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“Ow—yeah. There,” Aventurine muttered. “Lower. That spot.”
“I see.”
Ratio withdrew his hand.
“Remain still.”
The blond obediently nodded as he stayed on the couch with a silly smile. An hour ago he wouldn’t have expected he’d end up like this at Ratio’s place.
=============
An hour ago
=============
Aventurine adjusted the cuff of his sleeve for the third time and decided—after a long, serious consideration—that the one with the subtle gold thread sparked more joy than the plain black.
On the holoscreen across the room, Kerrie Mondo smiled serenely at a woman drowning in clutter.
“If it does not bring you joy that blings,” Kerrie said, folding a sweater with reverent precision, “thank it, and let it go.”
Aventurine hummed, half-listening as he slipped on his coat. Joy that blings. He liked that. It sounded honest. Flashy. Practical, even. He grabbed his hat, paused, then picked up another and set it carefully by the door.
Just in case.
When he arrived at Ratio’s place, he didn’t bother knocking.
“Ratio,” Aventurine sang, already halfway inside, “I’m here again! Want to join me watch a movie about flying sharks—”
He stopped.
Ratio stood in the middle of his living room, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly undone, surrounded by boxes. A pile of neatly sorted items sat to one side; another pile, destined for disposal, sat to the other. Dust motes hung in the sunlight like suspended thoughts.
Aventurine blinked.
“…Oh,” he said. “You’re busy.”
“I am cleaning,” Ratio replied without looking up. “New year calls for Spring Cleaning.”
Aventurine grinned.
“That’s adorable. I’ll help.”
Ratio finally glanced at him—slowly, critically—his gaze flicking from Aventurine’s immaculate coat to his polished shoes.
“No, you won’t.”
Aventurine gasped, offended.
“Excuse you?”
“You will become bored within five minutes,” Ratio said calmly. “Or distracted. Or attempt to reorganize based on aesthetics rather than utility.”
“That is slander,” Aventurine said, immediately grabbing a box. “I am extremely committed.”
He lifted.
The box did not move.
Ratio sighed, stepped forward, and lifted it effortlessly from the other side.
“You are holding it incorrectly.”
Aventurine laughed it off, cheeks warm.
“Details.”
They fell into a rhythm after that—Ratio sorting with methodical precision, Aventurine hovering, occasionally useful, mostly curious.
“Why are you throwing this away?”
Aventurine asked, holding up an old device.
“It’s broken.”
“You can repair it.”
“I already replaced it.”
“And this?”
Aventurine held up a stack of papers.
“They’re notes for my students, but I photocopied them wrong. Plus, the syllabi are outdated.”
“But you could keep them.”
Ratio paused, studying him.
“My students already graduated and those papers are a waste of space. Besides, I already have the soft copy saved to my cloud.”
“And this?” Aventurine persisted, lifting a chipped mug. “It still works.”
“It could cut someone.”
“…Someone as in me?”
“Yes.”
Aventurine laughed but ears pink.
“You really care for lil’ ol’ me, huh?”
“Who else came to my house willingly other than you?”
Ratio replied, returning to his task.
“Stop asking anymore useless questions and throw them away. I don’t want to accumulate anymore dust.”
He huffed, already yearning to have a long hot bath session.
Aventurine reluctantly put the items in the big bin then got distracted by something at the corner. He wandered towards it and that was how he found the albums.
They were old. Heavy. Carefully stored.
Aventurine opened one.
Photographs. Certificates. Conferences. A younger Ratio, impeccably dressed, standing straight, eyes sharp.
Never smiling with family members that seemed to be from nobility yet looked as serious as he was.
Other photos showed Ratio as he grew up. Graduated university as a teen, invented something incredible in his late teens. Became a teacher in his early 20s. He was photographed with many adults who were older than him yet he always looked… alone.
“Gambler, where are you?”
Aventurine swallowed and quietly closed the album.
He faked a cough and called back, “Over here! At the…” he looked around, “the box with the coats!”
Ratio padded his way towards the corner.
Aventurine smiled guiltily as Ratio seemed to notice his nervousness.
“Were you snooping around my albums?”
“Ratio, dear. You wound me. Of course I wasn’t.”
The blond put on his best poker face smile.
Ratio raised an eyebrow, not believing him.
“Anyway! Can I keep this?” to distract the professor, Aventurine suddenly held up one of Ratio’s old coats from the box.
Ratio tilted his head like an owl.
“Why?”
“It sparks joy that blings!” Aventurine said brightly.
Ratio frowned.
“What nonsense are you spouting now?”
“Is that a yes I’m hearing?”
Aventurine brought the coat to his face, he could smell Ratio’s scent. Then he put it over his shoulder. It felt like Ratio’s hugging him from behind.
Ratio saw the actions and found the image… endearing.
He immediately snapped out of it and turned his face away while his heart skipped a beat.
“…Suit yourself.”
Aventurine beamed and immediately added two more items to his growing pile.
“Can I check what’s inside this box too?”
“No. Our objective today is to pack away the boxes. Not reopening them like some treasure hunt.”
“But you might throw away items that can still be repaired!”
“I don’t get attached to broken things.”
For some reason, that line wounded Aventurine.
“Broken things, huh? Yeah, I get it. Nobody wants anything that’s ruined and used up…”
Ratio noticed the change in his tone and, after a brief pause, added,
“They have served their purpose therefore… their value does not vanish simply because they are no longer in use.”
Aventurine slowly smiled.
“Aww, Doc. You’re making me cry here.”
Ratio immediately regretted what he’d said.
“Enough chit chat. Let’s hurry back to our task.”
“Yes sir—oh!”
Aventurine pushed himself up, bracing a hand against the stacked boxes—
a mistake.
A sudden scrape sounded above them.
“Aventurine—” Ratio began.
The box tipped.
Aventurine froze.
Ratio moved.
The impact knocked the air from both of them as they hit the floor, Ratio shielding him instinctively, arm braced over Aventurine’s head.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Aventurine stared up at him, heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the fall.
“…Doc, you saved me,” Aventurine murmured.
“I did,” Ratio replied. “Regretfully.”
Aventurine huffed a laugh, still winded.
“Well, that means I’m valuable, right? You wouldn’t have saved me if I wasn’t useful.”
Ratio did not move.
“You know,” Aventurine went on lightly, “if I were cracked, used goods, you’d have boxed me up and sent me to the dumpsters with the rest of the unsalvageables long ago.”
Ratio’s brow furrowed.
“That comparison is inaccurate,” he said flatly.
“Oh?” Aventurine smiled up at him. “Am I recyclable at least?”
Ratio harrumphed—a sharp, offended sound—and finally shifted his weight, pushing himself upright just enough to look down at Aventurine properly.
“You are,” he said with clipped precision, “neither broken nor discardable. Nor would you be classified as an object whose worth depreciates through use.”
Aventurine blinked.
“If we were speaking strictly in economic terms,” Ratio continued, clearly choosing his words with care, “you would be considered… irreplaceable.”
Aventurine’s mouth opened.
Closed.
His ears burned.
Ratio seemed to realize—belatedly—what he’d just said. He straightened at once, cleared his throat, and stood, turning away as if the floor had suddenly become far more interesting.
“Doc…”
“What now?”
“That line totally knocked me out.”
“Get up, Gambler, before I leave you there.”
“I can’t. Not after you say such a thing to my fragile heart,” Aventurine chuckled, cheeks still pink.
Ratio sighed, cheeks equally warm, as he extended a hand without looking.
“Get up.”
Aventurine took it.
Ratio’s grip was steady, warm, utterly unapologetic.
Once Aventurine was on his feet, Ratio stepped back, composure forcibly restored.
“Now. Let’s proceed properly. If we finish packing by evening—”
He paused, then added, as if it were a mere logistical footnote,
“—you may stay for dinner.”
Aventurine’s eyes lit up.
“Understood,” he said solemnly, already reaching for the next box. “High stakes motivate me.”
Ratio shook his head.
But he did not take the offer back.
=========
Aventurine insisted on lifting the next box himself.
“I’ve got it,” he said, already crouching. “I’m not completely useless.”
“That box exceeds your demonstrated capacity,” Ratio warned.
Aventurine grinned and heaved.
For half a second, it worked.
Then something in his lower back pulled—sharp, sudden, unmistakable.
Aventurine stiffened.
“…Ah.”
Ratio looked up instantly.
Aventurine straightened too quickly, then froze again, one hand braced against his side.
“Okay,” he said carefully. “Minor update. My back appears to have… lodged a formal complaint.”
“You lifted with your spine instead of your legs,” Ratio said, already crossing the room.
“Is that bad?”
“Yes.”
“Hypothetically bad or—”
“Lie down,” Ratio interrupted.
Aventurine blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“Now.”
The tone brooked no argument.
Aventurine allowed himself to be guided to the couch, wincing as he eased himself down.
“Tummy down,” Ratio instructed.
Aventurine complied, cheek pressed into the cushion, heat creeping up his ears.
Ratio sat beside him and carefully lifted the fabric at Aventurine’s lower back.
“D-doc!?”
“Calm yourself,” Ratio said evenly. “I am assessing the affected area. Tell me when it hurts.”
His fingers pressed along Aventurine’s spine—measured, precise. Too precise. The sensation sent a shiver through him.
“Ow—yeah. There,” Aventurine muttered. “Lower. That spot.”
“I see.”
Ratio withdrew his hand.
“Remain still.”
He returned with medicated plasters, aligning them with precise fingers before securing them against Aventurine’s lower back.
Aventurine exhaled despite himself.
“Oh,” he murmured. “That’s… alarmingly nice.”
“You have strained the muscle,” Ratio said. “You will refrain from lifting anything heavier than a book for the remainder of the evening.”
“Tragic,” Aventurine sighed. “I was really hoping to prove my heroism.”
“You have already proven your recklessness.”
Ratio draped a blanket over him with unexpected gentleness.
“Rest. I will handle the remainder,” he said. “We are nearly finished. I will wake you for dinner.”
“…Sorry,” Aventurine said quietly. “I really did want to help.”
“It is of no consequence,” Ratio replied, after a pause. “Besides—packing with your company was… pleasant.”
Aventurine smiled into the cushion.
“So that is your way of saying you like having me around?”
“Sleep, Gambler,” Ratio said dryly. “Before I reconsider hospitality.”
Aventurine laughed softly, thoroughly pleased.
=========
Dinner, unsurprisingly, was quieter.
Aventurine still insisted on sitting at the table, though his movements were slower, more deliberate. He leaned back carefully, hands folded, watching Ratio cook with an attention that felt almost reverent.
“You don’t have to hover,” Ratio said.
“I’m not hovering,” Aventurine replied. “I’m… supervising.”
“That is unnecessary.”
“Ok, ok. I admit I just like watching you cook.”
Ratio said nothing more.
After they ate, Aventurine made a valiant attempt to stand and immediately thought better of it.
“…I may need to make an assisted withdrawal,” he admitted, lips quirking. “Before the house notices.”
Ratio sighed, already reaching for his keys.
“I will drive you.”
Aventurine looked up.
“You don’t have to,” Aventurine said. “I’ll manage if—”
“I am aware,” Ratio said. “I am choosing to.”
Aventurine smiled—smaller this time, but genuine.
“Then I’m very lucky.”
Ratio did not disagree.
===========
The next day, Ratio stood outside Aventurine’s apartment with a box in his arms.
The fact that he was even here, standing in front of Aventurine’s door, irritated him more than it should have.
He adjusted his grip, exhaled once, and frowned faintly at the door as if the hinges themselves had personally wronged him.
In retrospect, allowing Aventurine to handle objects well beyond his physical capability had been… ill-advised. Ratio had noticed the poor posture, the overcompensation, the way Aventurine insisted on proving usefulness even when unnecessary—and he had still permitted it to continue.
A lapse in judgment.
The resulting back sprain had been predictable. Entirely so.
Ratio disliked predictable outcomes that could have been prevented.
The box contained a few items he had selected with careful deliberation: an old set of pajamas—soft, loose, no longer suitable for public use but perfectly adequate for rest. Aventurine had lingered on the fabric before, fingers brushing it with interest he had attempted, unsuccessfully, to disguise.
There were also medicated plasters for muscle strain. A topical gel. Written instructions he had rewritten more concisely after finding the manufacturer’s wording inefficient.
Aventurine had mentioned, casually, that he had taken a day off.
Ratio had not responded at the time.
He knocked now, once, firmly.
If Aventurine insisted on injuring himself through enthusiasm, then corrective measures would be implemented.
Repeatedly, if necessary.
Aventurine opened the door and lit up immediately.
“Ratio!” His beautiful purple-blue eyes dropped to the box. “Is that for me?”
Aventurine watched him, waiting.
“No,” Ratio said. “Not yet.”
The blond tilted his head.
“What do you mean?”
A fat cat brushed past Aventurine’s leg, tail high and confident.
“Oh—hey there, Rat—” Aventurine cut himself off so sharply he nearly bit his tongue. “Ratty!”
Ratio paused mid-step.
“…You named a cat after a rodent?”
Aventurine laughed too quickly.
“No! Absolutely not. He has a dignified name. Rati—”
He coughed.
“—Rattiole von Critter. Ratty is just his baby name. Very common practice.”
Ratio stared at the cat, who had flopped onto his back with the air of someone deeply unashamed.
“Hm,” Ratio said.
Another, smaller kitten peeked out from behind a stack of boxes, eyes bright.
“And that one?” Ratio asked.
Aventurine froze.
“…Verit—”
He swallowed.
“Berrytatas?”
“Berry what now?”
“I meant Berry…tas!” Aventurine repeated weakly.
“Like a berry. Small. Round. Cute.”
He gestured helplessly at the kitten.
“Look at her.”
The kitten sneezed.
Ratio narrowed his eyes.
“You are terrible at lying.”
Aventurine chuckled, embarrassed.
“In my defense, I spend a lot of time thinking about you.”
He opened the door wider.
“So,” he said lightly, “will the good doctor be inclined to enter my humble abode, or are you planning to stand there all evening with a mysterious box that may or may not be meant for me?”
Ratio was about to respond—then thought better of it as he stepped inside.
“Excuse the intrusion.”
==========
Inside, the apartment was clean—but crowded. Clothes draped over chair backs despite an empty wardrobe nearby. Trinkets lined every available surface, carefully arranged, dusted, kept. Empty bottles had been rinsed and stacked rather than discarded. Boxes sat flush against the walls, labeled, orderly, yet numerous enough to narrow the walkways.
Ratty and Berrytas wove through it all with practiced ease, tails flicking as they navigated the maze like seasoned residents.
Ratio paused just inside the doorway.
This was not neglect. Nor was it disorder.
It was accumulation.
His gaze traced the space automatically—clearances between furniture, the height of stacked boxes, the way Aventurine stepped around them without looking, as if memorized.
Efficient.
Familiar.
Yet unsafe.
Ratio’s brow creased.
He turned slightly, watching Aventurine move ahead of him, noted the careful way he twisted his torso, the hesitation before bending, the subtle favoring of one side.
“Is your back healed?” Ratio asked.
Aventurine glanced back, surprised by the question.
“Huh? Oh—yeah. Mostly.”
“Define mostly.”
“It doesn’t complain unless I ask it to do something unreasonable,” Aventurine said lightly. “Like lifting furniture. Or being sensible.”
Ratio did not smile.
He stepped further inside, nudging a box gently with his foot to test its stability. It wobbled.
“You are aware,” he said evenly, “that navigating a constrained environment while recovering from muscle strain increases the likelihood of reinjury.”
Aventurine blinked.
“Wow. You make it sound very ominous.”
“It is,” Ratio replied. “Particularly given your demonstrated enthusiasm for ignoring physical limitations.”
He looked around again, slower this time.
“This space,” he continued, “is meticulously maintained. However, it leaves minimal margin for error.”
A cat brushed past his ankle. Ratio froze, recalibrated his footing, then exhaled.
“…You should not be reaching or lifting unnecessarily,” he added, quieter now. “Especially here.”
Aventurine watched him for a moment, something unreadable flickering across his expression—then he smiled, easy and practiced.
“Don’t worry, Doc,” he said. “I know where everything is.”
Ratio met his gaze.
“That,” he said, “is precisely my concern.”
Aventurine’s eyes flicked to the box in Ratio’s arms. He grinned.
“I’m more concerned about that mysterious box you brought with you. You sure it’s not for me?”
Ratio exhaled through his nose.
“It is for you,” he said. “However—after observing this environment, I am reconsidering the timing.”
Aventurine’s brows lifted.
“Timing?”
“After we clear space,” Ratio replied. “For your safety. Then you may have it.”
“Wow. Not only are you putting my present on probation, you’re making me do spring cleaning too?”
“I will assist,” Ratio said evenly. “And I am ensuring this does not become another addition to an already excessive inventory. You have too much… stuff.”
“Ouch.” Aventurine pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “You wound me.”
Then, just as quickly, he brightened.
“Tell you what! Last time you cooked—this time I’ll cook for you. In exchange for that box. Fair deal?”
“I will moderate my expectations,” Ratio said, stepping into the kitchen. His gaze drifted to the spice rack.
“…Since you appear to own salt. Pepper. Chili packets. And nothing else.”
“Minimalism,” Aventurine said proudly.
“It is negligence.”
=========
After an almost disastrous dinner—one that had required Ratio’s direct intervention—he remained seated at the table, hands folded, gaze drifting not aimlessly, but with purpose.
From where he sat, he could see most of the apartment: stacks of boxes lined flush along the walls, excess coats draped over chair backs, shelves filled with objects that were neither broken nor especially useful, yet clearly curated and preserved.
It was not disorder. That, in itself, was telling.
Everything had a place, even if there were too many places for too many things. Nothing was abandoned; nothing was allowed to exist without explanation. Ratio noted the repetition—the way similar items appeared in multiples, the way older possessions were not replaced so much as accumulated. Not decay. Not neglect.
Retention.
When the last dish was set aside, Ratio paused. He surveyed the room again—this time not as a guest, but as someone who intended to remain present.
“Very well,” he said at last.
Aventurine looked up.
“Very well…?”
“We will begin,” Ratio replied. “Gradually.”
He lifted a jacket from a chair back, examined it briefly.
“How long have you had this?”
“Years,” Aventurine said. “I don’t wear it much anymore, but it’s still good.”
“And this?” Ratio picked up another—nearly identical.
“Newer. Different cut.”
Ratio hummed softly.
He had already set aside three identical jackets. Aventurine eyed the pile with quiet resistance—and said nothing, for now.
==========
By evening, Aventurine crashed at his couch, “I… I don’t think we can finish everything today.”
“True,” Ratio said. “I will come back.”
Aventurine did not joke this time. The words settled, heavy and warm, like something finally allowed to remain.
“Next week,” Ratio said. “And the week after.”
He retrieved one item from the box and placed it on the table—medicated plasters.
“Use these,” he said. “For your back pain.”
Aventurine blinked then tried to peek at the rest of the items within the box.
“And the rest?”
“Later,” Ratio said, without elaboration.
Aventurine smiled, soft and stunned.
“This is really going to be a weekly appointment?”
“Yes.”
One of the cats curled around Ratio’s ankle. This time, he patted her head.
Aventurine, soft: “See? Even Ratty likes you.”
Ratio, after a beat: “…Unfortunate name.”
But he smiled anyway.
Joy didn’t bling.
It stayed.