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Clearly, the universe is aligning in a most inaccurate way, for Director Aventurine of the Ten Stonehearts is not in love with Dr. Veritas Ratio of the Intelligentsia Guild.
More curiously, how could this be? Perhaps those magenta and blue ringed irises serve as a veil to the ultimate truth— Veritas Ratio is perfect to fall in love with.
Why wouldn’t he be? He has smooth indigo hair that frames a sharp, handsome face. People swoon over those sunset eyes of his, only accentuated by perfectly calculated red eyeliner.
For Nous’ sake, even Veritas’ body is something to marvel over. He would know, he has memorised each curve, each line of muscle on each statue he carves. His abdominal muscles, pectorals and arm muscles are nothing to scoff at.
Aventurine could be less shallow, maybe he is someone who focuses less on the outer appearance and prefers the inner self. (False claims, he’s seen the IPC executive practically drool over Sunday Oak’s beauty. That man with his tendencies should get his mind checked by a psychiatrist, so liking him for his inner virtues is out of the question.)
Veritas’ personality may be…… thorny, as Aventurine himself kindly put it once, yes he will admit it, but there is nothing wrong with that.
He’s smart. Insanely so. He knows this, he has eight PHDs. He is capable of solving equations to theorems his professors could only dream of completing. He has the prestigious First Class Honors Degree that has been left vacant for two Amber Eras at the University of Veritas Prime.
So why in this universe is Aventurine not in love with him? Surely, like many of his students, coworkers and fans, Aventurine would realise his charms sooner or later and start feeling something for him?
“My my, doctor. You’re wearing quite the pretty frown. What problem could possibly plague your genius mind?” The recently promoted and possibly soon demoted Aventurine sprawls across the cream coloured sofa of his office, observing Veritas’ expression as an alabaster statue head appears to cover his face.
“None of your business. Cease your mindless chattering and focus on your work, gambler.”
The blond sitting across the room acts out a faux pout, his lips reddened by a dab of rouge just enough to be noticeable if one is observing but not enough to be then center of attention.
“I can’t help it, doc, I’m bored of this paperwork.” Aventurine laments, staring at his tablet as he types. “I can think of some……. other ways we can pass the time~”
“I will not repeat myself after this. Focus on your work, damned gambler.” Veritas wills away the plaster head just to pinch at his brow, before putting it back on with a small amount of Imaginary energy, just in time for his ears to get warmer at the bold proposition. This is why he knows Aventurine is absolutely not in love with him. A man in love would not freely flirt around casually with the object of his affections.
They are working on the “outrageous deficit in Astropolis’ newest project”, as Aventurine put it. Veritas would have to agree that the amount is truly staggering this time. 1 billion credits is no joking matter, but Aventurine seems to think otherwise. He is one of the richer IPC executives, with his insanely high success rates.
Veritas kindly offered his expertise on mathematics to help with comparing the ledgers, and now both of them are sitting in his office at Pier Point, sifting through all the documents of the accounts in Astropolis. Aventurine seems to be drafting some sort of report, though Veritas is unclear about the details.
“Mx. Stellaron is helping me gather evidence of the embezzlement.” Aventurine offers up some idle chatter, to someone who certainly does not appreciate it as such. “With help from our favourite hacker from the Stellaron Hunters, of course.”
“I would have assumed as such. The newest trailblazer does not seem to have any interest or experience with hacking. Miss Silver Wolf is far more suited for these scenarios, but also requires a far larger sum of credits to hire. ” Veritas checks another record, tallying up the sum mentally while looking for discrepancies.
“The Stellaron-holder trailblazer, they’re not the newest anymore. I heard from Madam Jade that our favourite Family head joined the Astral Express a while ago.” Aventurine smirks, fiddling with a chip in his left hand. “Though he doesn’t seem to have any interest in hacking either.”
Veritas pauses, looking at Aventurine through the alabaster plaster head. “You’ve been…….”
“Not precisely, but you know, gotta keep in touch with all my friends. The handsome Mister Sunday was quite easy to keep tabs on, considering his imprisonment and escape were all curated by Madam Jade.” Aventurine tosses the coin. Veritas cannot see the outcome, only infer that it is something welcome to Aventurine from his wide, dangerous grin.
A shiver goes down Veritas’ spine. He goes back to working. Yet another reason Aventurine is undoubtedly not in love with Veritas. He brings up Sunday Oak far too frequently for no reason. Admittedly, the man is stunning, but he should have been extraneous in their conversations months ago.
“Doc, you’re no fun.” Aventurine sighs, tossing the coin into the air again. “Play with me a little, won’t ya?”
“I will not ‘play with you’, do you need a reminder that it is your mess I’m fixing right now?” Veritas chides, unamused.
Aventurine leans back, glancing at his tablet lying on the coffee table instead of being in his hands. “And I am ever grateful for that, Ratio. Drinks tonight, my treat?”
“Only if we get through all of these before eight.” Veritas sighs. He never seems to be able to refuse Aventurine somehow, but he can at least add conditions.
“Right, doc! Anything for you~” Aventurine raises his arms and stretches, cracking his fingers. He sits up straight again and actually starts working, after almost an hour of pestering Veritas.
Veritas goes back to his own tablet. It is a welcome reprieve, for sure. Aventurine’s voice may be saccharine and smooth, but the more irrelevant he talks, the more irritating his words become.
The man is far more bearable when he is focused, hard at work. Of course, Veritas does not enjoy seeing him too hard at work. Case in point: Penacony, where Aventurine decided his life was worth completing his job.
Veritas didn’t cry, back then, when Aventurine awoke from the dream, physically unscathed but doubtlessly mentally scathed. How could he, when Aventurine cracked open one eye and immediately gave a self-assured smirk, exhausted as he was?
He felt numb then. The IPC director, intelligent as he is, surely should have known Veritas can see through his guise.
Aventurine isn’t in love with him. This much is certain when the gambler insists on keeping up a front, a mask that hides everything around Veritas.
It’s ridiculous, a peacock fanning out its train of tail feathers, not out of true attraction but desperate necessity.
Veritas continues with the work, pausing to look at Aventurine when he accepts a phone call.
“A budget of 1.2 billion credits, but only 100 million reaches the “Human Resources Department”. Hah.” Aventurine runs his fingers through his golden hair after listening to the Trailblazer talk about the situation. “I originally thought I’d just cover the shortfall myself if things got annoying. But now, I have no plans to do any of that.”
Aventurine cocks his head as the Trailblazer responds, their voice as deadpan as ever. Veritas cannot hear what they say, can only surmise it is either a poorly spoken joke or a calm expression to ask for further instructions.
“I’m counting on you. The good news is, my luck’s pretty good.” Aventurine smiles carefully. Veritas scoffs at that. Pretty good? Aventurine’s luck can only be described as almost divine intervention with how many times he should have died already. “The photoshoot’s been delayed, gives us a bit more time.”
Veritas furrows his brow, his expression lost behind the plaster head. The photoshoot in Astropolis was not changed in any way, ever since Aventurine brought up the details one dinner. Why was Aventurine lying to the Trailblazer?
“The department above the two is ‘Intangible Assets’. Follow this lead and you’ll definitely snag a big one.” Aventurine continues, twirling a stray thread on his corset-vest mindlessly. “Well then, good luck~” He ends the call with a click, setting down his phone on the glass coffee table.
“Why are you lying to the grey-haired trailblazer?” Veritas asks. There is no purpose in stating the truth, unless…….
“I know your entire thing is all about truth, but rest assured I’m not lying for no reason.” Aventurine shrugs, turning to look at Veritas. “Who knows what or who might be listening to the call? Better safe than sorry, right, doc?”
“…….You suspect there may be an enemy listening on the other end of the call?”
“Ding~!”
Veritas considers this for a fleeting moment. It wasn’t out of the question, not when the issue was this prominent.
“I suppose that could be possible, yes.” Veritas nods, turning back to his tablet. He really is distracted today.
Aventurine laughs coldly, adjusting his tie. “It’s almost certain there’s someone listening. I’d bet my life it’s one of the embezzlers.”
Veritas wills away his bust just to glare at him fiercely.
“Fine, fine, not my life. 1 billion credits?” Aventurine chuckles sheepishly.
“Just……focus, gambler.” Veritas scowls. Aventurine was so concentrated earlier, he really shouldn’t indulge him with idyllic chatter as if there isn’t a far more pressing matter in front of them.
“As you wish.” Aventurine smiles. It isn’t genuine, most of his smiles, smirks, laughs aren’t. If he loved Veritas, surely he would give a real smile.
They work in silence, crimson meeting magenta and cyan rings occasionally. The eye contact is brief, Veritas always looks away quickly.
“Are you finished?” After two system hours, Veritas breaks the comfortable silence. Aventurine is fidgeting, bouncing his leg, chewing his lip, which means he is. Veritas shouldn’t have asked such a redundant question.
“I was waiting for you to ask.” Aventurine stands up far too quickly, stretching with a yawn.
“Well, my work was far more mentally demanding. Of course you finished first.” Veritas protests, going to the blond as he packs his luxury leather briefcase.
“You asked for it, doc. Who am I to deny you?” Aventurine grins, poking his arm. “I’m hungry, Ratio. Dinner, then drinks? I know you’re free, I checked your schedule. You’re not escaping me that easily~”
“Fine.” Veritas concedes without much hesitation. He still has papers to mark, courtesy of a class in two days and Aventurine’s crisis, but he supposes he could make some time for the intellectually stimulating gambler.
———
Veritas Ratio isn’t in love with Aventurine, which, really, is a bit of a shame.
It’s quite queer (literally) that he is not. Aventurine flaunts his charm like another tool at his disposal, dresses flamboyantly at all times, flirts with him like there’s no tomorrow.
The good doctor just won’t look at him! This is why Aventurine knows in all his heart Ratio doesn’t like him— no matter the sickening amount of flowery perfume he sprays, the clothes he wears that subtly show off his chest, waist, legs and everything any other person might enjoy looking at, or mild makeup to enhance his features, the stone cold professor simply looks away in disdain.
Aventurine understands, maybe fancy glasses and poker chips aren’t Ratio’s type, but what is there to judge?
Aventurine’s two-toned eyes are completely unique in this universe. His face is flawless, smooth and pale after expensive skincare and spa treatments. He’s rich enough that he could probably buy a small planet with half his savings.
It could be his Avgin nature, but Ratio is not bigoted or prejudiced by race. His cunning, maybe? How he wields honeyed words like a weapon, throws credits at any problems he encounters carelessly? But it is simply what he does, and Ratio seems to be more……. casually annoyed than scorned.
(It could be how Aventurine doesn’t quite care about himself, translating onto the doctor’s own feelings. But Ratio cares, somehow, in his own stoic way.)
So why would Veritas Ratio not be in love with Aventurine? Surely he’s wealthy enough, handsome enough. Each person he intrigues cannot resist him, enjoys his devilish charm. Even that angelically beautiful Family head, who freaking tried to kill him.
His flirting doesn’t seem to work. Mentioning others, whether it is their appearances or personalities do not make him jealous. Through foul mouthed teases and bold provocations, Ratio looks on, unperturbed. (Entirely untrue. Ratio blushes and splutters out thoughtless answers, but none of it is out of romance.)
Aventurine simply has to continue to pester Ratio, all for his own sake. Ratio……. is the only person who Aventurine trusts to be close to, different from the calculating Madam Jade and the ever annoyed Topaz. Sure, his dear doctor nags and scolds him, but he understands Aventurine’s signals, works well with him and actually seems like he cares specifically for him.
Sooner or later, Ratio will have to fall for Aventurine of his own accord. If he could only keep the gentle, intelligent doctor for a while longer, Aventurine must deploy all he has at his disposal.
“Have another drink, doctor~” Aventurine gestures for the bartender to come over. He and Ratio sit next to each other on flimsy stools, with a few empty glasses strewn across the bar.
“What are you scheming, damned gambler?” Ratio squints at him, mildly intoxicated. He sways, under the influence of one too many drinks. Aventurine holds out a hand to steady him.
“My treat, remember? Better make the most out of it!” Aventurine smiles shrewdly, observing as red creeps from Ratio’s ears to his neck.
“……Do as you wish.” Ratio mutters, nodding his acquiescence.
“Maybe a glass of water would be best.” Aventurine tells the bartender. There is no use in getting Ratio stupidly drunk, lest he lose consciousness and Aventurine has to drag him to his apartment like the last few times they went drinking. (All his fault, but hey, who’s counting except sober Ratio?)
Ratio slumps against the bar table, murmuring quietly. Aventurine can’t quite catch it over the loud chatter of the crowd or the music so deafening he can feel its vibrations.
“You’ll have to speak up, doc.” Aventurine reaches out a hand to caress Ratio’s cheek, but stops himself in the nick of time. He must have drank too much today.
The bartender arrives with a glass of water. They’re quite the beauty, long silver hair tumbling down to their waist with piercing blue eyes and a bored expression on their face. A nametag is clipped to their apron, but the dim lights and a lack of interest prevent Aventurine from reading the letters on it.
“Thanks.” He says, and doesn’t smile at them. Ratio was looking at them earlier, or perhaps just in their general direction. Aventurine did smile at them earlier in the evening, but alcohol has inhibited his ability to continue doing so.
Maybe they’re Ratio’s type. Ratio could possibly prefer cold people who don’t spare him a glance. Who have lighter coloured hair, who have eyes that do not paint them as freaks. This is why Ratio doesn’t love him— Ratio looks at others too much to do so. How could he resist, when the universe and its people are so unfairly beautiful? (Should he lighten his hair?)
“Here, Ratio.” Aventurine tilts Ratio’s chin up to reveal hazy eyes staring at him. Shit, he really did force too many drinks on him.
Ratio chuckles, a sweet sound covered by the rowdy sounds of everything around them. Aventurine’s momentarily distracted as the doctor holds the glass unsteadily and drinks half of the water unsteadily.
“In your opinion, ostentatious gambler, is this glass half full or half empty?” Ratio slurs, his deep monotone but a blur in the foreground as he sets down the glass with a clink.
“Really, Ratio? You have a doctorate in philosophy, why are you pondering such questions?” Aventurine prompts coyly. “I’m more of a realist, as you may realise.”
“‘Tis but a way to understand others further.” Ratio waves his hand dismissively. Aventurine dodges the hand quickly as it swerves in his direction.
“I think you already understand me well enough.” Aventurine grabs the glass back and finishes the water, drinking from the place the doctor drank without much thought. He gives the bartender his credit card to pay while Ratio seems to mull over his statement.
When the bartender hands him back his card, a note with their number is attached. Once Aventurine manages to get Ratio out of the pub and onto the dark streets, his arm around Ratio’s muscular waist, he disposes of it in the first trash can he sees. Perhaps Mx. Stellaron, if they were to visit Pier Point in the future, would find it somehow. Aventurine is still mildly disturbed when he remembers scenes of the grey-haired trailblazer digging through the trash cans in the dreamscape, despite several warnings from passerbys and authorities.
“I understand you well enough.” Ratio repeats, the first thing he’s spoken for ten minutes or so.
“Yes, unfortunately you do.” Aventurine grabs Ratio’s right arm with his left when he stumbles a bit too far. “I don’t understand it, truly. How do you know what’s wrong with me before you fix me?”
Nights spent after missions with Ratio tending to him, giving him water, food, medicine before he even opens his mouth. The doctor, grumbling that he should sleep, somehow knew his eyelids were already halfway through closing. Wordlessly checking on him before he knows he’s hurt. Ratio tells him things about himself he shouldn’t know, that he doesn’t get drunk because can’t let himself be intoxicated in front of anyone.
“Damned gambler, I’m not fixing you.” Ratio looks at him, and he’s so, so red. His pupils are dilated, his expression unsure. His face is just a little too close to Aventurine’s. Unfortunately, the turn of his head also causes him to stop walking, making Aventurine trip over his own feet as he tries to drag Ratio along.
Aventurine steps out a foot to catch himself before he falls. He cannot fall, his face is far too precious for that. This isn’t conceited, he actually has a photoshoot in Astropolis soon. He cannot afford his face to be bruised.
“Doctor, continue walking.” Aventurine smiles at Ratio, slightly pissed. “My apartment is but a street away, if you cooperate with me here—“
“We’re partners, no?”
“Well, business wise, yes. But anything else, I’d accept.” Words slip out before he can stop them, reminding Aventurine he also drank a fair amount.
“I’ll cooperate!” Ratio declares, standing up straight suddenly. He starts walking briskly, pulling Aventurine along. It should probably have been helpful, but the drunken Ratio cannot help but walk so unsteadily he almost falls over.
“H-hey, Ratio, slow down!” Aventurine scolds himself mentally for the voice crack, luckily Ratio doesn’t seem to notice.
“Your apartment?” Ratio comes to a halt, looking around him all confused. “We’re going to your apartment?”
“Geez, doc.” Aventurine sighs as Ratio almost trips him again. “You really are a force to be reckoned with when you’re drunk.”
“But you’re not in love with me.” Ratio blurts out quickly, before slumping onto Aventurine’s shoulder.
“Huh— hey! Keep walking, and what is that supposed to mean?” Aventurine admonishes for once. Usually it’s Ratio who suffers the brunt of their drinking, but, oh well.
What does that statement mean? He’s not in love with Ratio…… Well, of course he isn’t. Despite the nosy comments from Mx. Stellaron, his attraction to Ratio has always been purely aesthetic and platonic. Is it his fault Ratio’s highly beautiful? No, but he could at least stare at his close friend and admire his beauty.
He’s into men, but not specifically the aggravating, socially inept, obtuse know-it-all that is…… a few seconds away from face planting into the ground. Fuck.
Aventurine hoists Ratio up, relieved to see the large gold plated doors and the familiar security guard, who doesn’t spare them a glance as Aventurine pulls the doctor into an elevator and leans him against the railing as he presses the button to his floor. Floor 77, a lucky number.
They wait in silence as elevator music fills the space, enough space for twenty people comfortably because Aventurine lives in one of the most luxurious apartment complexes the IPC owns. Perks of being a Stoneheart, other than, y’know, the whole slavery contract thing.
He’d joke about that to Ratio, but he’s never told Ratio about his life, and the poor drunk doctor is currently holding onto the handrail as if it were his lifeline.
Ratio mentioned earlier that Aventurine isn’t in love with him. He sounded bothered, somehow. Why would he be bothered by Aventurine not loving him?
More importantly, is Aventurine in love with the doctor? His appearance is certainly attractive, with luscious purple hair that’s thick and shiny, a distinctly tall nose that scrunches at anything he dislikes, his usual outfits revealing slivers of skin along his waist and chest. (No, Aventurine stares at Ratio's body a normal amount. Or whatever the definition of normal is when someone’s this gorgeous.)
His eyes cannot be described by anything but beautiful. Long, dark lashes frame crimson red eyes, sometimes stern, sometimes kind.
But Veritas Ratio has far more than just looks. He’s incredibly thorough, keeping track of any and all mission details. He’s seen Aventurine through all his highs and lows, holding out a hand when he was heavily wounded, just a pile on the ground. He’s patched Aventurine up after every mission they complete together, knows his injuries and sore spots well enough he can recognise his aches before Aventurine opens his mouth.
Despite all this, Aventurine cannot love him. Ratio is noble, his entire life is dedicated to educating others and curing ignorance. Ratio is resilient, working tirelessly to gain the approval of Nous. Ratio is astute, observing everything while remembering anything he tells him.
This is why Aventurine cannot love him. Everything Aventurine, no, Kakavasha has ever loved has—
The elevator opens with a ding. Aventurine snaps out of his thoughts, grabbing Ratio’s arm and pulling him out of the elevator with ease. He seems to have sobered up a little during the long lift ride. His eyes look clearer, his movements a little more deliberate as he follows Aventurine to his apartment— number 7707, obviously.
Aventurine rummages through his pockets for the keycard, finds it in his left pants pocket as always. He ignores how Ratio reaches his hand for the pocket before he gets the card and swipes it quickly.
“Home sweet home, doc. Nice to be back, eh?” Aventurine nudges Ratio as they step into the doorway— the automatic door opens silently to reveal an ostentatious apartment, much like its owner. Ratio hasn’t been back for what, three system months?
“No, it was 97 days. I thought you were good with numbers?” Ratio mumbles. Aventurine must have said that out loud accidentally.
“We can’t all have a doctorate in mathematics, good doctor. It would ruin the novelty.” Aventurine ushers him in quickly as Ratio immediately slumps into the impossibly soft sofa where Aventurine tends to spend the night when Ratio’s over.
“Nope, you take my bed as always. Come on, Ratio. Let’s get you to take a bath.” Aventurine leans over the half-asleep doctor, who mumbles something incomprehensible back.
“Come on~” Aventurine coaxes, seemingly to no avail until Ratio sits up and gazes at him intensely.
“Enough, doctor. You’re going to make a man shy if you stare any longer.” Aventurine chuckles nervously, admitting more than he would like to. “What is it? Spit it out, it’s late.”
“I— I didn’t mean to say that earlier.” Ratio muttered quietly. “When I—“
“When you said I don’t love you. I don’t mind, really, since it’s true.” Aventurine cuts him off, sitting down beside the beautiful purple haired doctor. “It’s true both ways, I assume?”
“Your assumption would be correct. I bear no romantic feelings for you.” Ratio states. He doesn’t look upset. He doesn’t look like he is lying.
Aventurine doesn’t understand why his stomach twists at that. Fine then, he will have to try harder to make Ratio fall for him. (All this just to keep him around.)
“Are you uncomfortable then, when I flirt with you?” Aventurine purrs, giving him a bold smirk. “You look so pretty when you’re all red and flustered, y’know?”
“No, it is in your nature.” Ratio shifts uncomfortably. “Refrain from doing so. It is quite distracting.”
“Hm, looks like your head’s a little clearer.” Aventurine stands up, extending a perfectly manicured hand to the doctor. “Now, go take your shower or bath or whatever, and please go to sleep.”
Ratio takes it. His hand is warm and soft.
When Ratio takes a bath in the smaller bathroom, Aventurine does not go shower in the master bathroom attached to his room. No, he stays outside the bathroom, listening to the splashes of water. A force of habit, coming from the times he purposefully got the doctor drunk before taking care of him.
It doesn’t quite rival the way Ratio took care of him after Penacony, when he stayed in Aventurine’s apartment for two weeks to check on his vitals and mental well-being.
The doctor had to sleep on Aventurine’s sofa each night, as his spare room was converted into an entertainment area for the cat cakes, which he can hear snoring quietly behind the door across the bathroom. This was the reason Aventurine had the sofa replaced for one that can become a bed if necessary— Aventurine may not mind sleeping on his old one, but he doesn’t want Ratio to.
Splashes of water, the doctor humming quietly for himself as he relaxes, running water from the pipes. Aventurine listens, sitting outside the door with his legs to his chest.
Aventurine doesn’t know why he does it. It’s not even as if he’s in love with Veritas Ratio.
———
Wrong. Zero points.
Everything feels wrong, from the pounding in Veritas’ head to the sensory nightmare that is the soft, too smooth silk sheets surrounding him and the satin pajamas he wears.
Oh, and the creature sitting on his chest.
When Veritas’ eyes adjust to the morning light, since he apparently forgot to close the curtains the previous night, he realises the weight on his ribcage is in fact, not one cat cake, but all three of Aventurine’s.
He’s in Aventurine’s room, waking up in his enormous bed. The space next to him is empty. That is normal, Aventurine sleeps on his just-as-soft sofa when he stays over.
What’s abnormal are the three cat cakes perching on him, a blanket away from digging the bottom one, Honey Dice’s claws into his skin. Honey Dice, Blueberry Jar and Sundae Angelica all press their full weight on his chest as a stack of very heavy cat cakes, rendering him gasping for air.
“Meow!” Honey Dice complains as he lifts all three of them off him. Why are the cat cakes in Aventurine’s room? Aren’t they usually in the spare room Aventurine transformed into their entertainment space?
“Blueberry Jar, what are you three doing here?” Veritas asks his look-alike, a violet-furred creature with red-lined eyes, much like his usual red eyeliner. Blueberry Jar is the only one who can communicate verbally with people, though the others convey enough through their body language and gestures. It prefers not to, as a creature of solitude and good taste.
“The gambler opened the door and let us in.” Blueberry Jar informs Veritas, whose nose scrunches at the nickname. He shouldn’t have called Aventurine “gambler” in front of the cakes when he first gave them to the blond, Blueberry Jar is incredibly sharp and picked up on the nickname immediately.
“My own baby calls me a gambler, Ratio!” Aventurine lamented to him when they went out for dinner after adopting the cat cakes.
“I approve. Blueberry Jar is simply calling you what you are.” Veritas nodded back to him.
Now, the use of the name is jarring. It is his usual nickname for the frivolous gambler, after all. Especially when Blueberry Jar says it in a voice that mirrors his own deep tone.
“Aventurine.” Veritas corrects. The little cat cake ignores him and returns back to its nonverbal state as Honey Dice strikes up an argument with it.
“Meow!”
“Miaou.” Blueberry Jar retorts, annoyed.
Sundae Angelica yowls, chiming into the conversation.
Veritas realises he is staring at the cakes a little too much, and resolves to stop mentally narrating the cakes’ rather loud discussion.
Speaking of which, where were the cat cakes the previous night? Veritas doesn’t remember seeing them before he went to sleep. Last night, he gave in to Aventurine’s incessant prompts for more drinks, which is the prime reason for his headache. Then, Aventurine brought him to his apartment as always, and—
Veritas winces. The pounding in his head only grows stronger, as a hazy memory surfaces.
“But you’re not in love with me.” His own voice, obscured by the veil of alcohol. “I don’t mind, really. since it’s true.” Aventurine, honest for once in the years they’ve known each other. “You look so pretty when you’re all red and flustered, y’know?” Again with the flirts, especially after they proclaimed their lack of interest in each other.
He isn’t in love with Aventurine, he knows this. But when Aventurine drags him out of his inspiration slump, uses probability and what can only be defined as a gambler’s logic to help him with equations, tries so hard at understanding his research despite his lack of formal education— Veritas grips the silk sheets he lies on when his head pangs, only for his hands to slip at the lack of friction.
He needs water, and to freshen up. Veritas sits up unsteadily, nearly banging his head against the headboard. Aeons, how did he let the gambler convince him to drink this much?
“You’re awake.” Aventurine enters the room, his voice raspy from the early morning.
“What time is it?” Veritas asks, frowning at the hoarseness of his voice. It doesn’t feel right. His voice cracks on the third syllable.
“It’s nine syst—“ Aventurine’s phone rings. He answers, the carefully concealed venom in his tone displaying his irritation. After a brief moment, the blond’s demeanor relaxes slightly.
“Ah, thank you for your help, my friend.” Aventurine grits his teeth, but manages to smile, even if the person calling can’t see him. “Whatever funds that group didn’t manage to squander, combined with the assets they’ve hoarded over the years, will be more than enough to plug this billion-credit deficit. You two certainly work fast.”
He listens, and laughs professionally. “Haha, to use a piece of corporate jargon they’re so fond of, let’s call it “optimization”. A fitting end for a digital lifeform, too.”
Aventurine moves over to sit on the bed next to Veritas, still talking. “I took a close look at the records you sent over, and found quite a few suspicious details. So, after you breached the Information Security Department, I decided to follow what you did and poke around the system myself. Good thing I have the authority to make personnel decisions of this caliber.”
Veritas mouths, “What did you do, Aventurine?” The blond ignores him.
“Anyway, you have my gratitude. You’ll receive the promised reward in full. If you can, please send my regards to your friend as well.” Aventurine continues smoothly. “Don’t you find the whole thing strange? The head of the Information Security Department turns out to be a Punklorde hacker who started from nothing, yet is somehow sitting on massive accounts filled with untraceable funds.”
What did Aventurine find out before nine in the morning? As far as Veritas is concerned, the head of the Information Security Department is someone who helps with information leaks, especially when research in the Intelligentsia Guild is involved. Punklorde hacker? Damned gambler, always getting swept up in things.
“Terminating his employment requires the approval of the ‘Ten Stonehearts’, hiring him naturally required it too.” Aventurine pauses, thinking hard. This is when Aventurine is most attractive, not when he acts flirty and playful. When Aventurine schemes, he lets down his frivolous persona. His eyes narrow suspiciously, darting across the room as they’re cold and calculating.
It is utterly captivating to watch Aventurine plot, deciding his next move with such vigilance it’s hard to believe he is a bold, reckless gambler. It is because he isn’t, gambling is merely a pastime for him. Between them, it is Aventurine who plans their every move during missions.
“When someone slides their chips across the table, it would be rude of me not to call their bet.” Aventurine concludes. “It seems I’ll have to attend that commercial shoot in Astropolis.”
He hangs up. Veritas has a plethora of questions, but he decides to tend to his needs first. “I need water.” Veritas states, moving to get out of bed. The thick, heavy blanket on his legs is warm, but Aventurine keeps his temperature controlled apartment cold. Veritas is a little reluctant to leave the bed.
Nevertheless, his head, his limbs and his throat all hurt, and he slips out of the blanket anyway to swing his legs off the bed.
Aventurine pats his arm, pointing at the bedside table which graciously has a glass of warm water. Veritas scarfs it down quickly, gratefully.
“Thank you.” His voice sounds somewhat normal again, save for the light rasp at the edges of it. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…….” Veritas stands up.
Aventurine chuckles, and Veritas is momentarily distracted by the sound. He really shouldn't be bothered by the low laugh. He walks to the door, and finds Aventurine’s smaller bathroom to freshen up.
Veritas uses the toilet, then washes his hands. The soap has a strong scent, which only serves to worsen his headache. He rinses the suds off quickly, grimacing.
Next to the sink is a spare guest toothbrush in a paper cup and Veritas’ favourite brand of toothpaste. It is new, Veritas used up the last of the toothpaste he brought the last time he was here. Veritas doesn’t think of what this may imply. Nonetheless, he is grateful for the familiarity of the taste of menthol with green tea.
“I don’t mind, really, since it’s true.” Veritas’ assumptions were confirmed by the gambler himself. Aventurine truly does not love him.
Why, then, does he feel such discomfort with the statement? Something in his chest pains him, achingly so. Veritas attributes it to the massive hangover from the previous night.
So what if Aventurine is not in love with him? This means his hypothesis is tested and true. Aventurine does not love him, but one day, surely he will. The many admirers he has are a testament to how easy it is to fall in love with Veritas, after all.
But if Aventurine falls in love with him, then what? Veritas wouldn’t love him back. Perhaps he wants this just to sleep peacefully, knowing yet another person has fallen for him.
“Or perhaps, you want him to fall in love with you because there’s something deeper within that you want.” An intrusive thought tells him. It is quickly dismissed, though the idea lingers.
Indeed, it is strange. Why does Veritas want Aventurine to love him? Most likely due to his ego, and the inescapable urge to be loved. Veritas is only a man, and yearning to be loved is not unique to him.
(But he is loved. Thousands of admirers, despite his temperament, send him love emails and flowers here and there. His parents undoubtedly love him, even if they care more about his achievements. He has his friends, few as they are, and they all love him platonically.
Aventurine is different, this much he can conclude. Is it so strange that he wants someone who closes off his heart, who never lets anyone in, who smiles at everyone with a sweet, fake smile to love?)
Yearning to be loved— is it really so different from loving? For surely if he loves, he wants to be loved in return. So why is he so insistent he doesn’t love Aventurine? It wouldn’t be too bad, surely, except for the ordeal of not being loved in return.
Veritas spits out the toothpaste froth in his mouth to the sink, and gargles some water to rid him of the taste of toothpaste. There remains a bitter taste in his mouth, one he doesn’t know how to get rid of.
It is years later before he comes to the correct conclusion. For someone so smart, he doesn’t know how it took him this long.
For now, he wears Aventurine’s pajamas, sleeps in Aventurine’s bed alone, and knows everything about the gambler that Aventurine lets him.
Someday, Aventurine will buy comfortable linen sheets and there’ll be someone sleeping next to him when staying at Aventurine’s apartment. Someday, the soap in Aventurine’s bathroom will be aptly scented with something less irritating, not requested by Veritas but still replaced. Someday, he’ll get used to waking up with an arm slung around his waist and Aventurine’s drool on his pillow.
Someday.
———
Aventurine feels sick to his stomach. It’s the wine he drank, while half of what Ratio consumed, still includes around two glasses or so.
Aventurine isn’t a lightweight, his profession doesn’t allow it, during honeypot schemes or dinners with his coworkers where he is expected to drink but stay sober.
He drank himself half to death for half a month before Ratio intervened, right after he failed his first mission. This naturally built up his tolerance to the intoxicating substance, to the point where the most drunk he gets from average amounts of drinking is tipsy, the kind where his lips grow a little too loose for his comfort.
Naturally, this state is only witnessed by Veritas Ratio, the only person whom he can trust to keep his secrets.
Ratio tries to understand him, Aventurine is aware of that. But Aventurine cannot let Ratio truly know him, because he is afraid.
Yes, the cowardly gambler admits his faults. Aventurine is deeply terrified that the one person he has allowed to get this close to him will leave once the mask is peeled, once the doctor finds out how truly despicable this sorry excuse for a human being is.
Falling in love means letting down his guard. Aventurine must keep it up, just so he knows they will meet again. But Veritas Ratio must fall for him. Aventurine doesn’t mind playing the role of a loving partner if it means Ratio can be closer to him, even if Aventurine bears no feelings for the doctor.
So the frivolous peacock persists in fanning its feathers, playing a game where he must emerge as the final victor. He pushes all his chips forward, declaring his catchphrase— “All or Nothing.”
Aventurine risks it all, their hard earned friendship, the only person he trusts to this degree, someone who genuinely cares for him. There’s a chance he could gain victory— certainty that Ratio will always be by his side, a closeness that he irrationally wants, a companion. He’s a gambler, so he takes the bet. He’s lucky, so he’ll win at the end.
Therefore, Aventurine flirts and smirks and teases Ratio to no end. He intentionally mentions how others look attractive to him, the highly handsome Mr. Sunday, the pretty lady sipping on drinks by herself at the bar, the DJ at the club with curly dark hair and music he cannot get enough of.
Aventurine buys him well-intentioned gifts, whether it is lab equipment for his research or the newest robotic chalk, guaranteed to be smooth.
Ratio appreciates the latter, Aventurine knows it when he receives a reluctant “Thank you” and lavish presents in return. The first two, the doctor, ever the professional, ignores completely. In fact, if Ratio wasn’t someone of his caliber, Aventurine would wager he doesn’t even notice the flirting.
It’s not supposed to be anything but a desperate attempt for Ratio’s continuous attention. Aventurine knows better than anyone that peace is not guaranteed, tomorrow is not promised. Ratio could grow bored of him and cease to contact him altogether.
If Ratio falls in love with him, this issue is fixed completely. Aventurine can be quite the seducer, he’s reasonably confident he can keep a man in love with him for as long as he wants. He’s even filed a restraining order on one of his exes, who stayed deeply in love with him after being discarded, to the point of obsession.
Ratio will be his.
If he knew of these thoughts, then—
Ratio enters his bedroom, less disgruntled than earlier. Aventurine lets a smile slip out as the three cat cakes scamper over to Ratio, Honey Dice meowing at his feet while Sundae Angelica and Blueberry Jar watch fondly.
Ratio picks them all up in a stack and sets them next to Aventurine. Their arms touch briefly, but Ratio doesn’t linger on the touch.
Why doesn’t he? If Aventurine flirts more, initiates more touching, maybe Ratio would want to be near him. But Ratio has a strong sense of personal space, and Aventurine would rather not make him uncomfortable by crossing any of his boundaries.
“Was that the Trailblazer just now?” The doctor asks after a moment’s pause, sitting on the bed with the cakes between them. A distance too large.
“You’re going to have to be specific with that. Do you mean Miss Himeko, with her fiery red hair? Perhaps Mr. Yang, mysterious and mature? Or the Vidyadhara former High Elder Dan Heng, the lovely Miss Ma—“
“The grey-haired one.” Ratio interrupts before he can continue with the list.
“Mroww!” Blueberry Jar agrees.
“Ah, doctor. You know there are more than one grey-haired trailblazers in the Astral Express. The elusive and beautiful Mister Sunday, with his silky silver hair or the trash enthusiast Mx. Stellaron, who—“
“Stop it with your—“
“You do know Mr. Yang seems to be greying too, r—“
“Yes, the Stellaron holder, Aventurine.” Ratio sounds exasperated when he cuts in yet again. “Please refrain from acting dumb. You are further worsening my headache.”
“What was their name again, hm?” Aventurine muses. He intended for this to be another tease, but now that he thinks of it, he is horrified to find he truly does not know.
“I think it’s—“ Ratio pauses, also deep in thought. “What was it?”
“Meow?”
Both his and Ratio’s memories are sharper than most, so if neither of them could remember, then they should leave it to another day. This unnerves both of them, which Aventurine can tell from the wrinkle forming on the corners of Ratio’s eyes.
“Ah, forget it.” Aventurine gives a nervous laugh. Better not mess with another of the universe’s enigmas. “Yes, it was them. They informed me that they caught the main perpetrator.”
“The head of the Information Security Department, a former Punklorde hacker.” Ratio nods. “You suspect…… one of the other Stonehearts?”
“Jade and Topaz have the least animosity towards me, and Pearl is only interested in forging her paintings.” Aventurine states, listing out his coworkers. “Amber remains neutral in most cases, she lacks the drive to do anything against me.”
“Question: Are you certain this was because of you?”
“The results of the deficit would certainly ruin me of all Stonehearts, let’s just say.” Aventurine sighs. “Last I heard, Agate might not be alive. Obsidian, ever the vicious mystery, does not believe in my methods. It could be her, but I’m not aware of her motive. Sapphire holds oaths at high regards and wouldn’t dare to ruin me after I got reinstated as ‘Aventurine’.
“Opal dislikes me, he has made that clear. But not to this degree, not when he still believes I have some use towards Diamond. This leaves—“
“Sugilite.” Ratio cuts in. “So you believe it’s either Sugilite or Obsidian, or perhaps the possibly dead Agate.”
“Yes, doc, but not Agate. If it were them using their clearance for hiring the Punklorde hacker, Obsidian wouldn’t be saying Agate might not be alive. Each of us leaves traces whenever we do anything in the IPC.”
“Hm, logical.”
“My, how flattering. The fine doctor himself is calling me logical.” Aventurine leans closer to Ratio. The cat cakes, namely Sundae Angelica, shoves a paw in his face. “Hey!”
“Even your cat cake finds you irritating.” Ratio shakes his head, and maybe his voice sounds a little fond. Aventurine can’t fully tell, of course. “Now then, shall we pause with the scheming and have some breakfast? I’m rather famished. All I’ve had since our dinner last night was copious amounts of alcohol, thanks to someone here.”
“Yeah, who else but a certain doctor with eight doctorates to be blamed for drinking too much?” Aventurine smirks, petting the slightly agitated Sundae Angelica.
“Who else indeed.” Ratio looks at him, unamused.
“Come now, Ratio.” Aventurine stands up, extending a hand to the annoyed doctor. “I’ll cook.”
“Of course not, gambler. Don’t forget I’ve seen your cooking skills. You would starve if you worked as a cook.” Ratio takes the hand and follows Aventurine, bickering all the way to the kitchen.
(The first time Ratio took Aventurine’s hand, it was after their first mission together, a resounding success thanks to Aventurine’s plot and no thanks to Ratio’s consistent interference.
“You don’t believe me?” Aventurine kept his left hand behind his back, knowing it would tremble when he took the gamble. No matter, it didn’t matter if he won or not.
He provocatively looked at the man before him, the handsome doctor frowning at him. Keeping eye contact, Aventurine dropped his hand and drew out a revolver from his bag, emptied its cylinder and left a single shot in the chamber.
“Seems like I’ll need to get you up to speed on how I do things if our cooperation were to remain…… amicable.” Aventurine smiled sardonically, looking up at vibrant crimson.
“You expect me to believe you?” Dr. Ratio retorted, as disagreeable as he had been the entire mission.
Aventurine spun the cylinder and pushed the revolver into Ratio’s hand and pulled him in closer, until the doctor was practically pressing him against the wall with the barrel pressed against his chest, where a heart would be if he weren’t so cruel.
He pulled the trigger once, and he was still alive. Twice, he continued staring unblinkingly at Ratio. Thrice, the cruel smile remained on his face, his facial expression unchanged. Aventurine was still alive after three empty clicks.
His smirk widened. “Why not, doctor? Life is a grand gamble, and I’ll always be the final victor.” His left hand unclenched from a fist.
Ratio’s eyes were wide with shock. Right, no matter how strange the big shots of the IPC were, they wouldn’t point a gun to themselves and shoot as if they had lives to spare. The famed Dr. Ratio probably didn’t imagine he would have to see something as lowly as this, but it was the best way to get his point across— luck was on his side, and he didn’t care whether he lived or died.
Suddenly, Ratio pointed the gun to the wall next to them and pulled the trigger again. A shot rang out, leaving a dent with a sharp “bang”. He tossed the bulletless gun to the floor.
“You talk so cockily, but your hand—“ The doctor grabbed his left hand from behind his back, still trembling from the aftermath of a brush with death. “It’s trembling, as if you fear.”
Aventurine jerked his hand away from Ratio’s warm palm, shoving it into his pocket. “So what if I fear? I win, don’t I?” He kept a lazy smile on his face as he fought the urge to glare.
“There are many ways to win. Taking a risk as a foolish gambler is but one of them, however certain you will win.”)
Yes, Aventurine will win. One day, he is certain Veritas Ratio will fall in love with him. He will be the final victor of this bet.