Work Text:
Ratio finished the equation before the student could blink.
The chalk struck the blackboard harder than necessary. A thin white fracture splintered across the stick and dust scattered across his sleeve.
He did not brush it away.
That morning had been… inelegant.
His favorite glass — the one that matched Aventurine’s — had cracked cleanly at the handle while he was washing it. The weather forecast predicted rain for the entire week. One of his car tires had punctured, forcing Aventurine to drive him despite his insistence that public transport was statistically efficient.
Aventurine had leaned over the steering wheel and said flatly, “You’ll last three stops before someone talks loudly behind you and you start calculating projectile velocity for your chalk.”
Ratio had not dignified that with a response.
The photocopy machine malfunctioned twice.
The students were inattentive.
By the third disruption, Ratio had briefly considered wearing his marble head mask for the remainder of the day and retreating into his office until dismissal.
He did not.
He continued the lecture.
It was midway through a derivation when his phone vibrated inside his coat pocket.
He ignored it.
It vibrated again.
And again.
The students had begun to notice.
Ratio paused.
He reached into his pocket, glanced at the screen.
His expression did not change.
He erased the final line of the equation with precise strokes.
“Class dismissed.”
The room fell into stunned silence.
He walked out without further explanation.
===========
“Doc,” Aventurine said carefully, watching Ratio slide into the passenger seat with unusual haste, “why did you tell me to bring your passport?”
“Drive to the airport,” Ratio replied. “Immediately.”
Aventurine blinked.
“Right now?”
A fractional pause.
“Professor Rond’s assistant contacted me this morning.”
It took Aventurine a second.
Then he straightened.
“Your mentor? Is he—”
“His condition is unstable.” Ratio’s voice remained even. “He requested to see me.”
That was enough.
Aventurine shifted gears without another question.
Rain began to fall against the windshield.
Ratio sat upright, hands resting on his lap, posture impeccable. Only the tension in his jaw betrayed anything at all.
“I will return within forty-eight hours,” he said.
Aventurine glanced sideways at him.
“You’re going alone?”
Silence.
A breath.
“I am coming with you,” Aventurine decided.
“Your work?”
“I’ll bribe Topaz.”
Ratio did not argue.
Which, to Aventurine, said more than agreement ever could.
========
The flight was first class.
Aventurine ensured it.
Spacious seating. Soft lighting. Minimal noise. Discretion.
Ratio noticed none of it.
He spent most of the journey staring through the window at the clouds, gaze distant and unfocused.
To anyone else, he appeared composed — immaculate even.
But Aventurine recognized the pattern.
Ratio was retreating.
He spoke when addressed, responded when prompted — but his attention drifted inward… toward a place no one else could follow.
Aventurine handled the stewardess.
The documents.
The luggage.
The transport arrangements.
He stayed half a step closer than usual.
Not hovering.
Just present.
When they finally arrived at Professor Rond’s residence, the rain had stopped.
The house stood dignified despite its age, ivy climbing patiently along stone walls worn by decades of weather.
It did not feel like a place that surrendered easily.
Neither, Aventurine thought, did its owner.
Ratio stood at the gate for a moment longer than necessary.
Then he walked forward.
========
The maid recognized him immediately.
She had once been taller than him when she greeted him in these halls. Now she had to tilt her chin upward.
“This way, young master.”
Her gaze flickered briefly toward Aventurine — noted, assessed, politely uncurious.
Ratio did not need guidance.
He knew which floorboard creaked near the staircase.
He knew which corridor carried more light for afternoon reading.
He knew the faint scent of old paper that lingered near the study.
He had grown up within these walls.
The bedroom door was already ajar.
Inside, the curtains were drawn. The furniture had been cleared back to make room for medical equipment. The air carried the faint sterile scent of disinfectant layered over old wood.
Professor Rond lay small against the wide bed.
Smaller than Ratio remembered.
Two doctors stepped forward, murmuring about vital signs and medication schedules.
Ratio did not respond.
His attention remained fixed on the figure beneath the blanket.
Aventurine stepped in smoothly.
“Thank you,” he told the doctors, guiding them toward the door with effortless diplomacy. A hand brushed lightly against Ratio’s back — not pushing, merely grounding — before he withdrew with the others.
The door closed.
Silence settled.
Ratio pulled a chair to the bedside and sat.
Professor Rond’s breathing was uneven. Fragile.
“…Who’s there?”
The voice was thin. Searching.
Ratio did not answer immediately.
For the first time since entering the house, something uncertain flickered across his features.
“Teacher,” he said quietly.
Rond’s eyelids fluttered.
For a moment, nothing.
Then his gaze sharpened.
Color returned faintly to his eyes.
“Veritas… you’re here.” A faint breath of amusement. “Why are you not at school? Did the lesson bore you again? That makes the third tutor this week, you know. You cannot keep leaving midway.”
Ratio’s fingers tightened slightly against his lap.
The room tilted between past and present.
“It has been many years,” Ratio replied, voice measured. “I no longer abandon lessons.”
Rond studied him as though recalibrating time.
“Ah… yes. You always corrected me when I misremembered.” A faint smile. “You are no longer the thin boy who argued over proofs.”
Silence stretched.
Ratio did not fill it.
After a moment, Rond’s gaze grew clearer.
“You did well.”
Three simple words.
Ratio’s breath caught — so briefly it could have been mistaken for adjustment.
“I… applied what you taught me.”
“You surpassed it,” Rond murmured. “That was always the point.”
Another pause. His breathing hitched, then steadied.
“Tell me,” Rond said, voice softer now, “are you alone?”
Ratio’s gaze flickered briefly toward the closed door.
“No.”
A faint hum of approval.
“I worried about that,” Rond admitted. “You were brilliant… but solitary. Brilliance can become a room with no doors.”
Ratio’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“I am accompanied,” he said after a beat. “He is loud. Impractical. Obnoxiously perceptive.”
A small pause.
“He is… warm.”
Rond’s smile deepened.
“I am glad.”
Another quiet beat passed before Ratio added, almost reluctantly, “He is merely an acquaintance.”
A weak, knowing chuckle escaped the older man.
“You have always been honest, Veritas.” His gaze was steady despite his frailty. “You cannot lie.”
Ratio did not argue.
Rond’s gaze drifted, unfocused for a moment.
Then something sharpened in Rond’s gaze.
“You used to stand outside my office for nearly an hour,” he murmured.
Ratio stilled.
“You refused to knock.”
A faint breath of amusement escaped the older man.
“I asked why you were loitering. You told me you were calculating whether my time was worth interrupting.”
Ratio’s fingers tightened once against his knee.
“I concluded it was,” he said quietly.
Rond smiled faintly.
“The other tutors complained about you.”
Ratio did not look surprised.
“They said you lacked respect. That you did not observe hierarchy. That you spoke as though you were their equal.”
A shallow breath.
“They mistook hunger for insolence.”
Silence.
“You did not care for authority,” Rond continued. “You cared for accuracy. You treated us not as superiors… but as sources.”
Ratio’s gaze lowered slightly.
“You were not trying to dominate,” Rond said. “You were trying to understand.”
The room felt smaller.
“You corrected my lecture before I finished writing the proof.”
A flicker — almost embarrassment — crossed Ratio’s expression.
“You were insufferable,” Rond murmured.
A pause.
“And extraordinary.”
Another pause, softer now.
“You never wanted praise.”
Ratio’s voice remained steady.
“Praise is inefficient.”
A weak chuckle.
“Yes. You said that.” Rond’s eyes warmed. “So I stopped praising you.”
Ratio glanced up slightly.
“I gave you apples instead.”
The corner of Ratio’s mouth shifted — barely.
“You believed it symbolically appropriate,” he said.
“You caught it before it fell once,” Rond replied. “I remember thinking you would resent the gesture.”
“I did not,” Ratio said.
A beat.
“It was… acceptable.”
Rond’s smile deepened faintly.
“You would sit there with the apple in your hand and continue arguing with me about the proof.”
Silence lingered, but this time it was not empty.
===========
The door closed softly behind Aventurine.
The hallway felt colder than the bedroom.
Two physicians stood nearby, speaking in low tones. They paused when they noticed him.
One of them regarded him carefully.
“And you are…?”
“Aventurine,” he replied smoothly. “I am accompanying Dr. Ratio.”
A faint shift passed between the doctors at the name.
“Are you family?” the older physician asked.
“No.”
A beat.
“I am his partner.”
The word was delivered without embellishment.
The physicians exchanged another glance — not hostile, merely procedural.
“We cannot disclose detailed information without the patient’s authorization,” the younger one said carefully.
“Of course,” Aventurine replied at once.
No offense taken.
No pressure applied.
“You may confirm with Professor Rond directly when he is lucid. In the meantime, I am responsible for Dr. Ratio’s logistics and welfare. If there are arrangements that must be prepared in advance, I would prefer to know.”
He held their gaze steadily.
Not challenging.
Not submissive.
Measured.
The older physician studied him a moment longer, then nodded once.
“His condition has deteriorated rapidly,” he said quietly. “Multiple organ failure. We are managing comfort rather than pursuing aggressive intervention.”
Aventurine absorbed the shift in terminology without visible reaction.
“How long?” he asked.
A pause.
“It would be generous to say days.”
Silence.
“And lucidity?”
“Intermittent. It will not last.”
Aventurine inclined his head.
“Ensure he is comfortable,” he said evenly. “Spare no expense. If additional specialists are required, inform me immediately.”
The younger doctor hesitated.
“There is little more that can be done.”
“I am aware,” Aventurine replied gently. “But comfort can always be optimized.”
That seemed to settle something.
The older physician nodded.
“We will keep you informed.”
==============
“You were so certain,” Rond continued softly. “So severe with yourself. As though the world would collapse if you allowed an error to stand.”
Ratio’s gaze lowered.
“I believed certainty was necessary.”
Rond regarded him carefully.
“It is impossible,” he said, voice thin but firm, “for a man to live without error. Mistakes are not fractures, Veritas. They are part of learning.”
Silence.
Ratio’s gaze shifted briefly toward the door, where Aventurine’s voice murmured beyond it.
“He will correct me,” he said at last.
Rond blinked.
Ratio continued, tone even, almost analytical.
“It is efficient. His review reduces the probability of oversight.”
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then —
Rond laughed.
Not the fragile, breath-thin exhale of before — but a real laugh. Sudden and unrestrained.
It broke into a cough almost immediately, but the sound lingered in the room.
“You’re the only one,” Rond managed between breaths, eyes bright with mirth, “to ever describe companionship as a peer review process.”
Ratio did not look embarrassed.
“It is an accurate description.”
Rond’s shoulders trembled faintly, amusement softening into warmth.
“Good,” he whispered at last, gaze gentler now. “Very good.”
==============
When they left, the maid approached, hands folded neatly before her apron.
“We have prepared the young master’s former room,” she said softly. “If you will be staying.”
Aventurine glanced toward Rond’s closed bedroom door.
He had already reserved a suite at the finest hotel nearby — quiet floors, controlled lighting, minimal foot traffic. He had reviewed the floor plan personally to ensure there were no adjoining rooms.
It would have been comfortable.
It would have been appropriate.
It would have been wrong.
Ratio would not leave.
Not now.
Not when the window for lucidity was narrowing.
“Yes,” Aventurine answered gently. “We will stay here.”
The maid inclined her head.
“I will have your luggage brought in.”
“That would be appreciated.”
As the maid stepped away, Aventurine took one last look down the corridor toward the room where Ratio sat.
Days.
He adjusted his hat once.
Then he turned toward the childhood bedroom.
==========
Ratio’s old bedroom was at the end of the corridor.
The maid opened the door and stepped aside.
The room was preserved with careful restraint.
Not untouched — but not altered beyond recognition.
A desk by the window.
Shelves lined with worn textbooks.
Margins crowded with precise annotations.
A stack of old notebooks tied neatly with twine.
The bed was narrow.
Practical.
No decorative indulgence.
Aventurine stepped inside slowly.
He did not touch anything at first.
He simply looked.
On the desk, an old wooden ruler lay parallel to the edge — perfectly aligned.
A faint indentation on the floor near the bookshelf suggested years of pacing.
There were trophies — but they had been placed inside a box in the corner, lids closed as though their existence were administrative rather than celebratory.
No framed awards adorned the walls. Instead, old calculations and annotated diagrams were carefully pasted above the desk — proof of problems solved rather than victories declared.
Only knowledge.
A single faded photograph rested between two books.
Professor Rond stood beside a younger Ratio —shorter, sharper, eyes severe even then. An apple visible in his hand.
Near the edge of the desk, partially hidden behind a stack of notebooks, sat something unexpected.
A small ceramic duck.
Not decorative. Not ornate. Slightly chipped along one wing.
Aventurine stared at it for a moment.
He did not smile.
He did not laugh.
He simply reached forward and nudged it upright where it had tilted.
Of course.
The bathroom door stood slightly ajar. Inside, the tiles were immaculate — old, but scrubbed to precision. On the narrow ledge near the tub sat two faded rubber ducks, their yellow dulled with time.
Not discarded.
Not hidden.
Simply… kept.
Aventurine’s gaze softened almost imperceptibly.
So this was not a recent habit.
This was ritual.
Water.
Silence.
Controlled temperature.
No variables.
A place where errors dissolved instead of being corrected.
Some discoveries did not require commentary.
Aventurine lingered a moment longer than necessary.
So this was him — before the marble mask, before the titles, before the world.
He reached out — not to take the photograph — but to straighten it slightly where it had tilted.
That was all.
Footsteps approached down the corridor.
Aventurine stepped back from the desk before the maid returned with their luggage.
He did not want to be seen lingering.
Not because it was forbidden.
But because some spaces were not meant to be claimed.
Only understood.
===========
After the laughter faded and the quiet returned, Rond regarded him with renewed focus.
“There is something else,” he said slowly.
Ratio straightened slightly.
“You know,” Rond continued, voice thin but steady, “there are still students who write to me. Young minds who wish to study here. To learn as you once did.”
Ratio’s expression did not change.
“I can no longer take them,” Rond said simply. “This house… this position… will not continue without someone willing to assume it.”
Silence.
The weight of the implication settled.
“You are the natural successor,” Rond added, not as command — merely fact.
Ratio’s fingers stilled against the fabric of his trousers.
To return here would mean permanence.
The house.
The lectures.
The quiet halls of his youth.
It would also mean departure.
From his current institution.
From his work.
From—
His gaze flickered once toward the door.
Rond noticed.
“I do not ask out of obligation,” the older man said gently. “Only possibility.”
The pause stretched.
Ratio inhaled slowly.
“My work is elsewhere,” he said at last. “My life is established.”
Rond waited.
“If they desire instruction,” Ratio continued evenly, “they may travel. Effort is a prerequisite for learning.”
A faint smile tugged at Rond’s lips.
“You have always gone your own way.”
“I find it efficient.”
A breath of soft amusement escaped the older man.
“I respect that.”
The matter settled without resentment.
After a moment, Rond’s gaze shifted toward the corner of the room.
“Then perhaps,” he murmured, “you might accept one final student.”
A faint meow broke the stillness between them.
From the corner of the room, a small cat stepped forward — dark fur, wide eyes alert to every shift in air and sound.
“Reo,” Rond said softly.
The cat paused midway, tail low, uncertain.
Ratio did not move immediately.
Slowly, deliberately, he extended his hand — palm lowered, fingers relaxed.
He waited.
Reo approached in cautious increments.
Paused.
Watched.
Then leaned forward to scent his fingers.
Ratio did not withdraw.
After a moment, the tension in the cat’s posture eased. Only then did his fingers move — lightly, once, along the side of its head.
Reo did not flinch.
Instead, the cat climbed carefully onto Ratio’s lap, settling there with hesitant trust.
Rond watched the exchange with quiet satisfaction.
“A diligent student,” he murmured. “Still learning how to inhabit his small body.”
Ratio’s hand rested steady against the cat’s back.
“I will take responsibility,” he said.
Not sentimental.
A vow.
Rond’s gaze softened.
“You were never meant to remain here,” he said quietly. “You were meant to travel further.”
His eyes shifted once more toward the door.
“But you allowed someone to walk beside you. I am glad my little student is no longer alone.”
Ratio’s throat shifted once.
He did not deny it.
Rond exhaled slowly, relief easing into stillness.
“Good,” he murmured.
A faint pause.
“Then… I can rest.”
His fingers twitched faintly against the blanket, as if searching for chalk.
Ratio gently placed his own hand over them.
Not holding.
Just there.
===========
Dinner was prepared out of habit rather than appetite.
The maid moved softly through the dining room, placing dishes that had likely been served in this house for decades.
Ratio sat where he once had as a student. Aventurine beside him.
The blond noticed his posture remained straight.
Ratio did not comment on the taste. He thanked the maid — on their behalf — and barely touched the food.
Aventurine said nothing.
Ratio ate slowly, evenly — measured bites, precise pauses. Enough to maintain composure.
Not enough to suggest hunger.
Reo lingered near the threshold at first.
Watching.
Eventually, the cat padded toward Aventurine’s chair.
Not toward Ratio.
Toward Aventurine.
Aventurine did not reach down immediately.
He let Reo circle once. Twice.
Only when the cat brushed lightly against his ankle did he lower his hand.
“Hello there, friend.” he murmured, barely audible.
Reo sniffed.
Accepted.
Ratio noticed.
He said nothing.
But the corner of his gaze lingered a fraction longer than necessary.
The house grew unnaturally still after dusk.
Even the wooden beams seemed to settle with restraint.
Ratio returned once more to Rond’s bedside.
Aventurine remained in the doorway.
Not intruding.
Not leaving.
Just within reach.
Rond appeared at rest.
Peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Ratio reached for his hand again.
Earlier, the fingers had twitched faintly in return.
Now, they did not.
Warm.
But unresponsive.
As though the mind that once argued proofs had retreated beyond immediate reach.
Ratio measured the room once more.
Vitals steady.
No lucidity.
He adjusted the blanket with unnecessary precision.
“I will rest,” he said.
Control, restored in small increments.
Aventurine nodded.
They returned to the childhood bedroom.
Ratio sat at the edge of the bed for a long time before lying down.
He did not undress fully.
He did not remove his watch.
He did not open a book.
Aventurine noticed that most of all.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then—
“What did they say?” Ratio asked.
Not looking at him.
Aventurine took a breath.
“His condition has deteriorated rapidly,” he replied evenly. “They are maintaining comfort. Aggressive intervention would not alter the outcome.”
Silence.
“How long?”
A pause.
“It would be generous to say days.”
The words did not echo.
They simply settled.
Ratio nodded once.
“That aligns with observable variables.”
Aventurine watched him carefully.
Ratio continued, voice calm, almost analytical.
“Lucidity intervals will shorten. Organ systems will deprioritize nonessential function. Cognitive presence will—”
He stopped.
The sentence did not complete.
Aventurine shifted closer, but not abruptly.
“You don’t have to structure this,” he said gently.
Ratio’s jaw tightened.
“It is easier to understand when structured.”
“I know.”
A beat.
“But you’re allowed to feel it without solving it.”
That made Ratio pause.
The faintest crease formed between his brows.
“Feeling does not alter outcome.”
“No,” Aventurine agreed quietly. “But refusing it won’t either.”
The room remained dim.
The corridor light painted a thin line across the floor.
Ratio exhaled slowly.
“I am not… refusing.”
“No,” Aventurine said softly. “You’re enduring.”
That did something.
Ratio’s shoulders lowered — barely.
Another moment passed.
Then, without commentary, he leaned.
Not dramatically.
Just enough that his shoulder met Aventurine’s.
Aventurine adjusted immediately.
No words.
One arm around Ratio’s back to grasp his shoulder.
Steadying him.
Be present for him.
Ratio did not move away.
They stayed like that.
The room was dark except for a faint corridor light slipping beneath the door that was left slightly ajar.
Reo appeared.
He did not enter immediately.
He lingered, ears angled toward the hallway, as though listening for something that did not come.
A soft sound left him — not quite a meow.
Higher. Thinner.
Uncertain.
Then he climbed quietly onto the bed.
Not onto Ratio.
Onto the space between them.
Aventurine shifted slightly, creating room without comment.
Reo did not settle at once.
He circled.
Pressed his nose against the blanket.
Lifted his head, listening again.
Another small sound — fragile, almost questioning.
Ratio’s hand eventually found the cat’s back.
Steady. Warm.
Aventurine reached as well, fingers brushing lightly along Reo’s side.
Between them, the small body trembled faintly before easing.
The cat tucked himself lower, pressing into the space where both their hands rested.
As if triangulating safety.
His breathing stuttered once or twice — uneven, like a child fighting sleep.
Then slower.
Not fully calm.
But less alone.
Ratio’s hand remained there long after Reo stilled.
His breathing remained shallow.
He did not sleep.
Aventurine did not either.
The house listened.
==========
The air changed before the call came.
Not audibly.
Just perceptibly.
The kind of stillness that presses against the ribs.
Aventurine was awake.
He had not intended to sleep.
Ratio’s eyes were open in the dark.
Neither spoke.
Between them, Reo stirred.
The kitten’s ears lifted sharply.
Not toward the door.
Toward the far corner of the ceiling.
He rose onto unsteady paws, staring at something neither of them could see.
A small sound escaped him — thin, confused.
He tilted his head once.
Twice.
Then another mew, softer this time.
Questioning.
Ratio followed the line of the kitten’s gaze.
There was nothing there.
Only shadow and plaster.
Reo took a hesitant step forward on the bed, as though tracking movement across empty air.
Then he stopped.
The fur along his back lifted faintly before settling again.
The silence thickened.
Aventurine felt it too.
Not fear.
Just… departure.
Then footsteps hurried down the corridor.
A knock.
Urgent.
The maid’s voice trembled beyond the door.
“Young master, the professor—”
Ratio was already standing.
The hallway lights were too bright.
Medical staff moved quickly but with the practiced restraint of those who know the outcome.
Aventurine stayed a step behind.
Close enough to steady.
Far enough not to interfere.
Inside the bedroom, machines hummed with rising urgency.
Rond’s breathing was uneven.
Not the shallow rest of earlier — but strained. Irregular.
A physician stood on the opposite side of the bed, issuing quiet instructions.
Another adjusted the oxygen flow.
Ratio moved to the bedside without hesitation.
He did not call out.
He did not plead.
He simply took his mentor’s hand.
“Teacher.”
Just that.
The fingers in his grasp were warm.
Slack.
A faint stir of air passed through Rond’s chest.
Once.
Twice.
The doctor murmured something about saturation levels.
A minor adjustment.
A pause.
The machine registered numbers that meant very little now.
The next breath came thinner.
Then—
A space where one should have been.
The physician leaned in.
A second attempt.
Another adjustment.
A gentle command.
No response.
The room did not erupt.
There was no dramatic alarm.
Only a soft exhale from someone who understood the limit had been reached.
Then — stillness.
Not loud.
Not sudden.
Just the absence of correction.
The absence of breath.
The absence of the man who once argued over proofs and handed out apples.
The house did not make a sound.
Ratio’s grip did not tighten.
It did not loosen either.
Aventurine stepped forward then.
Not to speak.
Just to stand beside him.
Within reach.
Reo leapt onto the bed.
He did not mew this time.
Instead, he moved toward Rond’s head. Pressing his small body against the pillow, nose nudging once at an unmoving cheek.
He waited.
As though expecting response.
None came.
Reo curled there anyway.
===========
The morning after was procedural.
Death certificates.
Signatures.
Time slots.
The butler — discreet, silver-haired, long accustomed to the rhythms of the house — coordinated with the funeral home.
But it was Aventurine who spoke with the director.
Measured.
Clear.
Unemotional.
“The ceremony will be modest,” he said. “No grand embellishments. Professor Rond valued discourse over spectacle.”
The director nodded.
“And the guest list?”
“Former students,” Aventurine replied. “Colleagues. No public announcements.”
He handled the church arrangements.
The transport.
The floral decisions.
He declined excessive wreaths.
He selected white lilies and simple greenery.
He arranged seating so Ratio would not be cornered by condolences.
He bought new black attire for both of them.
Not extravagant.
Immaculate.
Ratio noticed the garment placed at the foot of his bed.
He said nothing.
He wore it.
========
Ratio sorted through Rond’s belongings.
Slowly.
Methodically.
Books first.
Papers next.
Annotations categorized.
His movements were precise.
His thoughts were not.
He reread the same page twice without processing it.
Reo stayed close.
Sometimes on the desk.
Sometimes on the floor near his shoes.
The house felt larger.
Hollowed.
Voices echoed differently.
Aventurine entered occasionally.
Never long enough to interrupt.
Just long enough to ensure Ratio had eaten.
Just long enough to place a glass of water nearby.
Just long enough to confirm presence.
========
At the funeral, whispers traveled.
Not cruel.
Just curious.
“Is that an Avgin—?”
“They live together, I heard.”
“Such an unusual pair.”
Aventurine heard all of it.
He did not respond.
He stood beside Ratio with perfect composure.
When hands reached out to offer condolences, Aventurine gently redirected traffic when necessary.
“Thank you. He appreciates your presence.”
Ratio spoke when addressed.
Briefly.
Precisely.
He did not linger.
=========
The guests thinned.
The murmur softened.
The last of the flowers were adjusted.
Eventually, only the grave remained.
Ratio stood and gave his final respects.
Exhausted.
Worn.
Slightly unsteady from grief and lack of sleep.
Aventurine remained beside him.
Time passed without words.
Reo, cradled in Aventurine’s arms, was quiet.
Ratio did not cry.
He did not collapse.
But the rigid line of his posture had softened by a fraction.
“It is time,” he said at last.
Aventurine nodded and reached for his phone.
Before he could dial—
Ratio’s fingers closed around his wrist.
Not tight.
Just certain.
Aventurine stilled.
“I would prefer,” Ratio said, voice level but thinner than usual, “to remain a moment longer.”
The request was precise.
Aventurine lowered the phone.
Without comment, he turned his wrist slightly and covered Ratio’s hand with his own — steady, warm.
He guided them toward a nearby bench.
They sat.
Reo slipped down and hovered uncertainly near Aventurine’s knee.
Aventurine glanced at him once.
Then, without comment, he removed his hat.
The felt was expensive. Impeccable. Custom-lined.
He turned it over and placed it carefully on the bench beside him.
Reo stepped inside almost immediately.
Curled.
Settled.
Aventurine rested a steady hand along the rim, shielding the kitten from the wind.
Ratio noticed.
He said nothing.
For a moment, Ratio’s hand still rested at his wrist — as though testing whether the support would remain.
Aventurine answered by gently shifting his grip, sliding his fingers down to intertwine with Ratio’s.
This time, the hold was mutual.
The wind moved softly through the trees.
Minutes passed.
Ratio’s grip trembled once.
Aventurine felt it.
“I am sure,” he said quietly, eyes still on the stone, “that you fulfilled every expectation he ever had.”
Ratio’s mouth curved faintly.
“He believed expectations inefficient.”
“Yeah,” Aventurine replied. “But pride is not.”
A pause.
He shifted closer, their shoulders brushing.
“Stay as long as you need, doc,” he said softly.
A beat.
“I’m here.”
No insistence.
No reassurance layered on top.
Just fact.
Ratio did not respond.
But his fingers tightened.
And did not let go.
=========
After a long while, Ratio inhaled slowly.
“Let us return.”
Aventurine rose with him.
He retrieved the hat first, steadying it.
Ratio reached for Reo.
The kitten blinked up at him once before settling against his chest.
Aventurine set the hat back upon his head and extended his free hand.
Ratio took it.
His grip remained firm.
Together, they walked away from the stone.
Reo rested against Ratio’s chest.
Aventurine’s hand remained warm in his own.
The grave remained.
Ratio did not look back.
His hand stayed linked with Aventurine’s as they walked toward the open gate.
End.