Chapter Text
Chapter 1.
Hello.
You’re probably wondering who I am, and why I’m talking to you instead of you reading a fanfiction about Ratio and Aventurine.
Will you believe me if I say I reincarnated into the Star Rail universe after getting hit by Truck-kun?
Me neither.
These days, I go by NPC Female IPC Staff No. 20588. I don’t do much. Mostly, I walk the halls from one corner to another, holding documents and looking busy—just like any respectable background NPC.
“Ratio~! Did you wait long?”
Ah. There he is.
“Gambler,” Ratio said, without even looking up from his tome. “Stop shouting, I can hear you just fine.”
And there’s the other one.
Why was the good doctor in the IPC building instead of teaching in class or holding a symposium?
Nobody knows.
Perhaps the reason had something to do with a certain blond who looked like a kicked puppy right now before the smile came back.
“Sounds like someone missed breakfast,” Aventurine grinned. Imaginary peacock feathers gleaming in the background. “Let me guess—tea and those boring biscuits again? Come on, I’ll treat you. Let’s go to that restaurant you like, doc.”
Ratio frowned. But the pause—brief, telling—gave him away.
Don’t ask how I know.
It’s a Ratio fan’s secret.
“Those are not boring biscuits,” Ratio huffed, bristling like a displeased owl. “They’re nutritious and light. I can consume them while reading. Low in sugar, and practical to carry around when I move between classes and labs.” He sounded far too invested in his defense.
The blond chuckled as he pushed up his pink glasses.
“Oh? Are you sure it’s not just because the biscuits are shaped like little duckies?”
Ratio flabbergasted.
“Of course not.”
He denied it a little too sharply before composing himself.
“The reason they’re waterfowl-shaped is because the biscuit flavoring aligns with my preferences. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
“Uh-huh…” Aventurine waggled his eyebrows, grin widening. “Well then… surely you have room for, I don’t know, dessert?”
Ratio huffed, already turning away with pink ears.
“…If you insist.”
They began to walk off together.
I watched Aventurine hesitate—his fingers twitching as if to reach for Ratio’s hand—before pulling back at the last second.
Oh, my sweet summer child. How is it that you almost destroyed Penacony in your final boss form, yet turn into a nervous high school boy the moment you’re beside your crush?
These young lads need intervention.
And honestly, I’m starting to grow tired of walking these halls for forty days with absolutely no progress from my two favorites.
Operation Cupid: ON.
I cackled like a witch.
Somewhere in the parking lot, both Ratio and Aventurine shivered.
Aventurine frowned.
“Huh. What was that?”
Ratio blinked.
“Perhaps the weather.”
Even he didn’t sound convinced.
They didn’t know it yet, but this was the easy part. Wanting was always easier than saying it.
==========
Around them, the restaurant hummed with a warmth that hadn’t been there on ordinary nights.
Soft lights glowed in shades of rose and gold. Tables were dressed with small floating candles, their reflections drifting lazily across polished glass.
Somewhere near the entrance, a pair of Inteletrons sat shoulder to shoulder, fingers lightly intertwined as they compared the rhythm of their artificial heartbeats.
At another table, two Foxian women leaned close over shared dessert, laughing quietly as if the rest of the world had faded away.
No one stared.
No one whispered.
Love, in all its strange and varied forms, was simply… normal here.
Which made the space between two men standing side by side feel oddly louder than it should have.
Aventurine shifted his weight, suddenly aware of how close Ratio was—close enough that the faint scent of paper and clean soap lingered in the air between them.
Ratio, for his part, adjusted his glasses with unnecessary precision, gaze fixed firmly ahead as though the decorations held deep academic significance.
Neither of them spoke about it.
Neither of them stepped away, either.
“This way, sir.”
Grateful for the waiter’s guidance, Aventurine followed—only to blink in surprise at their destination.
“Huh? This wasn’t the table I booked.”
The waiter glanced at me as I hid behind a pillar.
I subtly signaled, just do what I said.
He turned back to Aventurine.
“I apologize for the confusion, sir. Your usual table has been reserved by another patron. However, I believe this new table will be more to your preference.”
Aventurine’s smile tightened slightly, a flicker of displeasure crossing his face at the restaurant’s lack of professionalism. More than that, though, was the quiet worry that Ratio might be inconvenienced.
Before he could voice a complaint, Ratio spoke.
“We don’t mind,” he said evenly. “We’ll take this table, if you please.”
Aventurine turned to him in disbelief.
A private room.
No interruptions from nearby diners—complete with a small orchestra setting up at the back.
…And Ratio was fine with this?
“Please enjoy.”
The waiter closed the door behind them.
Silence settled in the room, soft and uncertain.
Ratio and Aventurine blinked at each other.
Then, as if on cue, the orchestra began to play—
slow, gentle notes drifting through the quiet like something fragile being placed carefully between them.
“W–well,” Aventurine cleared his throat. “Let’s take a seat, then.”
He automatically pulled out a chair for Ratio.
Ratio looked annoyed at the gesture—briefly—but his eyes softened as he sat.
“Thank you.”
As if returning the action, Ratio reached for the carafe and poured water into Aventurine’s glass.
“Drink,” he said. “Your skin is dehydrated. And reduce your alcohol intake.”
Aventurine blinked. He hadn’t realized Ratio noticed.
“How did you know?”
Ratio stared at him for a moment, long enough that the blond felt heat creep into his cheeks. Then he looked away.
“Your lips are chapped. You often scold me for forgetting to eat. You should apply the same standards to yourself.”
The nervousness melted from Aventurine’s shoulders as he chuckled.
“Aww, doc. You do care about me.”
“Enough,” Ratio huffed, ears pink again. “Let’s order before we bore the waitress.”
I snapped out of my reverie at the sight of these two beautiful men and stepped forward to take their order.
Are you wondering how I sneaked into the private room wearing a waitress uniform?
She’s… resting in the storage room.
Don’t ask questions.
Ohohoho…
“What would you like to order?” I asked professionally, grateful for the thirty years of experience from my previous life backing me up.
Aventurine grinned and proceeded to order every single one of Ratio’s favorite dishes.
Ratio paused, a flush briefly appeared on his cheeks.
“You don’t need to order half the menu, Gambler. I’m not that famished.”
“Don’t worry, doc,” Aventurine said lightly. “I’ll eat whatever you can’t finish.”
“Nonsense. Order moderately. We shouldn’t waste food—or your money—on me.”
Aventurine’s smile softened.
This time, it wasn’t playful.
“If it’s you, doc,” he said quietly, “it’s never a waste.”
Ratio nearly dropped his fork—
and in the same instant, the familiar marble mask slid back into place,
a reflex whenever he didn’t want others to see what his face might reveal.
I, on the other hand, collapsed on the spot.
Aventurine, my boy—that was smooth.
I’m so glad I won my 50/50 on you.
I delivered their orders and lingered nearby, just in case they needed assistance. From my spot, I watched as their eye contact lingered half a second too long.
Ratio looks so elegant even when he eats. How is he still single?
Aventurine wondered quietly as he cut into his steak.
He’s probably just tolerating me… what if one day he has had enough and stop talking to me?
Ah. There it is.
My special ability: Player View.
Thoughts appeared the way in-game dialogue once did—only now, I was standing inside the world instead of behind a screen.
And once again, for what feels like the umpteenth time, I’m forced to witness Aventurine mistakenly assume what Ratio feels about him. For someone so flashy and flamboyant, the poor boy has painfully low confidence when it comes to himself.
Player View flickered again.
Aventurine is reckless. Loud. Entirely too fond of theatrics.
Ratio cut into his meal with unnecessary precision.
His presence disrupts my concentration. My project timeline has suffered three delays since his last visit.
A pause.
And yet… When the peacock is absent, productivity does not improve.
I paused as I read Ratio’s thoughts. Before I could dwell on it, his mind continued—this time as he murdered his broccoli.
He appears injured with alarming frequency.
Ratio’s grip on his fork tightened.
I find myself monitoring him for signs of distress.
Another pause.
This is… illogical. Yet I can’t seem to ignore him.
I blinked at my favorite character.
…Ah.
So this is how it looks on your side, huh?
I bit into my handkerchief.
Don’t worry, boys! Your cupid is here to help!
I called the chef through my walkie-talkie. A moment later, I wheeled in a special dish.
“Complimentary from the chef, sirs.”
Both Ratio and Aventurine were startled from their deep thoughts then stared at the presented delicacy.
A single brownie, topped with a scoop of ice cream.
“Special for this month’s February promotion.”
Aventurine recovered first.
“Oh—thank you. But… why is there only one spoon?”
I smiled.
The kind of smile that made people slowly take a step back.
“As I mentioned, sirs, this is a February Valentine special,” I said sweetly. “You’re meant to enjoy each bite… together.”
I clasped my hands.
“Of course, I understand if you’re shy.”
I bowed slightly.
“I’ll take my leave. Ohohoho.”
And with that, I yeeted myself out the door.
===============
Aventurine blinked, then turned back to Ratio.
“So… um, you can have it, doc. I’m full.”
The older man narrowed his eyes.
“Enough with the bluff. We can share the cake.”
“You sure? I know you don’t usually like sharing things like this.”
“…I won’t mind if it’s you.”
The marble composure he wore so easily was gone—
not shattered, not even cracked,
simply… absent.
Whatever remained on his face was quieter.
And far more honest.
The orchestra in the background began to play another soft, romantic music—startling the pair at the table a second time.
“I almost forgot they were there,” Aventurine chuckled.
“Hmph.”
Ratio gently nudged the plate and single spoon toward him.
“Go on. Take the first bite.”
Aventurine flushed.
“T-thanks.”
They finished the cake in awkward turns.
Fingers brushed.
Aventurine looked away, pretending not to notice.
Ratio’s hand lingered half a second too long before he quietly withdrew.
The music faltered—just slightly.
One of the violinists missed a note, the sound catching in the air before the melody found its way back.
Another player cleared his throat, eyes fixed very carefully on the sheet music instead of the table in the center of the room.
The tempo softened without anyone giving the cue, the song turning warmer, slower… as if even the orchestra had decided to step lightly around whatever fragile thing was forming between the two men.
Honestly, I couldn’t blame them.
Watching this level of mutual pining in real time should qualify as an occupational hazard.
You’re asking why I have a cam-recorder right now?
Oh, how could I not record everything about my favorite owl and peacock here?
I’m probably on some watchlist now for invading their privacy… but I can always bribe the orchestra staff to cover for me.
Fufufufu…
============
Dinner done, it was time to leave.
Neither of them spoke for a moment—
as if the quiet from the private room had followed them all the way to the counter.
“Don’t worry,” Aventurine said a little too quickly, “it’s on me, doc.”
He produced his black card with practiced ease, though his fingers weren’t quite as steady as usual.
Ratio frowned and reached for his own wallet.
“Nonsense. I can pay for my share, Gambler.”
“No, it’s my pleasure. Please.”
The words came out softer than intended.
Ratio hesitated—just briefly—gaze lingering on Aventurine’s face before he looked away.
Hearing that, he put his wallet back with a small, restrained huff.
“…If you insist.”
When they stepped out of the restaurant, the distance between them slowly narrowed.
I watched as the two chatted with an ease that hadn’t been there before.
Well—mostly Aventurine talked while Ratio listened.
But Ratio didn’t look annoyed or bored.
In fact, he was listening with full attention—
something he rarely granted anyone else, as he was usually the one being listened to.
He wasn’t entirely silent either.
Now and then, he interjected.
Challenged a claim.
And a few times…
a rare smile appeared when Aventurine made a joke—
only to vanish the moment Aventurine glanced his way.
“So I told the client that—”
A sudden roar of an engine shattered the moment.
Ratio moved first.
“Watch out!”
Aventurine barely had time to register the warning as a firm hand caught his shoulder.
The world tilted sharply sideways.
And suddenly—
Impact.
Not with the ground.
With Ratio.
Aventurine’s face was unceremoniously pressed straight into the doctor’s chest, the breath knocked from him in a soft, startled oof.
His hat slipped loose, tumbling dramatically onto the pavement like a fallen stage prop.
A violent splash followed a split second later, muddy water striking fabric with a wet crack—
but none of it touched him.
Silence hung for one stunned beat.
Aventurine did not move.
Because moving would require:
- A functioning brain
- The ability to process why his face was currently buried in warm, solid, extremely real Ratio
Both systems had catastrophically failed.
Above him, Ratio’s arm remained steady around his shoulders—
protective, immovable, as if the motion had been decided long before thought could interfere.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Muddy water slid from the edge of Ratio’s sleeve onto the pavement.
Aventurine finally inhaled—
…which was a mistake, because now he was aware of:
- Scent of clean soap
- scroll paper
- something faintly warm that was just… Ratio
His brain blue-screened harder.
“…D-Doc,” he managed faintly, voice muffled. “I—uh—this is—”
Ratio wasn’t looking at him.
He was staring past Aventurine instead—
straight at the retreating car.
The look in his eyes was calm.
Too calm.
The kind of calm that suggested several extremely precise calculations were being made regarding:
- speed
- distance
- license plate visibility
- and how inconvenient prison would be for his research schedule
Aventurine swallowed.
“…Doc,” he tried again, a little smaller. “Your clothes…”
Ratio blinked once, as if returning from a very brief but thorough consideration of vehicular homicide.
“Irrelevant,” he said flatly.
Only then did he seem to realize—
how close they were.
His arm stiffened.
A beat passed.
Then, very carefully, Ratio released him and stepped back.
Aventurine’s hat lay abandoned between them like evidence at a crime scene.
Neither of them bent to pick it up.
“T-That’s not the point.” Aventurine stepped close to finally pick up his hat. “You didn’t have to— I could’ve moved.”
“You didn’t,” Ratio replied calmly.
The simple statement landed heavier than the splash.
Aventurine’s fingers twitched at his side, uncertain whether to reach out again.
“…Still,” Aventurine muttered, quieter now. “Those clothes aren’t cheap. Let me pay for the cleaning. Or—no, I’ll replace them. Properly.”
“Unnecessary.”
“Doc.”
Ratio paused.
Streetlight caught along the rim of his lenses, hiding his eyes for a moment.
Aventurine’s voice softened despite himself.
“Just… let me do this, alright?”
Another silence settled between them.
“…Very well,” Ratio conceded at last. “Now I owe you two favors, Gambler.”
Relief flickered across Aventurine’s face—brief, fragile.
Then Ratio continued, his voice quieter than before.
“I would like to propose… compensation.”
Aventurine waved him off, “Like I said, it’s on me.”
“No.”
A small pause.
“Compensation may be rendered… differently.”
Aventurine blinked.
“Differently?”
Ratio adjusted his sleeve, gaze fixed somewhere just past Aventurine’s shoulder—
as though the exact wording required unreasonable precision.
“…Dinner,” he said at last. “At my residence.”
Time seemed to stall.
“Your house?” Aventurine repeated, stunned. “You mean… we order takeout and pretend it’s domestic?”
Ratio made a face.
“Certainly not. I will cook.”
Aventurine’s brain, already fragile, suffered catastrophic damage.
“You… cook?” he echoed faintly.
“A nutritionally balanced meal,” Ratio added, tone perfectly serious. “Which you will consume without substituting alcohol for caloric intake.”
A beat.
“…This is still about my drinking?” Aventurine asked weakly.
“It is about basic survival,” Ratio replied.
Silence again—softer this time.
“…You’re inviting me over,” Aventurine said, almost to himself, like testing the shape of the words.
“I am proposing an efficient resolution,” Ratio answered.
A pause.
“…Yes.”
Aventurine’s expression went completely blank.
Space-cat shock.
“…Dinner,” he whispered.
Ratio had already begun walking again.
“Assuming your schedule permits,” he added, far too casually.
Aventurine remained frozen for three full seconds before scrambling after him.
“W-wait— since when are you the one inviting me to your house?!”
Ratio did not look back.
But the edge of his voice carried something warmer than logic when he said:
“Do try to keep up.”
I watched them through my recorder again.
Home dinner.
Progress, certainly.
A dangerous level of progress, even.
And yet…
I’ve witnessed enough slow-burn tragedies to know this much:
Soft moments alone aren’t enough to force a confession.
They would circle each other gently.
Carefully.
Endlessly.
Ten dinners.
Twenty.
A lifetime of almosts.
Unacceptable.
No—what they needed now wasn’t softness.
They needed pressure.
Preferably elegant, deniable, and slightly terrifying.
…Which meant only one thing.
I lowered the recorder.
“It’s time to get… serious.”
I pushed up my imaginary glasses.
Fufufu…
To be continued.