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The Academic Footnote
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The first time was during a grueling strategy meeting at Pier Point. Aventurine was leaning over a holographic map, his gloved fingers tracing gold lines as he rambled about high-risk yields. Ratio was stood behind him, looking down at the top of Aventurine’s blonde head.
"Your logic regarding the Sigonian markets is… uncharacteristically sound," Ratio murmured, his voice low enough that it vibrated in his chest. "It borders on brilliant, actually."
Aventurine didn't even look up. He just laughed, a hollow, professional sound. "Flattery won't get you a discount on the buy-in, Doctor!" He thought it was a jab; Ratio meant it as a crown.
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The Poker Face
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The second time happened in a smoky lounge on Penacony. Aventurine had just swept a massive pot, his eyes gleaming with that manic, lucky spark. As he leaned back, looking small in the oversized velvet chair, Ratio leaned down to pick up a stray chip near Aventurine’s boots
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"You have a remarkable capacity for resilience," Ratio said quietly, his face inches from Aventurine’s knee. "Most men would have shattered under half that pressure. You are… impressive."
Aventurine was too busy flirting with the waitress for his next drink. "Impressive luck, right? Don't I know it!" He missed the way Ratio’s brow furrowed in genuine irritation that his praise had been mislabeled as "luck."
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The Late Night Script
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The third was in Ratio’s study. Aventurine had fallen asleep on a pile of research papers, his head resting on his arms. He looked younger when he wasn't trying to sell someone a dream. Ratio reached over to move a stray strand of hair, his hand lingering near the gambler's temple.
"You possess a kindness you try very hard to hide," Ratio whispered to the quiet room. "It is the most interesting thing about you."
Aventurine’s only response was a soft, rhythmic snore. He remained blissfully unaware that the most elitist man in the galaxy had just called him "kind."
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The Combat Critique
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The fourth occurred after a skirmish with IPC deserters. Aventurine was dusting off his coat, looking slightly disheveled. Ratio, who was significantly taller, stood over him, checking for injuries.
"Your reflexes are exceptional," Ratio noted, his eyes scanning Aventurine’s face with clinical intensity. "You move with the grace of someone who truly understands the physics of survival. It’s quite beautiful to witness."
Aventurine was busy complaining about a scuff on his shoe. "Yeah, yeah, Doc. 'Beautiful' physics. Can we go now? My feet are killing me."
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The Accidental Truth
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The fifth time, Ratio didn't realize Aventurine’s earpiece was still active. Ratio was across the room, looking at a portrait Aventurine had commissioned.
"He is the only person I’ve met who makes the pursuit of knowledge feel less lonely," Ratio said to himself, a rare, soft smile tugging at his lips.
On the other side of the room, Aventurine was fiddling with his cufflink, the audio feedback cutting out just as Ratio finished the sentence. He caught the word "lonely" and assumed Ratio was complaining about the decor again. "Don't worry, Doc, I'll get you a cat or something!"
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The Calculation Error
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Ratio had finally had enough. They were standing on a balcony overlooking the stars. Ratio was lecturing—as usual—but this time, the "lecture" was a list of every virtue Aventurine possessed, delivered with the blunt force of a textbook.
"And finally," Ratio finished, looking down at the gambler, "your intellect is the only one I find truly stimulating in this godforsaken IPC branch. Do you understand, or must I draw you a diagram?"
Aventurine froze. The teasing grin vanished. He looked up, way up, squinting against the starlight to meet Ratio’s eyes.
"Wait," Aventurine blinked, his voice small. "You actually... mean that?"
"I do not lie for the sake of conversation, gambler."
Aventurine laughed, but this time it was shaky. He realized he couldn't reach Ratio's face without a literal ladder. Undeterred, he grabbed Ratio’s heavy scholar’s cloak and yanked.
"Then come down here and say it to my face, you giant nerd," Aventurine hissed.
Ratio, startled by the sudden force, stumbled forward, bending at the waist to keep his balance. Aventurine seized the moment, stood on his tiptoes, and pressed a hard, desperate kiss to Ratio's lips.
It was clumsy because of the angle—Aventurine’s neck was straining and Ratio was doubled over like a folding chair—but Ratio quickly adjusted, his large hands coming up to steady Aventurine’s waist, lifting him just an inch off the ground to close the gap.
"Zero points for technique," Ratio murmured against his lips when they finally parted, "but a perfect score for the initiative."