth and promising, “—I curve my scores for my favorites.”
=====
Aventurine glances up at the clock on the wall, a slow smile curling his lips.
“Look at the time, doc. Think you can handle a final round with me?”
Ratio raises an eyebrow, folding his arms.
“Knowing you, Gambler, it’s never a simple game round with you.”
“Exactly.” Aventurine grins, shuffling the deck with casual flair, the soft slide of cards like whispered secrets. “Winner gets to choose one thing the loser has to do.”
Ratio’s eyes narrow playfully. “Unfair. You’re absurdly lucky.”
“Luck’s for amateurs,” Aventurine says smoothly, fanning the cards like a magician revealing a trick. “I win because I understand how people think. Especially you.”
Leaning back, Ratio lets a slow smile tug at his lips. “Then don’t hold back.”
They play.
Chips click and cards flip, but neither watches the pot. Their gazes lock, sharp and unyielding. Ratio calculates odds like equations; Aventurine’s smirk deepens every time he senses he’s hooked him deeper.
When the final card falls, silence stretches between them like the breath before a confession.
Aventurine’s smile softens, certain. “Looks like I win, doc.”
Ratio exhales through his nose, slipping off his glasses. “Of course you do.”
“Ah, but this isn’t about winning,” Aventurine murmurs, leaning forward, voice low and smooth as velvet. “It’s about… collecting.”
Ratio chuckles, bowing his head.
“So, what do I owe you?”
“Nothing much,” Aventurine whispers, fingers brushing Ratio’s hand. “Just stay a little longer. I want to hear more of your voice before I get yelled at by my bosses tomorrow during the meeting.” His face scrunches in displeasure at the thought.
Ratio reaches out to hold his lover’s hand. “Even if I hadn’t lost, I would’ve stayed.” A pause. Then softer: “You don’t need to gamble for that.”
Aventurine’s smile changes—less sharp, more golden. “I know. But you make me want to risk everything anyway.”
Their breaths mingle, the space between them charged with something real and unguarded.
“You’re reckless,” Ratio breathes.
“And you’re the only thing I’ve ever bet on that I can’t afford to lose,” Aventurine says, leaning across the table.
The kiss isn’t rushed—it’s deliberate, a winning hand laid bare.
When they part, Aventurine’s smirk returns, softer now.
“Congratulations, doc. You just hit the jackpot.”
Ratio shakes his head, smiling despite himself.
“I think we both did.”
The cards lie forgotten between them as the night stretches infinite.
And somewhere in that quiet, they both know—
The game isn’t over.
It’s just beginning.
The End.