Chapter Text
The hotel bar was the kind of place where discretion came with the premium, all low amber lighting and leather booths that swallowed sound. Ratio sat with his back to the wall, fingers drumming against a tumbler of scotch he hadn't touched, watching the entrance with detachment of a man observing a lab experiment.
Aventurine arrived exactly on time. Not early enough to seem eager, not late enough to suggest disrespect. He moved through the space like he owned it, all fluid confidence and charm, the kind of performance so polished it had become indistinguishable from the performer. His eyes, those distinctive violet-cyan heterochromatic eyes, swept the room and found Ratio immediately.
"Dr. Ratio." The smile was dazzling, professional. "You know, when I got the booking request, I'll admit I was intrigued. A man of your reputation usually doesn't need to pay for company."
"Sit down." Ratio's voice was flat, cutting through the pleasantries like a scalpel. "And spare me the preamble. You came highly recommended for your discretion, not your conversation."
Aventurine smirked. He slid into the booth with practiced grace, folding his hands on the table between them. Up close, Ratio could see the tiny imperfections in the facade: the barely-there tension at the corners of his mouth, the way his fingers rested just so to hide a faint tremor.
"Discretion is my specialty," Aventurine said lightly. "Along with making powerful men feel comfortable enough to say things they shouldn't. So what is it, Doctor? Corporate espionage? A rival you need information on? Someone's dirty secrets you need confirmed?"
Ratio pushed a folder across the table. "I need you to attend a fundraising gala next Saturday. There's a man there named Senator Brennan who has information I require. He has a particular... type. You fit it. Get close to him, get him talking about his dealings with Metis Pharmaceutical, and record everything."
Aventurine didn't touch the folder. His smile had gone sharp at the edges, brittle. "So you want me to be your honeypot. How novel."
"I want you to do what you're paid to do. Sell the illusion of intimacy to extract something valuable. The only difference is that this time, the buyer is me and the commodity is information rather than the fantasy of being wanted."
The words landed like a slap. Aventurine's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted, a subtle closing-off. When he spoke, his voice was silk over razorblades.
"You really don't pull your punches, do you? Most clients at least pretend there's some dignity in the transaction. They call me a 'companion,' book me for 'social engagements,' pay extra so they can pretend it's a date and not a purchase." He finally reached for the folder, flipping it open with one hand. "But you're right, of course. We're all whores, Doctor. We sell different parts of ourselves. I sell the fantasy. You sell your mind. The Senator sells his integrity. At least I'm honest about my going rate."
"Your honesty is precisely why I chose you. You understand the transactional nature of human interaction. No sentimentality, no self-delusion. You do the job, you get paid, everyone walks away with what they came for."
Aventurine studied the file and photos of the Senator, background information, details about the pharmaceutical scandal Ratio was investigating. When he looked up, something cold and ancient lurked behind his practiced charm.
"You know what the difference is between you and most of my clients, Doctor? They need me to pretend I'm not for sale. They need the illusion that I'm actually interested. That's what they're really paying for—not my body, not even my company. They're paying for the lie that they're not the kind of person who has to pay for connection." He closed the folder gently. "But you don't want me to lie to you. You want me to lie to someone else while you watch with that magnificent brain of yours and judge exactly how well I perform my function. Honestly? I'm not sure which is more depressing."
"I'm not interested in your existential crisis," Ratio said, but there was something different in his tone now, a hairline fracture in the ice. "The job pays triple your usual rate. If you're not interested—"
"Oh, I'm interested. I'm always interested when the money's good enough." Aventurine leaned back, and the smile returned, but it was all wrong now, too wide and too empty. "You want to know the really funny part? You called me because you needed someone who understands that everything is a transaction, but you're sitting there judging me for it. You want me to whore myself out for your noble cause, and you think that makes you different from the men who pay me to stroke their ego or warm their bed. At least they're not pretending it's for the greater good."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Ratio's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"I'm not judging you. I'm using you."
"Are you?" Aventurine's laugh was soft and terrible. "You know what I think, Doctor? I think you hired me because you wanted to look in a mirror. You wanted someone who'd confirm your worldview, that we're all just commodities in the marketplace, selling whatever we have to get by. But here's the thing about mirrors: they show you exactly what you're running from."
He stood, pocketing the folder with ease. "I'll do your job. I'll smile for the Senator and make him feel like he's the most fascinating man alive. I'll get you your information, and you'll pay me, and we'll both go home knowing exactly what we are. But don't mistake efficiency for wisdom, Doctor. Just because you can reduce everything to a transaction doesn't mean you should."
Ratio watched him go, watched the way Aventurine transformed the moment he left the booth; shoulders back, smile bright, every inch the beautiful illusion he'd perfected.
He thought about the tremor in Aventurine's hands, carefully hidden. He thought about the way the smile never quite reached those mismatched eyes. He thought about his own reflection in the dark window, alone in a booth in a hotel bar where everyone was selling something.
We're all whores.
The worst part was realizing Aventurine wasn't wrong.