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“Hey, Doc. Have you ever tried octopus balls?”
Ratio paused in the middle of his drink.
Aventurine was an unpredictable man.
Given several perfectly reasonable options, the peacock somehow had a talent for choosing the one no sane person would consider.
His words were often no easier to predict.
Ratio slowly lowered his cup.
“Octopus… balls?”
The blond grinned, clearly enjoying the suspicion on the scholar's face.
Ratio's expression only grew more doubtful.
“I assume the name refers to its shape rather than the anatomy of the animal.”
Aventurine's grin widened.
“Wouldn't you like to know?”
“No. I would like you to communicate with some degree of precision.”
Ratio considered the name again.
“Is the flesh minced and compressed into a sphere? Ground into a paste? Or is the octopus merely a filling enclosed within some form of dough?”
“Wow, Doc. You really know how to make food sound appetising.”
“You introduced it as ‘octopus balls.’ I am attempting to extract useful information from an inadequate description.”
Aventurine laughed as he took another sip of sake. The drink was what had reminded him of the delicacy in the first place.
“Fine, fine. You don't stuff an entire octopus into a ball. It's batter with a small piece of chopped tentacle inside. They cook it into these little round balls, drizzle some savoury sauce over them.”
He paused.
“They’re very hot, actually. I almost burned my tongue when I tried them in Planarcadia.”
“How… interesting.”
It was already late in the evening, but neither man seemed particularly eager to leave the bar.
For once, they had the luxury of doing absolutely nothing. Their mission was complete, there were no early meetings waiting for them the next morning, and the world did not appear to be in immediate danger of collapsing.
Aventurine had his sake, Ratio his own drink, and both had an attractive drinking companion sitting beside them.
Not that either of them would openly admit it.
“I assume you at least know the proper name of this delicacy? Unless the locals simply refer to it by its spherical properties.”
“Hmm…” Aventurine thought for a moment. “I think they called it takoyaki?”
Ratio fell silent.
He hated to admit it, but there was something unexpectedly pleasant about hearing Aventurine pronounce the unfamiliar word.
Ratio found himself wondering what Aventurine's mother tongue sounded like.
Perhaps it was equally melodious.
His brows immediately drew together.
What a preposterous thought.
Clearly, the wine was beginning to affect him.
“Doc?”
Aventurine blinked at his companion's sudden silence.
When Ratio still didn't answer, he began to feel unnecessarily self-conscious.
Had he butchered the pronunciation?
Was Ratio suppressing a laugh?
Aventurine resisted the urge to touch his face. Perhaps he had drunk more sake than he realised. His cheeks certainly felt warmer than they had a few minutes ago.
Wonderful.
Now he was probably flushed and slurring his words in front of his crush!
Ratio cleared his throat and promptly changed the subject.
“Are IPC employees truly so idle that they can tour planets and sample local cuisine? What happened to completing your missions?”
Aventurine laughed.
“It was part of my mission, Doc. The client wanted me to promote the local delicacies, and somehow I ended up becoming a model.”
“A… model.”
“Mm-hm. People took pictures of me trying all the popular food there. I think they mistook me for some kind of influencer.”
“You're already dressed like one. Loud, peacock-esque, brazen.”
Ratio took another sip of his wine.
“It's difficult not to notice you.”
That last remark nearly made Aventurine's heart skip a beat.
It's difficult not to notice you.
Ratio didn't mean anything by that, right?
He was merely being sarcastic.
Right?
“Well, if I can catch the attention of Professor Veritas Ratio, then clearly my fashion sense is as flawless as my bets.”
The younger man gave him a wink.
Ratio rolled his eyes at the blatant display of confidence.
“How was it prepared?”
Aventurine blinked at the sudden change of subject.
Then his grin returned.
“Oh-ho. Are you interested, Doc?”
Ratio rested his glass against the counter.
“Hardly. I find the construction peculiar. Batter cooked around chopped tentacle, then somehow shaped into a sphere…”
Ratio frowned.
“How?”
Aventurine laughed.
“I knew you were interested.”
“I asked a question, Gambler.”
“Fine, fine.”
Aventurine scratched his chin as he searched his slightly hazy memory.
“The stall had this special pan with little round holes in it. The lady poured batter into each one, added a piece of tentacle, then kept turning them while they cooked.”
Aventurine paused.
“Though not everyone wanted octopus. Some customers asked for crab stick or minced chicken instead. I think they even had something called ‘mystery meat.’”
Ratio turned his head.
“Mystery what?”
“Meat.”
“I heard that part.”
Aventurine laughed.
“Then why did you ask?”
“Because ‘mystery’ is not an acceptable description of something intended for human consumption.”
“Well, nobody died.”
“That is an exceptionally low standard for food safety.”
“I tried one.”
Ratio stared at him.
“Of course you did.”
“I'm still alive, aren't I?”
“Your continued survival does not retroactively make the decision intelligent.”
Aventurine grinned into his sake.
“Anyway, the young lady would poke these little sticks into them and—”
He made a quick turning motion with his fingers.
“Flip, flip, flip. Really fast.”
Ratio considered this.
“So the spherical shape is produced gradually through repeated rotation as the batter cooks.”
“Probably? I wasn't studying the physics of my dinner, Doc.”
“Clearly.”
Aventurine ignored the remark.
“She was really good at it, though. Cute little lady, too. Sweet smile. You should've seen how fast her hands moved. She was handling two rows at once and still talking to customers like it was nothing.”
“Is that so?”
“Yep. I even challenged her to a playful little bet.”
“Of course you did.”
Aventurine grinned.
“I told her that if she could keep flipping them while blindfolded, I'd pay for everyone watching the show.”
Ratio stared at him.
“So you introduced an unnecessary handicap to a task involving hot oil and then incentivized her to continue.”
“Pretty much.”
Ratio stared at him.
“Your capacity for turning ordinary activities into safety violations remains remarkable.”
Aventurine laughed.
“She was spectacular, Doc! Nearly made it through the whole thing, too. She fumbled the last two flips, but I still paid her double.”
“You rewarded her for losing?”
“Oh, don't be boring. She put on a good show.”
Aventurine waved a hand with a grin.
“As promised, I paid for everyone around the stall that night. It was fun.”
He smiled fondly at the memory.
Ratio's expression flattened.
“I asked about the preparation of the delicacy, Gambler. Not for a detailed appraisal of the woman preparing it.”
Aventurine blinked.
Then a slow grin spread across his face.
“My, my.”
Ratio immediately disliked that expression.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Then stop smiling.”
“Can't a man appreciate skilled hands?”
“You have spent more time describing her than the food.”
“Have I?”
“Yes.”
Aventurine's grin widened.
Perhaps it was the sake, but there was something unexpectedly entertaining about the faint irritation in Ratio's voice.
“Hmm… Doc, if you like, I can order some right now.”
Ratio shook his head.
“Unnecessary.”
His gaze dropped briefly to his wine before returning to Aventurine.
“Texture?”
Aventurine blinked.
“The dough—”
The older man’s eyebrow twitched, “Batter.”
“Whatever.”
“They are not interchangeable terms.”
“Dear doctor, I ate it. I didn't write a dissertation about it.”
Ratio sighed, “You're fortunate one of us possesses intellectual curiosity.”
The blond grinned, “Over balls?”
The other man raised his deadly chalk, “Answer the question, Gambler.”
Aventurine laughed with his hands raised in surrender.
“Uh… Crispy outside? Yeah I remember they’re kinda crisp. And soft on the inside too. The pretty lady sure honed her skills.”
Ratio felt annoyed again.
“Enough about the food seller, was it sweet?”
“The lady or the sauce?”
“You know what I’m asking.”
“The sauce was more… savory? Yet kind of sweet too.”
“What else?”
“Doc, are you taking notes?”
“No.”
Aventurine leaned in with a cheshire cat grin.
“You're awfully curious for someone who doesn't want any.”
The older man promptly summoned his alabaster headpiece, shielding himself from the Gambler's increasingly smug expression.
“Understanding something does not require wanting to consume it.”
“Uh-huh.”
Aventurine laughed, and they left the matter there.
Or so he thought.
Later that night, Aventurine lay in bed scrolling through food delivery apps.
Interplanetary delivery existed, of course, but ordering freshly cooked takoyaki all the way from Planarcadia was another matter. There were probably stalls nearby that sold it, but that wasn't quite the point.
If Ratio was going to try it, Aventurine wanted him to taste the real thing.
He stared thoughtfully at his screen.
“Or maybe I should just kidnap the Professor and take him to Planarcadia.”
The thought made him chuckle.
Unfortunately, kidnapping a scholar came with scheduling difficulties.
Aventurine had missions. Ratio had classes, research projects and whatever else occupied that ridiculous brain of his.
With a sigh, Aventurine closed the app.
Another time, perhaps.
Two days later, Aventurine was wearing protective goggles.
He looked down at himself.
Then at Ratio.
Then back at himself.
“…Doc?”
“What?”
“Why am I dressed like this?”
“You are participating in an experiment.”
Aventurine blinked.
“I gathered that. I'm asking why the experiment requires me to look so… tacky.”
Ratio slowly looked up from his notes.
“You are standing in my laboratory, Gambler. The purpose of protective equipment is to minimize contamination and potential injury, not to complement your wardrobe.”
Aventurine tugged unhappily at one of the sleeves.
“Function and fashion don't have to be mutually exclusive.”
“They do when one of them is irrelevant.”
“Ouch.”
“If your greatest concern upon entering a controlled experimental environment is whether the safety equipment flatters you, I suggest you reconsider your priorities.”
Aventurine looked down at himself again.
“…Still tacky.”
Ratio closed his eyes.
“I’m beginning to regret inviting you here.”
“Nobody told me I was participating in an experiment. I thought we were going to have a date.”
“You are being informed now.”
Even behind the marble headpiece, Aventurine could easily imagine the scholar’s deadpan expression.
“So that's a no on the date?”
“Sit down, Gambler.”
Aventurine grinned.
“You could've just said you're shy, Doc.”
“Sit down at that table and open the cover.”
Aventurine tilted his head.
It was then that his nose caught a scent he remembered from a while ago.
Something warm and savoury.
Familiar.
His gaze dropped to the covered dish waiting on the table.
Curious, Aventurine pulled out the chair and lifted the cover.
Then stopped.
There was a plate of takoyaki in front of him.
Or, at least, something unmistakably attempting to be takoyaki.
The ones he remembered from Planarcadia had been almost perfectly round, shaped by the stall owner's quick, practised hands as she turned them over and over in the pan.
Ratio's were…
Aventurine leaned closer.
Egg-shaped.
Some were rounder than others, but most had settled into slightly uneven ovals. One appeared to have developed a flatter side entirely.
And the octopus…
Aventurine bit the inside of his cheek.
Apparently, his description of a piece of chopped tentacle had not been specific enough.
Small pinkish pieces protruded from several of the takoyaki, as though the unfortunate creatures had attempted to escape during cooking and only made it halfway.
They were imperfect.
Obviously homemade.
His amusement slowly faded.
Ratio had remembered.
The batter. The tentacle. The sauce.
Even the special pan—one Aventurine strongly suspected Ratio had engineered himself rather than simply buying one like a normal person.
Because of course he had.
The man was a research junkie with access to laboratory equipment and apparently no concept of taking the easy route.
Aventurine stared at the plate.
Something uncomfortable swelled beneath his ribs, warm and frighteningly soft.
Ratio could easily have searched for takoyaki online. There were probably thousands of recipes and demonstrations showing exactly how they were supposed to be made.
But the uneven shapes and pieces of escaping tentacle suggested otherwise.
Ratio had relied on Aventurine's description.
Only his.
People remembered the important things he said. Orders. Deals. Promises. Numbers with enough credits attached to make them worth remembering.
But this had been nothing more than a half-drunken story shared over sake.
And Ratio had listened.
Aventurine swallowed.
No.
Absolutely not.
He was not going to become emotional over badly shaped octopus snacks while wearing an ugly lab coat.
His bewilderment did what it always did when something caught him completely off guard.
It put on a grin.
“Doc…”
Aventurine looked up at him, lips curling mischievously.
“Are these my balls?”
Silence.
Ratio slowly turned his marble head towards him.
Aventurine's grin remained.
The silence continued.
Perhaps…
Perhaps that had been a little too crass.
His confidence began to wilt.
Oh.
Oh no.
He was going to get kicked out, wasn't he?
And he hadn't even tasted the balls yet.
Aventurine opened his mouth, ready to bargain for both his continued presence and at least one bite.
“Eat.”
“…Eh?”
“You have already wasted twelve seconds making an infantile joke. The food is getting cold.”
Aventurine blinked.
Then his grin returned twice as bright.
“Why, Ratio. If you insist, I shall taste your… balls.”
“Gambler…”
The deadly chalk glinted beneath the fluorescent light.
Aventurine laughed.
“Sorry, sorry. I can't help it.”
Ratio huffed and watched him like an owl perched on a high branch as Aventurine happily took one.
Aventurine was used to being watched by the IPC.
By enemies.
By people waiting for him to make the wrong move.
Being watched while he chewed by one eccentric professor, however, was somehow far more unnerving.
“…Are you going to stare at me the entire time?”
Ratio pulled out the chair opposite him and leaned closer, clipboard in hand.
“I require your assessment.”
Having the attractive man this close certainly wasn't helping Aventurine concentrate.
Fortunately, the food gave him something else to think about.
An unexpected flavour crept across his tongue.
He frowned.
“This one's kind of spicy. How much seasoning did you put in it?”
“Was that not present in the original meal?”
“Not that I remember.”
Ratio's brows drew together.
“Then the concentration of paprika may be too high.”
He immediately began writing.
“Excessive spice in the first sample,” Ratio muttered, more to himself than to Aventurine. “Reduce paprika in the next formulation. The batter-to-filling ratio may also require adjustment…”
He glanced at the half-eaten takoyaki.
“Possibly reduce the size of the octopus as well.”
Aventurine stared at him.
There he was.
Professor Veritas Ratio.
Scholar. Researcher. Genius.
Currently treating octopus balls with the severity of a biochemical trial.
Aventurine covered his smile with another bite.
What an eccentric man.
“Very well.”
Ratio looked up.
“Proceed to the next two samples.”
Aventurine stopped chewing.
“The next two?”
Ratio turned and retrieved two more dishes.
More takoyaki.
“These batches have different batter compositions.”
Aventurine looked at the first plate.
Then the second.
Then the third.
“…You made three different batches?”
“Yes.”
“Just to figure out which one tastes like the version I had?”
Ratio gave him an impatient look.
“Your description was insufficient to determine the precise composition. Testing multiple formulations was the most efficient solution.”
Aventurine fell silent.
Three batches.
Ratio hadn't merely listened to his ridiculous story.
He had taken Aventurine's vague description, experimented with it, changed the ingredients and tried again.
All to recreate some street food Aventurine had mentioned once over sake.
That troublesome warmth returned to his chest.
Stronger this time.
Aventurine looked at Ratio, who had already lowered his gaze to the clipboard again, apparently unaware that he was doing anything remotely unusual.
Why, of all the people in the universe, had Aventurine fallen for this eccentric man?
Ratio frowned at one of his notes and crossed it out.
Aventurine's heart gave another helpless little flutter.
Ah.
Right.
As though Aventurine himself had any right to call someone eccentric.
Takes one to know one, he supposed.
That was probably why.
“Doc…”
His mouth slowly curved into a smile.
“You really made all of these for lil' ol' me?”
“That would be the obvious conclusion.”
“Aw, Doctor. I'm touched.”
“Don't be. Now hurry up, time is ticking.”
“All right, all right. Sheesh.”
Aventurine laughed.
“At least let me enjoy this rare display of kindness.”
He reached for the second sample and took a bite.
Ratio's pen hovered expectantly over the clipboard.
Aventurine chewed.
And chewed.
And chewed.
His brows slowly rose.
“Doc.”
“What?”
“Did the octopus personally offend you?”
Ratio frowned.
“Explain.”
Aventurine swallowed with some effort.
“It's a little… tough.”
“How tough?”
“Well.”
Aventurine considered the remaining half on his fork.
“I think I've discovered a new material for your next defensive research project.”
Ratio's expression flattened.
“An exaggeration.”
“Would you like to try it?”
“I already have.”
Aventurine blinked.
“You did?”
“Obviously. I sampled each formulation before presenting them to you.”
His pen returned to the clipboard.
“However, your assessment confirms that the cooking duration for the filling should be reduced.”
Aventurine stared at him for a moment.
Ratio had eaten his own failed octopus balls.
Multiple times.
The image formed almost immediately in his mind: Ratio alone at his workbench, taking a bite with that grave, analytical expression of his, scribbling something down, then taking another.
Bite.
Write.
Frown.
Another bite.
Another note.
Aventurine had to suppress a smile.
Cute.
He almost wished he had been there to watch.
There was something terribly endearing about imagining the great Professor Veritas Ratio solemnly evaluating one misshapen octopus ball after another as though the fate of scientific progress depended on it.
“So you've been eating these all day?”
“The duration is irrelevant.”
“How many did you eat?”
“The number is also irrelevant.”
Aventurine's smile widened.
Oh, he definitely wished he had been there.
“Oh, Doctor…”
“Third sample, Gambler.”
Aventurine laughed and obediently reached for the final plate.
“All right, all right.”
He picked one up.
Ratio's attention followed it all the way to his mouth.
Aventurine bit down.
The outside gave way easily beneath his teeth. Warm batter, savoury sauce, a tender piece of octopus—
He stopped.
Ratio immediately straightened.
Aventurine chewed more slowly.
There it was.
Not exact. The shape was still wrong, and perhaps the sauce was a little different from what he remembered.
But the flavour—
For one brief moment, Aventurine could almost see the crowded street in Planarcadia again. The glowing signs. The little stall. Steam rising from the pan while a cheerful woman rapidly turned golden spheres beneath her hands.
His eyes widened.
“Doc, this one.”
Ratio's fingers tightened slightly around his pen.
Aventurine looked up at him, breaking into a bright smile.
“This is it. This one's really close.”
For once, Ratio didn't immediately write anything down.
Something unexpectedly warm unfurled in his chest.
Ridiculous.
It was merely confirmation that his latest formulation had produced the desired result. Naturally, successful replication would be satisfying.
And yet—
Aventurine was still smiling at him.
Not the polished smile he wore across negotiation tables. Not the teasing little smirk he used whenever he was deliberately trying to irritate Ratio.
This one was bright.
Genuine.
And directed entirely at him.
Before Ratio could stop it, the corner of his mouth lifted.
Only slightly.
But Aventurine caught it.
His own smile faltered in surprise.
Oh.
The Doctor was smiling.
Ratio seemed to realise it at almost the same moment.
He cleared his throat and immediately looked down at his clipboard.
“Good. Then the third formulation is the closest approximation.”
His pen moved again with considerably more purpose than necessary.
Aventurine's grin slowly returned.
My, my.
How interesting.
Aventurine looked at the remaining half of the takoyaki on his fork, then back at Ratio.
His grin turned playful.
“Would you like me to spoon-feed you some?”
“No.”
“Aw, come on, Doc.”
Aventurine lifted the fork towards him.
“Open wideee~”
The alabaster head materialised around Ratio's face.
Aventurine froze, fork still suspended between them.
Then his lips twitched.
“My, my. Was that really necessary?”
“I have already sampled every formulation. I have had my fill, Gambler.”
The marble face stared back at him, perfectly unreadable.
How convenient.
Aventurine wondered what expression the Doctor was hiding beneath it.
“Suit yourself.” He withdrew the fork with a grin. “More for me.”
He popped the remaining half into his mouth.
Then reached for another.
And another.
Ratio continued making notes until Aventurine pulled the second plate closer.
His pen stopped.
“What are you doing?”
Aventurine looked up, cheeks still full.
“Eating?”
“You've already provided sufficient feedback. There's no reason to finish the unsuccessful samples.”
“They're still good.”
“The first contains excessive paprika. The second is overcooked.”
“So?”
“So I'll discard them.”
Ratio reached for the plates.
Aventurine immediately pulled them out of reach and curled a protective arm around them.
“Nope. They're mine now.”
“They are failed experimental samples.”
“They're food.”
“Imperfect food.”
“Food you made for me.”
Ratio went still.
Aventurine did too.
For half a second, the words hung awkwardly between them.
Then Aventurine's smile returned.
“So obviously, I'm eating them.”
“Gambler, sentimentality does not improve digestion.”
“Neither does throwing away perfectly edible food.”
Ratio's eyes dropped to the plates.
“…How many have you eaten?”
Aventurine glanced down.
More takoyaki had disappeared than he'd realised.
“Gambler, you're going to give yourself a stomach ache.”
Aventurine's eyes sparkled.
“Wanna bet I won't?”
Ratio stared at him.
“That is not a bet. That is you manufacturing an unnecessary gastrointestinal problem.”
“So you're scared you'll lose?”
“I am concerned that your digestive system will.”
Aventurine snorted and promptly stuffed another takoyaki into his mouth.
Ratio closed his eyes.
“Fine.”
He set down his clipboard and pushed the glass on the table towards him.
“Drink. And slow down.”
The blond took a gulp then smiled.
“Aww. You do care.”
“I care about preventing you from choking while attempting to prove an asinine point.”
“Whatever you say, Doc.”
Aventurine obediently took a sip.
Then immediately reached for another takoyaki.
Ratio's eye twitched.
“This is really good, though, Doc.”
Aventurine grinned.
“You could open a stall and make a fortune.”
“I have no intention of opening a food stall.”
“Why not? You've already got your first satisfied customer.”
“I have several academic positions, ongoing research projects and students requiring supervision.”
“Exactly. You need a manager.”
“No.”
“I'll handle the marketing. With your cooking and my business skills, we'd double the profits in no time.”
Aventurine leaned across the table, delighted.
“Think about it, Doc. Professor Ratio's Balls. Catchy, memorable—”
“Finish that sentence and I will personally discard every remaining sample.”
Aventurine clamped his mouth shut.
For approximately two seconds.
Then he burst out laughing.
“Man, you're stubborn. Why?”
“I have no interest in cooking commercially.”
“Not even for someone else?”
“I had no interest in cooking for anyone until you introduced this ridiculous problem.”
Aventurine's laughter stopped.
Heat crept unexpectedly into his cheeks.
He hadn't misheard that, had he?
Until you.
No.
No, that wasn't what Ratio meant.
Ratio liked solving problems. Aventurine had described something unfamiliar, and the great scholar's curiosity had simply gotten the better of him.
He had literally called the whole thing an experiment.
That was all.
Obviously.
…Right?
Aventurine popped the final takoyaki into his mouth before his traitorous smile could give him away.
Ratio noticed the pause.
“Why are you looking at me like that, Gambler?”
“O-oh! I was just…”
Aventurine's gaze darted towards his empty glass.
“Wondering if you had anything else to drink. Juice, perhaps?”
Ratio regarded him for a moment.
Then stood.
“A moment.”
The instant Ratio disappeared from the laboratory, Aventurine pressed both palms against his cheeks.
Warm.
Ridiculously warm.
“Get a grip, Aventurine.”
It was food.
Just food.
A scientific problem that Ratio happened to find interesting.
Perfectly reasonable.
Aventurine stared at nothing.
“…He said he'd never wanted to cook for anyone.”
Silence.
“And then he cooked for me.”
His palms pressed harder against his burning cheeks.
“That Ratio.”
Oh, he was in trouble.
Footsteps approached.
Aventurine immediately dropped his hands and reassembled his usual peacock composure.
By the time Ratio returned, his smile was firmly back in place.
Unfortunately, it nearly fell apart again when Aventurine saw what he was carrying.
A pitcher.
Shaped like a duck.
With two matching duckling cups.
Aventurine stared.
Ratio set them on the table without the slightest indication that he considered his choice of drinkware unusual.
Of course.
Of course Professor Veritas Ratio owned a duck pitcher.
“Thanks, Doc.”
Aventurine poured himself a drink.
Ratio's eyes narrowed.
“You're flushed.”
Aventurine nearly inhaled the water.
“It's warm in here.”
Ratio glanced towards the laboratory's temperature display.
“It is twenty-one degrees.”
“Your equipment must be faulty.”
“My laboratory equipment is not—”
“Anyway!”
Aventurine set the little duckling cup down.
“Everything was delicious.”
Ratio studied him.
Aventurine maintained his smile with the determination of a man holding a particularly dangerous poker hand.
Fortunately, whatever conclusion Ratio reached, he kept it to himself.
“Very well.”
Aventurine almost sagged with relief.
“Your feedback could have been more precise, however. Texture, flavour, consistency—these are useful details.”
Aventurine blinked.
Then his smile slowly returned.
Useful details.
So that was all this was.
An experiment.
Of course.
He could leave it there.
He probably should leave it there.
But what kind of gambler refused a perfectly good bet?
Aventurine picked up his hat.
“Say, Doc… have you ever heard of Durian custard?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately?”
“I am familiar with the fruit. Particularly its smell.”
“Aw, don't judge it by the smell. It's actually quite good!”
“I wasn't judging it.”
Ratio looked almost offended by the assumption.
“Pungent odours are hardly unique to fruit. Several species of Rafflesia, for example, produce the scent of decaying organic matter to attract pollinators.”
“Thanks for the trivia.”
Aventurine hummed.
“I wonder if the petals are edible.”
Ratio gave him a long look.
“What?”
“Do you attempt to eat everything you encounter?”
Aventurine laughed.
“Hey, when you grow up with hardly anything to eat, you learn not to be picky. Every scrap counts.”
Ratio's expression shifted.
Only slightly.
But Aventurine caught it.
Ah.
Perhaps that had been a little too honest.
He waved the thought away with an easy laugh.
“Anyway! Enough about my tragic culinary history. Durian's worth the trouble. Rich, creamy, just sweet enough… though eating it alone does take some of the fun out of it.”
His smile turned almost wistful.
“Wouldn't mind having someone to share one with when it's in season.”
Then he chuckled.
“Preferably someone willing to help crack the thing open. I may enjoy taking risks, but I'd rather not gamble with my best coat—or my fingers.”
Ratio looked up sharply.
“You open them yourself?”
“Sure. A local man taught me. Nice fellow. Took one look at how I was holding the thing and apparently decided I was a danger to myself.”
“With your… bare hands?”
Aventurine blinked.
“Well, not entirely bare. He gave me gloves.”
Ratio sighed in relief.
Unfortunately, Aventurine wasn't finished.
“And a nice, sharpened knife.”
Ratio tensed again.
He tried to picture Aventurine armed with a sharp knife, wrestling with an equally well-armed fruit.
The image did little to reassure him.
“That does not improve the situation. You could have injured yourself.”
Aventurine paused.
Oh.
There it was again.
First the takoyaki.
Now Ratio was worrying about him handling a sharp knife.
Heat threatened to creep back into his cheeks.
This time, Aventurine was ready for it.
He hid it behind a playful smile.
“Aww. You're just like that nice uncle who taught me.”
He leaned closer, eyes gleaming.
“Both of you are so protective of me. Want to know who's more handsome between you and the uncle?”
“Enough with the nonsense, Gambler.”
Ratio frowned.
“And spare me the delusion. I suspect the man was more concerned about having an injured customer bleeding beside his stall.”
“Doc, you wound me!”
“Not to mention the damage to his reputation.”
“You make everything sound so unromantic.”
“I am being realistic.”
“Mm-hm.”
Aventurine's grin widened.
“Still, I'm delighted to learn that the dear Doctor is so protective of me.”
“That is not what I said.”
“Yep, I heard you.” Aventurine's eyes gleamed. “Protective.”
“Gambler.”
Aventurine laughed.
“Oh, relax, Doc. I've survived far worse things than a piece of fruit.”
“That is hardly justification for handling a heavily armoured husk covered in hardened spines without proper protection.”
Aventurine stared at him.
“…You sound unusually passionate about Durian safety.”
“I am familiar with its structural properties.”
“Of course you are.”
Aventurine's lips twitched.
“All right, I'll bite. How did Professor Veritas Ratio become an expert on hostile fruit?”
“We investigated whether the structure of the husk could be adapted for defensive applications.”
Aventurine's eyebrows rose.
“You studied durians for… armour? What a waste of food!”
Ratio stared at him.
Of all the possible conclusions Aventurine could have drawn, waste of food had apparently been the least expected.
“It was a legitimate avenue of research. The rind possesses considerable puncture resistance, while the arrangement of its spines—”
“Whoa, whoa.”
Aventurine held up a hand, laughing.
“And here I thought I was the strange one for eating them in this room”
“There is nothing strange about studying naturally occurring defensive structures.”
“You tried to turn a snack into armour, Doc.”
“We studied the husk.”
“Of a snack.”
Ratio frowned.
“You are being deliberately reductive.”
“And you're making my dessert sound like military equipment.”
“The edible portion was irrelevant to the research.”
Aventurine blinked.
“Wait.”
His grin slowly widened.
“You studied Durians long enough to know how well they could survive an attack…”
“Their structural resistance to impact.”
The professor nodded with scientific pride. Innovation could come from anywhere, whether it was bamboo, fruit husks or something completely unexpected.
Aventurine tilted his head.
“…but you never bothered eating one?”
Ratio paused.
“No. There was no need to.”
Aventurine stared at him for a moment.
What a shame.
He would have liked to give Ratio a chance to try the fruit himself, just to see his reaction.
Would the Doctor enjoy something so rich and sweet?
Could he even handle the taste of durian?
The thought made Aventurine laugh.
“Doc, sometimes I really do wonder about you. You studied all these things for research, but if you ask me, you're the more interesting specimen here.”
“Your opinion of my research methodology is irrelevant.”
Ratio picked up his cup again.
“Returning to your original question, I assume this Durian custard was another discovery from one of your culinary excursions?”
Aventurine grinned.
“Rich, creamy, sweet—but not too sweet. The durian flavour was pretty strong, though. I had it once during a mission and haven't found anything quite like it since.”
Ratio regarded him thoughtfully.
“Which cultivar?”
Aventurine blinked.
“Which what?”
“The Durian cultivar.”
Ratio began counting them off with irritating ease.
“Musang King, Black Thorn, Sultan, Red Prawn, Monthong—”
“Doc.”
Ratio stopped.
Aventurine gave him his most helpful smile.
“It was yellow.”
Silence.
Ratio closed his eyes.
“That eliminates virtually nothing.”
“Glad I could help.”
Aventurine glanced at the time.
“Oh. I really do have to go.”
“You have somewhere to be?”
“Meeting. Jade. And I'd rather not discover how long she considers an acceptable delay.”
“Then go.”
“My, my. So eager to get rid of me.”
“You just stated that you are late.”
“And here I thought you'd miss me.”
“I will survive.”
Aventurine winked as he headed for the door.
“Try not to think too hard about my custard while I'm gone, Doc.”
The laboratory door slid shut behind him.
Ratio rubbed his forehead.
“Durian custard…”
The alabaster head materialised around him once more.
He sat down, rested an elbow on his knee and lowered his chin onto one fist, perfectly still.
Had anyone walked into the laboratory at that moment, they might have mistaken him for a particularly contemplative statue.
Unfortunately, the subject occupying the great scholar's mind was not philosophy, mathematics or the mysteries of the universe.
It was custard.
Durian custard.
More specifically, Aventurine's Durian custard.
Most of Ratio's knowledge about Durians came from studying their possible use in defence.
He had studied the husks and rinds. The sweet, strong-smelling flesh had never interested him much, so his assistants had been more than happy to eat it for him.
Perhaps a little too happy.
One by one, they began requesting leave from the Durian tests. Eventually, the Musang King and Monthong trials had to be put on hold.
It wasn't food poisoning.
There was nothing wrong with the fruit.
His assistants had simply been far too enthusiastic about eating the leftover durian. After weeks of overindulging, even the most devoted among them had finally admitted defeat.
By the time they reached the Musang King and Monthong trials, no one wanted to volunteer for the leftovers anymore.
“If only they had planned their intake more carefully.”
Ratio scoffed.
His assistants' poor planning was hardly his fault.
He shook his head and returned to the data from his previous tests.
Sultan had demonstrated good puncture resistance. Red Prawn possessed a thinner rind but greater flexibility under impact. Black Thorn had proven remarkably durable—
Ratio stopped.
None of this told him what Aventurine had eaten.
All the Gambler had given him was yellow, rich and creamy.
Utterly useless.
Ratio waved a hand, and a holographic screen appeared before him, displaying the data from his previous durian research.
Structural measurements.
Impact resistance.
Rind thickness.
Spike distribution.
Pages upon pages of information.
And not a single useful note about flavour.
Ratio stared at the screen.
There was, of course, a perfectly rational solution.
Do nothing.
Aventurine hadn't asked him to recreate the custard.
He hadn't even asked Ratio to procure one.
He had merely mentioned it in passing.
Therefore, this was not Ratio's problem.
“…....”
Ratio opened a search engine…
========
The market district was considerably louder than Ratio preferred.
Rows of fruit stalls stretched beneath translucent awnings, their counters crowded with produce imported from half a dozen worlds. Above each stall, holographic placards cycled through prices, harvest dates and planets of origin while vendors ignored them entirely and shouted today's better deals themselves.
Some technologies, Ratio reflected, had failed to eliminate mankind's fondness for yelling.
Every few steps, another vendor called out to him. Fresh produce. Imported delicacies. Limited harvests. Special prices apparently available only to him, despite Ratio having heard the same offer shouted at the three customers ahead of him.
“Eyyyy, handsome boy! Come here! I give you discount!”
Ratio kept walking.
“Eh, why so shy? Come here! I’ll give you an extra discount if you smile!”
He walked faster.
His ears were beginning to regret this expedition.
Then he noticed one stall that was strangely quiet.
An elderly woman sat behind a counter laden with durians, making no apparent effort to compete with her considerably louder neighbors. No shouting. No waving customers over. She simply waited, looking entirely confident that anyone who knew what they wanted would eventually come to her.
Interesting.
If nothing else, Ratio's ears appreciated her restraint.
He changed direction, paying no mind to the few customers whose heads turned as he passed. To them, he might have looked like a Greek statue brought to life and sent grocery shopping.
Unfortunately, the resemblance ended there. The rest of Veritas Ratio more closely resembled a disgruntled owl forced awake before its usual hunting hour.
Cool air spilled from preservation units beneath the surrounding counters. The durians at her stall required no such elaborate presentation. They sat stubbornly in reinforced baskets, green and thorny and unmistakable, several already split open to display their golden flesh.
The familiar pungent sweetness reached him as he approached. Ratio barely reacted. Months of ballistic testing had long since rendered the smell unremarkable.
The elderly woman watched him stop before her stall.
“What kind are you looking for, sonny?”
Ratio studied the durians carefully.
During his previous research, he had left the shopping to his assistants. Some bought fresh durians from local markets while others ordered packaged ones online.
Ratio had given them a detailed list of what to buy: a fixed number from each cultivar, with different sizes and weights for comparison. Every fruit had to be labelled with where it came from and how it had been stored.
His assistants chose the individual fruits, but they did so according to his instructions.
Ratio himself had never needed to stand in front of a fruit stall and decide which durian was good enough.
This was the first time.
And this time, he wasn’t interested in the strength of the husk or how sharp the thorns were.
He needed to know what was inside.
Unfortunately, his only useful description had come from Aventurine.
Doc, it was yellow.
Ratio resisted the urge to rub his forehead.
Yellow.
An observation so remarkably useless that it eliminated virtually nothing.
He looked back at the elderly woman.
“One suitable for custard.”
“Sweet or bittersweet?”
Ratio paused.
At last, a useful question.
“Bittersweet.”
The woman nodded and reached down to rearrange several durians nestled in a reinforced basket.
“Strong aroma?”
“Irrelevant.”
Her hand stopped.
She looked up at him.
“Not irrelevant if you’re putting it in custard.”
Ratio paused.
Around them, vendors continued calling over one another while customers drifted between the stalls. Somewhere nearby, a machine chirped as another transaction went through.
“…Moderate.”
“Thick flesh? Soft? Fibrous?”
Ratio's eyes returned to the durians.
He knew the approximate thickness of a Sultan's rind. He knew how much force its husk could withstand before puncture. He knew which cultivar had demonstrated the greatest flexibility under impact.
None of this was proving useful.
His patience, meanwhile, was beginning to wear thin.
He had expected to purchase the fruit, return to his laboratory and begin testing the custard before the evening was wasted. Instead, the woman appeared determined to question him about every possible quality of a durian before allowing him to buy one.
“Soft,” he said at last. “Preferably creamy.”
“Very sweet?”
Ratio closed his eyes for a moment.
“Moderately.”
“Strong aftertaste?”
His eyes opened again.
“How many more questions are necessary?”
The woman looked entirely unbothered.
“As many as it takes to find the right durian.”
Ratio's expression tightened.
“I require one suitable for custard. Surely that does not require an interrogation.”
“Sonny, I don't sell poor fruit to my customers.”
She gave one of the durians an affectionate pat.
“You come to me for durian, I give you good durian. That's how I've stayed in business this long.”
“I appreciate your dedication. However—”
“And you're obviously in a hurry to get back to your wife.”
Ratio stopped.
The woman continued sorting through the basket as though she had said nothing unusual.
“Can't have you ruining a nice evening together with a bad durian, can I?”
“I… do not have a wife.”
“Oh.”
She glanced up at him.
“Girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Then why are you rushing?”
“I have work to do.”
She blinked.
“Work… with the durian?”
Ratio resisted the urge to put on his alabaster head.
“Yes.”
She raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across her face.
“You’re buying a durian to make custard… and it’s all for work?”
“For work,” he repeated.
She studied him for a moment.
“Must be some important custard.”
“It is an experiment.”
“Of course it is.”
Ratio narrowed his eyes.
He was beginning to suspect that she did not believe him. This must be how his students felt whenever they tried to explain a missing assignment with some far-fetched excuse.
“Time is essential.”
“So is patience. You can't rush everything just because you want it done quickly.”
That made Ratio pause.
He was used to setting the pace. His assistants hurried to keep up with him, while his students had long learned what he expected of them. Having someone calmly refuse to follow his pace and tell him to slow down was strangely uncomfortable.
“Come. Tell me exactly what kind of durian you want.”
She turned back to her baskets.
“If it's important enough to rush here for, then it's important enough to choose properly.”
The woman's mouth twitched.
“Since you don't know durian.”
“I am familiar with several cultivars,” he replied defensively.
“From eating them?”
Ratio paused.
An image surfaced of his assistants gathered around the break-room table after another round of testing, happily helping themselves to the exposed flesh that would otherwise have gone to waste. They had certainly eaten enough of the research specimens to qualify for some degree of familiarity.
Ratio, however, had never actually tasted them.
“…No. From observation.”
“Ah. Then you really don't know your durian. Studying one and eating one aren't the same.”
There was no mockery in her voice. If anything, she seemed amused, regarding him with the patient curiosity of someone who had just discovered that a very educated man had somehow spent months studying the wrong part of a fruit.
Ratio could find no immediate fault in her reasoning.
This was becoming irritating.
Not because she was wrong.
Because she was demonstrably correct.
The woman reached into the basket and caught one durian by its stem with a practiced hand. She turned it once, glanced over the seams of its husk, then brought it closer for a brief smell.
A quiet sound left her lips—something Ratio couldn't quite make out.
She set it aside.
“Tomorrow.”
Another durian received barely half the scrutiny. She looked at the stem, knocked twice against the husk with the handle of her knife and nodded.
“This one is good.”
Ratio looked from one fruit to the other. To him, the differences were negligible.
His earlier impatience gave way to curiosity.
He tilted his head slightly, studying first the durians, then the woman. There was clearly a method behind her quick inspection, one based on details he had failed to notice.
Interesting.
“How did you determine that?”
“The stem, the smell, the sound.”
She gave the husk another light knock.
“And I know the tree it came from. That old one has always been a troublesome thing.”
There was unmistakable fondness in her voice.
“You speak of your trees as though they were your children.”
The woman laughed.
“Perhaps they are. I've been tending my trees for forty years. There were good years and bad ones. Droughts, injuries from accidents, forest fires, difficult harvests.”
“That is unsurprising. There are documented cases of serious injury from falling durians. Given the average mass of the fruit, combined with the thickness and sharpness of the husk, the force upon impact can be considerable.”
His expression remained perfectly serious.
“There was a reason we considered them for defensive applications.”
The woman regarded him with renewed amusement. Something about his serious expression seemed to remind her of one particularly demanding tree she had spent years tending.
“You really have studied them.”
“Extensively.”
Her smile deepened.
“You remind me of one of my trees.”
Ratio's brow furrowed.
“I fail to see the resemblance.”
“Very particular. Needs everything done a certain way. Doesn't like being rushed, but somehow expects everyone else to hurry and cater to its needs.”
Ratio stared at her.
“An inaccurate comparison.”
“Mm-hm.”
She gave the durian an affectionate pat.
“Troublesome tree. Gave me plenty of sleepless nights.”
“And yet you continued tending it.”
“Of course. It always gave me good fruit.”
She opened the durian and placed a sample into a small container.
“Some things are worth losing a little sleep over.”
There was no logical reason for Aventurine to enter his thoughts.
Aw, Doctor. I'm touched.
Ratio's expression tightened.
“Not everything.”
The woman merely smiled and offered him the sample in a container.
Most customers appeared to approach such samples with considerably more enthusiasm. Ratio treated each piece as another variable requiring elimination.
He tasted the first.
“Too sweet.”
She handed him another.
“Too fibrous.”
Another.
Ratio paused.
The flesh was exceptionally creamy. Rich, but with a faint bitterness cutting through the sweetness.
“This is a possible match.”
“Possible?”
The woman leaned against her counter.
“You’ve been interrogating my fruit for twenty minutes.”
“Accuracy is not interrogation.”
“Who’s eating it?”
“That is irrelevant.”
“Then why are you being so particular?”
“I have already explained that the intended custard requires—”
“Ah.”
Ratio stopped.
He immediately disliked that ah.
The woman’s eyes gleamed.
“So they’re important.”
“He is not—”
Ratio went still.
Her smile widened.
“I didn’t ask if it was a man.”
Silence.
Ratio decided that continuing this particular line of discussion would serve no useful purpose.
Unfortunately, Aventurine’s voice chose that moment to surface in his memory.
Kinda wish I had someone to eat them with me whenever it’s in season.
Ratio looked back at the opened durian.
“I’ll take two.”
“Two?”
“One is required for testing. Baking is a science.”
“And the other?”
A brief pause.
“…Contingency.”
The woman made a small, amused sound but mercifully said nothing more. She weighed the fruits and began packing them.
“Sixty-eight credits.”
“Acceptable.”
Ratio reached for his card.
The woman stared at him.
“…That’s it?”
“Is there a problem?”
“You’re not even going to bargain?”
Ratio frowned.
“You stated the price.”
“And you simply accepted it?”
“You have spent years cultivating these trees. I see no reason to deliberately undervalue your labour.”
For once, the woman looked genuinely surprised.
Then her eyes narrowed.
“Or perhaps you simply don’t know how to bargain.”
Ratio slowly put his card away.
“Fifty.”
Her eyebrows shot up.
“Sixty-five.”
Ratio glanced at the holographic display.
“Your displayed market average is fifty-four.”
“Market average doesn’t include my quality.”
“An assertion without evidence.”
Her grin vanished.
Ratio’s gaze dropped to one of the durians.
“Furthermore, this specimen has superficial rind damage.”
“Superficial,” she repeated, offended on behalf of the fruit. “The flesh is perfect!”
“Which nevertheless reduces its storage longevity.”
“You’re making custard, not building a house!”
Someone at the neighbouring stall snorted.
Ratio ignored them.
Several counteroffers followed.
Fifty-two.
Sixty.
Fifty-four.
Fifty-eight.
By the time Ratio realised several shoppers had stopped to watch, what had begun as an unnecessary discussion over twelve credits had somehow become a competitive event.
A pair of teenagers stood beside the neighbouring stall, openly invested in the proceedings. An older man watched with the grave attention normally reserved for a sporting event.
Absurd.
Ratio turned back to the woman.
She was smiling.
Not the polite smile she had given him earlier.
This was the expression of someone enjoying herself immensely.
“Fifty-five,” Ratio said.
“Fifty-seven.”
“Fifty-five.”
“Sonny.”
“You invited me to bargain.”
That earned another laugh from the audience.
The woman stared at him.
Ratio stared back.
“Fifty-six,” she said at last. “Final offer. Or you can go buy those water-flavoured ones down the road.”
A scandalised noise came from the neighbouring stall.
“Oi!”
Ratio considered the figure.
The remaining difference was trivial.
In truth, eighteen credits had been trivial from the beginning.
But somewhere between being accused of not knowing how to bargain and acquiring an audience, the monetary value had ceased to be the point.
“Done.”
“Agreed.”
The woman's hand shot across the counter.
Ratio looked at it.
Then, understanding the gesture, clasped it firmly.
Several people applauded.
Someone cheered.
Ratio released her hand and stared at the small crowd as though collective irrationality had spontaneously manifested around him.
The teenagers looked delighted.
The older man gave him an approving nod.
Ratio had no idea what he had done to earn it.
“You bargain pretty well for someone who didn't know he was supposed to,” the woman said as she packed his purchase.
“The underlying economic principles are hardly complicated.”
“Mm-hm.”
Her tone suggested she had chosen not to argue purely out of generosity.
Then, just as Ratio reached for his card again, she bent down and rummaged through another basket.
She selected a smaller durian and placed it beside the other two.
Ratio frowned.
“I requested two.”
“That one's for you.”
“I did not request a third.”
“I know.”
“Then remove it from the total.”
“It's free.”
Ratio's frown deepened.
“That is unnecessary—”
“Next customer!”
Ratio opened his mouth.
The woman had already turned away from him and was waving forward the person waiting behind him.
Apparently, the discussion had concluded without his consent.
He collected his box of durian and walked away.
“Bring your special someone next time!” she called after him. “I'll give him a discount!”
Ratio stopped.
“He is not—”
“Welcome!”
The woman greeted the next customer with suspicious enthusiasm, turning her back on Ratio before he could finish his objection.
Ratio remained where he was for another second.
Ridiculous.
As he turned away, however, an entirely unnecessary thought entered his mind.
Aventurine would probably enjoy this place.
Worse, he would probably enjoy bargaining with that woman.
Ratio could already imagine the gambler leaning against the counter with that infuriating smile of his, treating every counteroffer as though he were seated across a gaming table. Unlike Ratio, Aventurine would understand the game immediately.
He wondered which of them would win.
Ratio's steps slowed.
Why was he even considering this?
Whether Aventurine could successfully negotiate the price of a durian was completely irrelevant.
He adjusted his grip on the bags and continued walking.
Behind him, the woman's laughter rose above the noise of the market.
Ratio walked faster.
========
The familiar smell reached the laboratory before Ratio did.
One assistant looked up from her terminal.
Another paused halfway through entering a set of calculations.
A third head emerged from behind a workstation.
There was a brief silence.
“Is that… durian?”
Several more heads appeared.
From the other side of the laboratory came a considerably less enthusiastic response.
“Oh no. It's back.”
A chair rolled away from a nearby workstation.
“Have fun, you guys. I'm going somewhere else.”
“You haven't even seen it yet.”
“I don't need to. I can smell it.”
By the time Ratio entered the laboratory carrying the box, half the room was watching him with interest.
The other half appeared to be reconsidering their choice of workplace.
“Professor?”
Ratio continued walking.
Their eyes followed what he carried.
He knew those expressions.
Years ago, during his research into the structural properties of durian husks, his assistants had developed the convenient habit of consuming the flesh left behind after testing.
Not all of them had shared this enthusiasm.
Apparently, both kinds of memories survived remarkably well.
“They are not for the staff.”
The hopeful expressions disappeared.
“None of them?”
“No.”
One of the assistants who had been preparing to leave immediately sat back down.
“Oh. Never mind.”
Ratio walked past them without slowing.
Behind him came the quiet sound of several people returning, with considerably less enthusiasm, to their work.
He reached the door to his private work area.
Then stopped.
The smaller durian.
Ratio closed his eyes.
The woman had given it to him without charge. It was unnecessary for the custard experiment, and allowing it to sit unused would accomplish nothing.
He turned around.
Several assistants immediately looked up again in confusion.
“…The smaller one may be shared.”
The laboratory divided itself with remarkable efficiency.
“Thank you, Sir!”
“Get the knife and gloves!”
“We still have containers!”
“Not near my workstation, please.”
“I'm taking my break.”
“Take me with you.”
Within moments, one group had gathered eagerly around the durian while the less enthusiastic assistants gathered their belongings and filed out of the laboratory.
One paused at the door.
“Call us when you're finished.”
“We'll ventilate the room.”
“Thanks.”
Ratio watched the spontaneous division of his staff for several seconds.
Apparently, the former durian research team had reunited.
The former durian evacuation team had wisely established operations elsewhere.
He decided not to interfere.
========
Aventurine checked his phone.
Then his email.
Then his eyes returned to the empty notification bar on his phone.
The smile on his face strained.
Two weeks.
It had been two weeks since he last talked to Ratio.
Two weeks since he had dropped that little hint about a certain durian custard.
Yet there had been no messages from a certain eccentric doctor.
No missed calls.
No voice messages from the duck-loving scholar.
Nothing.
Aventurine put down his phone and rose from his office chair. He walked over to the wall-wide window, gazing out at the immense view of the galaxies beyond.
“Seems like I gambled at the wrong table, heh…”
He smiled bitterly.
“What was I expecting? The Doc was just curious about how takoyaki was made. Nothing more than that.”
Aventurine wasn't sure why that realization made him sadder than expected.
“And here I was hoping the good doctor was actually listening to what I said.”
Well.
Perhaps he deserved a drink.
He crossed over to the small pantry in his office and reached for a bottle of wine.
His phone buzzed.
Aventurine almost ignored it.
Then he saw the name glowing on the screen.
The expensive bottle nearly slipped from his hand in his hurry to grab the vibrating device.
“H-hello?”
“Are you occupied?”
“Uh… no?”
“Why do you sound uncertain?”
Aventurine ran a hand through his hair.
“Uh, I mean, no! I'm not busy!”
Heat crept up to his ears.
How embarrassing.
The older man seldom called him. Usually, Ratio would simply send a message. Hearing that familiar deep voice without warning had apparently been enough to scramble Aventurine's ability to answer a basic question.
“Good. Come to the location I sent you within twenty minutes.”
“Location? Why?”
“I need your input.”
The call ended.
Aventurine blinked.
He slowly lowered the phone from his ear.
Then a wide grin spread across his face.
“Seems like my bet is still ongoing…”
====
The location Ratio sent him was not the laboratory.
Aventurine checked the coordinates twice.
Then the building number.
Then the name registered beside the entrance.
His eyebrows rose.
“Well, well…”
The Doctor had invited him home.
That certainly improved the odds.
By the time Aventurine reached the door, his imagination had already supplied several possibilities—some more hopeful than others.
None of them involved Ratio opening the door looking as though he had personally lost an argument with his own kitchen.
Aventurine blinked.
The Doctor’s hair was slightly dishevelled. His sleeves had been rolled above his elbows, and there was a faint smear of something pale across one forearm. Shadows beneath his eyes suggested he had not been getting quite as much sleep as he should.
“Come.”
No hello. No welcome.
Just a command.
Ratio had already turned and walked deeper into the house before Aventurine could ask a single question.
Aventurine stared after him.
Then, because apparently that was what they were doing now, followed.
A familiar, strong scent reached him before they entered the kitchen.
Aventurine slowed.
He knew that smell.
“Durian?”
His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked towards Ratio’s back.
Had the Doctor actually bought durian?
Before he could ask, they reached the kitchen.
Aventurine stopped.
Oh.
The kitchen looked worse than its owner.
Bowls occupied nearly every available surface. Containers of cream, eggs and durian flesh crowded the counter beside measuring instruments Aventurine suspected did not normally belong in a kitchen. Several sheets covered in handwritten calculations had been spread across the table.
One chair appeared to have been claimed entirely by a stack of research notes.
There were at least three containers of custard.
Possibly four.
One had been pushed to the far end of the counter as though Ratio had personally taken offence at its existence.
Aventurine’s gaze moved slowly across the room.
Durian.
Custard.
Several different preparations.
His teasing smile faded.
Oh.
The conversation from two weeks ago came rushing back to him.
Rich, creamy, just sweet enough…
I wouldn’t mind having someone to share one with when it’s in season.
He had mentioned the durian custard deliberately.
Casually enough to sound like another passing comment, of course. But after the takoyaki, Aventurine had wanted to test a little theory of his own.
If he mentioned another unfamiliar food—something he had enjoyed once and quietly wished to taste again—would Ratio remember?
Would the Doctor try to make that for him too?
Apparently, Aventurine had just received his answer.
His gaze travelled across the crowded kitchen once more.
He had expected, perhaps, another plate. Another experiment disguised as intellectual curiosity.
He had not expected this.
Several batches. Research notes. Calculations. An exhausted Professor who smelled strongly of durian.
Something warm gave a dangerous little flutter inside his chest.
Well.
It seemed his little gamble had paid off rather spectacularly.
Aventurine looked again at the crowded counters. At the calculations. At the different batches of custard. Then at the exhausted man standing in the middle of all of it.
Ratio had listened.
Again.
“Doc…”
Ratio either didn’t hear the change in his voice or chose to ignore it.
He picked up one of the containers and inspected its contents with a deepening frown.
“This one is useless.”
Before Aventurine could ask what he meant, Ratio took the container to the waste bin.
And scraped the entire failed batch into it.
Aventurine’s fingers twitched.
The warmth in his chest vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared.
For one brief, irrational moment, he wanted to stop him.
It was still food.
Perhaps the texture was wrong. Perhaps it couldn’t be served the way Ratio wanted. But surely it could still be eaten. Mixed with something. Saved for later. Anything other than—
Aventurine caught himself.
His fingers slowly relaxed.
There was no reason to save it.
Not anymore.
Ratio’s kitchen was overflowing with ingredients. There was more food here than either of them needed, and if all these failed experiments emptied every cabinet in the house, Aventurine could simply fill them again.
Flour, eggs, cream, sugar, durian—whatever Ratio needed. He could buy it all ten times over without giving the cost a second thought.
Nobody was going hungry because one failed batch had been thrown away.
He wasn’t going hungry.
His next meal did not depend on rescuing whatever someone else had decided was no longer worth keeping.
Aventurine knew that.
His fingers, apparently, had taken a little longer to learn the lesson.
Aventurine slowly removed his hat.
“Wow… you’ve been busy haven’t you, professor?”
Ratio pointed at him.
“This is all your fault.”
“What?”
“The data you supplied was insufficient.”
“Data?”
Ratio frowned.
“The information you gave me that day. You are the only person here who has that data. Certain details can only come from you.”
Aventurine’s mouth curved automatically.
“Data only I can provide?”
“Obviously.”
“My, my.”
Aventurine’s smile widened.
“If you wanted my measurements, Doc, you only had to ask. I can provide those anytime you like.”
Ratio’s tired eyes narrowed.
“I meant your description of the durian custard.”
“Oh.”
“You called it durian custard. Do you have any idea how many preparations could reasonably fit that description?”
Aventurine blinked.
“But it was custard.”
Ratio's eye twitched.
“Baked or stirred? Firm or flowing? Served alone or as a filling? Hot or chilled? With eggs? Without eggs? You provided none of this.”
Aventurine spread his hands.
“Doc, I was there to enjoy my winnings, not investigate them. If it looked good, smelled good and tasted good, that was enough for me. I wasn't exactly betting on someone interrogating me about it years later.”
Ratio stared at him.
“And this is precisely why you would fail any assignment requiring basic observation.”
He huffed and crossed his arms over his duck apron.
“All you ever told me was that it was yellow. Excellent observation, Gambler. Truly remarkable. I am almost tempted to award you a hundred points for such extraordinary attention to detail.”
Aventurine put on a look of exaggerated shock.
“Doc, you wound me! It was yellow!”
“That eliminates virtually nothing!”
Ratio's voice rose with the last word.
Aventurine blinked.
That was unusual.
He rarely saw the older man this visibly stressed, much less heard him raise his voice over something as harmless as custard.
It should have been alarming.
Instead, Aventurine found the sight unexpectedly amusing.
The usually composed scholar stood before him with his hair dishevelled, sleeves rolled up and temper thoroughly ruffled. Even the little duck-patterned apron hanging from his neck and tied around his waist looked ridiculous—
though Aventurine couldn't help noticing that the fabric stretched rather snugly across his broad chest.
His gaze lingered.
Just for a second.
As much as he wanted to appreciate the sight, Aventurine couldn't help thinking that the older man resembled an owl with all its feathers standing on end.
His fingers were stained yellow from handling the durian flesh, while faint puffs of flour dusted his sharp cheekbones. And then there was the smell.
Aventurine would bet good money that Ratio wanted nothing more than to take a long, thorough bath and scrub every trace of durian from himself. Yet here he was, apparently refusing to surrender until his experiment produced the correct result.
The sight was almost too tempting.
Aventurine felt an irresistible urge to ruffle those feathers a little more.
“You must have been terribly stressed, dear Professor.”
“No thanks to you.”
Ratio gestured towards the evidence of his suffering.
Several dishes covered the kitchen counter.
One contained a smooth, pale-yellow baked custard, firm enough to hold its shape but clearly too dense. Beside it sat another attempt that had remained almost liquid, its surface trembling whenever someone touched the counter.
A tray of small durian puffs occupied the far end. Two had been cut open, revealing thick yellow cream inside. Another plate held miniature tarts with browned pastry edges and glossy custard centres.
There was even a small durian cake.
Aventurine stared at it.
Then at Ratio.
Then back at the cake.
Apparently, at some point during the Doctor’s descent into culinary madness, durian custard had briefly become perhaps he meant a cake containing durian custard.
Behind Ratio, a wide monitorless screen floated above the counter like a digital whiteboard. What might normally have displayed equations was now filled with a list of desserts.
DURIAN CUSTARD — POSSIBLE PREPARATIONS
Durian cake ❌
Durian puff ❌
Baked durian custard ❌
Durian custard tart ❌
Durian Portuguese egg tart ❌
Durian pastry filling — ?
Notes crowded the space beside them.
Too firm.
Too runny.
Pastry inconsistent with description.
Unknown serving temperature.
Insufficient information.
The final complaint had been underlined twice.
Beneath it, however, Ratio’s notes became considerably less professional.
Primary source demonstrates unacceptable observational skills.
A small arrow pointed towards a crude sketch of a round face wearing sunglasses and a hat. Beside it, Ratio had written:
“It was yellow.” — apparently sufficient culinary description according to subject.
Someone—very obviously Ratio—had added three question marks above the little figure’s head.
Next to that was an equally simple drawing of a custard cup surrounded by arrows:
Firm?
Soft?
Baked?
Filling?
And beneath everything:
How am I expected to reproduce something HE DOES NOT REMEMBER?
That sentence had been underlined three times.
Aventurine stared at the screen.
“…Is that supposed to be me?”
“No.”
“It’s wearing my hat.”
“Coincidence.”
“You even drew my pink sunglasses with a pink marker.”
Ratio’s expression darkened.
“They are merely identifying features.”
Aventurine’s grin widened.
“Identifying features? I thought you said it wasn’t me.”
A pause.
Ratio stared at him.
“It isn’t.”
“Then who exactly is this mysterious gentleman in my hat and sunglasses?”
“An irrelevant visual aid.”
“Uh-huh.”
“This is what happens when your entire description of a dessert consists of yellow and creamy.”
And just like that, the subject was apparently closed.
Aventurine’s gaze drifted from the screen to the trays scattered across the counter.
Crossed-out possibilities. Failed batches. Pages of calculations.
Ratio really made all of these because of something Aventurine had mentioned once.
Something warm fluttered dangerously in his chest again.
Now, now.
Better not get his hopes up just yet.
This was still Veritas Ratio. Give the man an unresolved problem and he would worry at it until he found an answer.
Perhaps Aventurine had simply given him a particularly stubborn one.
That was all.
Probably.
“Doc… I—”
“Did it contain eggs?”
Aventurine blinked.
Ratio had already turned back to the monitorless screen. With a flick of his hand, several of the crossed-out desserts shifted aside and a new section appeared beneath the remaining possibilities.
INGREDIENTS
Durian — confirmed
Eggs — ?
Milk / cream — ?
Sugar — probable
Ratio tapped the question mark beside eggs.
“Eggs, Gambler. Were there eggs in it?”
The question came with such intensity that Aventurine suddenly felt as though he had been brought in for questioning over an interastral crime.
“Maybe? It was a few years ago, Doc. If I'd known there'd be an interrogation someday, I would've taken notes.”
He smiled sweetly.
“I took my chances, ate the custard and survived. That's usually enough information for me.”
Ratio stared at him for a moment.
Then, with considerably more force than necessary, he wrote:
Eggs — UNKNOWN
Aventurine watched the word appear.
“…You didn’t have to make it so big.”
Ratio ignored him.
Another heading appeared.
CONSISTENCY
Firm — ?
Flowing — ?
Holds shape — ?
“Fine. We will work from observable properties instead.”
He turned towards Aventurine.
“Describe its consistency.”
Aventurine stared at him blankly.
Ratio pointed at the screen.
“Texture, Gambler. Surely you can provide me with one useful observation.”
Aventurine opened his mouth.
Then hesitated.
“Well…”
Ratio waited.
One second.
Two.
Under normal circumstances, he might have allowed Aventurine the time to search through memories several years old. Unfortunately, Ratio was tired, smelled overwhelmingly of durian, and had already exhausted what little patience remained to him.
Apparently, waiting for an answer was no longer an acceptable use of his time.
Before Aventurine could finish gathering his thoughts, Ratio stepped closer and caught his cheek between two fingers.
Aventurine froze.
“Mwehhh??”
“Don’t mwehhh me, Gambler. I’m asking if the texture was firm like this.”
Ratio gave his cheek another pinch.
Strangely, he found the action rather satisfying.
Perhaps some long-buried childish part of him simply wanted revenge on the blond for causing him so much trouble over a custard.
“Ow, ow, ow—Reshooo, leggo—”
Aventurine caught Ratio’s wrist, and the older man finally let go.
“Well?”
Aventurine stared at him.
Of all the reactions he had expected from the distinguished Professor Veritas Ratio, having his cheek pinched like a misbehaving child had certainly not been among them.
He should probably have been offended.
Instead, a slow, intrigued smile threatened to appear.
Well, well.
Apparently, enough sleep deprivation and durian could uncover some rather unexpected sides of the good Doctor.
Aventurine poked his other cheek, wisely testing the one Ratio hadn't just assaulted.
“Hmm… I'd wager the custard was softer than this.”
He pressed his cheek thoughtfully, then glanced at Ratio.
“Though I didn't realize my face was part of tonight's experimental equipment. Should I start charging you for its use?”
Ratio ignored him and hummed thoughtfully.
“You mentioned it was softer… Was it softer and more yielding, like your thighs?”
Silence.
Aventurine’s thoughts came to an abrupt halt.
He even forgot about his sore cheek.
“My… thighs?”
His face suddenly felt considerably warmer.
“Doc… how in the world do you know the elasticity of my thighs?”
Ratio stared at him.
A long, exhausted silence followed.
“That is what you chose to focus on?”
“You brought my thighs into this!”
“It was a comparison!”
Aventurine raised an eyebrow.
The initial surprise was quickly giving way to suspicion—and, admittedly, a little amusement.
“A suspiciously informed comparison.”
“Gambler…”
The warning in Ratio’s voice was unmistakable.
Naturally, Aventurine pushed on.
“Have you been conducting some private field research without telling me, Doc?”
Ratio sighed and rubbed his forehead.
“Your trousers have been fitting more tightly than they should. I suggest contacting your tailor and having your current measurements taken again. Now answer the question before I lose what remains of my patience.”
Aventurine stared at him.
His hand moved almost unconsciously to his thighs, smoothing the fabric of his trousers. Then he reached back and patted the seat, checking the fit for himself.
His amethyst-blue eyes narrowed.
“…Are you implying my butt got bigger?”
Then realization struck.
Aventurine slowly looked back at Ratio.
“You’ve been staring at my butt, haven’t you?”
Ratio glanced at the piece of chalk still in his hand.
For one deeply tempting moment, he considered launching it directly at Aventurine’s forehead.
He resisted.
“Considering your habit of sampling local delicacies after nearly every mission abroad, it is entirely possible that your measurements have changed. And you introduced the subject of your butt. I merely used your thigh as an example of texture.”
Aventurine stared at him, one eyebrow slowly rising.
“That wasn’t a no.”
Ratio’s eye twitched.
“Enough about your big butt, Aventurine.”
“Big?! Ratio! My—”
“Answer my question about the custard’s texture before I come over there and verify the comparison myself, Gambler.”
Aventurine went very still.
Ratio, apparently satisfied that the threat had worked, crossed his arms and waited.
Aventurine needed a moment.
Verify the comparison himself?
His gaze dropped briefly to his own thighs before snapping back to the Professor.
Oh.
The good Doctor clearly had no idea what had just come out of his mouth.
Or perhaps he did.
Aventurine wasn’t sure which possibility was more dangerous.
Then his usual poker-face smile slipped neatly back into place.
Fine.
If the Doctor wanted to raise the stakes, Aventurine was more than happy to call his bluff.
“Why did you deliberately avoid my question, Ratio?”
His voice dropped into something softer as he leaned a little closer.
“What else about me have you… observed?”
He couldn’t believe he was doing this.
Aventurine leaned against the counter and attempted what he hoped was his most seductive pose.
He had modelled for magazines and advertisements before.
Flirted with friends and foes alike.
He had charmed his way through negotiations and turned more than a few heads without even trying.
But deliberately trying to seduce the man who had stolen his heart?
Suddenly, Aventurine was painfully aware of everything.
Was he leaning too much?
Was this expression seductive or ridiculous?
Mama Fenge, he probably looked like a complete fool.
Ratio’s expression gave him nothing.
The scholar merely looked back at him with the same calm, unimpressed stare.
Internally, however, Ratio was becoming increasingly aware that Aventurine had moved much too close.
The lowered voice was unnecessary.
So was that look.
And the way he was leaning against the counter.
None of it had anything to do with custard.
Ratio refused to reward such an obvious attempt at distraction.
“I have observed nothing relevant to your question.”
Aventurine’s confidence suffered a small but significant injury.
Still, he refused to surrender.
He straightened and poked Ratio in the broad chest.
“And what about these?”
Ratio looked down at the finger pressing into his chest.
“What about them?”
“Since we’re apparently using each other as reference material, how about these? Custard-worthy elasticity?”
“That sentence is scientifically meaningless.”
“But emotionally satisfying.”
Aventurine’s smile returned.
Perhaps the direct approach required further testing.
His finger travelled upward.
Lightly, he brushed Ratio’s cheek, traced the edge of his jaw, then caught the front of his collar between two fingers.
Ratio went very still.
Aventurine gave the fabric a small tug.
Their faces stopped only a short distance apart.
“There,” Aventurine murmured. “Now I can make a few observations of my own.”
Ratio stared at him.
Up close, Aventurine’s eyes were particularly distracting.
Irrelevant.
His fingers were still curled around Ratio’s collar.
Also irrelevant.
The faint warmth of his breath—
Completely irrelevant.
Ratio’s expression remained perfectly flat.
“Have you finished?”
Aventurine’s smile faltered.
“…That’s all I get?”
“You have provided no useful information about the custard.”
Aventurine stared at him.
This man was impossible.
He released Ratio’s collar and poked him in the chest once more for good measure.
“You’re still refusing to answer my question, Doc. It’s only making my hypothesis more convincing.”
“Which hypothesis?”
“That you really have been looking at my butt.”
“I have eyes, Gambler.”
Aventurine’s eyebrows rose.
“Oh? Is that a partial admission I hear?”
Ratio’s expression immediately told him it was not.
“But of course, a scientist requires very… observant eyes.”
Aventurine’s grin widened.
“I am interested in obtaining accurate information about the custard, which you have yet to provide.”
Aventurine grinned despite the heat still burning at his ears.
“Well, since apparently my body is now part of the scientific method…”
Aventurine gave him a pointed look.
“First my cheek, then my thighs, and somehow my butt got dragged into the investigation too. At this rate, Doc, I should start charging you a consultation fee.”
“Are you going to answer the question?”
“I'm getting there. A good investment requires careful consideration.”
He finally gave the question some serious thought.
Aventurine’s gaze drifted upwards as he searched his memory. His brows drew together slightly, and one finger rose to rest against his lower lip.
“I think it was soft…”
His fingertip moved slowly across his lip as he thought.
“Definitely soft. But it held its shape.”
Ratio did not answer.
For several seconds, his attention had become inconveniently fixed on Aventurine’s mouth.
The Gambler wasn’t even doing it deliberately this time.
No teasing smile. No lowered voice. No calculated attempt to invade Ratio’s personal space. He was simply standing there, thinking, his finger still resting against his lower lip.
Ratio looked away.
Ridiculous.
Since when had the Gambler been so—
His thoughts stopped.
No.
He was tired. That was all. Sleep deprivation was demonstrably detrimental to concentration and judgment, and he had clearly reached the point where both were beginning to suffer.
He turned sharply towards the monitorless screen.
“Held its shape?”
Aventurine lowered his hand.
“Yeah.”
Ratio made a mark beside the relevant note with rather more concentration than the task required.
“Did it spread when served?”
Aventurine resisted making another crass joke, if only to spare what remained of the Doctor’s sanity.
“No.”
“Could it be piped?”
“Piped?”
Ratio gritted his teeth.
He brought his hands together, one curled as though gripping an invisible piping bag while the other guided an imaginary nozzle.
“Could it be squeezed through a piping bag and still retain its shape?”
Aventurine watched the demonstration.
“Oh.”
A pause.
“Yeah, probably.”
Ratio stared at him.
“Probably?”
Aventurine raised both hands.
“That's the best odds I can give you, Doc. Take them or leave them.”
Ratio’s attention sharpened.
“How was it served?”
Aventurine thought for a moment.
“There was pastry around it.”
“Completely enclosed?”
“No… I don't think so.”
“So the custard was visible?”
“Yeah.”
That, at least, seemed to satisfy Ratio.
“What shape was the pastry?”
Aventurine fell silent.
He remembered the taste far better than the details. Rich durian, sweet custard, soft pastry—but the exact shape?
“It was…”
He held one hand out and traced a small, rounded shape above his palm.
“Kind of like this.”
Ratio watched carefully.
Aventurine frowned.
“…No. Wait.”
He curled his fingers inward, then flattened the imaginary pastry slightly.
“More like this. Or maybe the sides were—”
“Stop.”
Aventurine froze, hands still in the air.
Ratio stared at the invisible pastry between them.
“Astounding. I wasn’t aware a single pastry could possess three different shapes simultaneously. Are you testing my patience, Gambler?”
Aventurine looked down at his hands.
“…Maybe I was giving you a trick question, Doc.”
He flashed an innocent smile.
“Consider it a gamble. One of those three is definitely the winning answer.”
Ratio closed his eyes.
“That communicates nothing.”
“It narrows the odds.”
“From what?”
Aventurine paused.
“…All the other shapes?”
Ratio inhaled slowly through his nose.
“I’m doing my best here, Doc! I tried more delicacies than I could count during that mission. I remember the winning flavours, not the exact shape of every bet I placed.”
The older man sighed.
“Was the custard spooned onto the pastry or shaped before serving?”
Aventurine thought again.
“I don’t know. It looked neat. Like it had been squeezed into place.”
Ratio’s attention sharpened.
“Squeezed?”
“Yeah. You know. Like—”
Aventurine started to raise his hands again.
Ratio’s eyebrow twitched.
“No.”
Before Aventurine could begin another demonstration, Ratio caught both of his hands in his own.
Aventurine froze.
Oh.
Well, this was new.
His fingers looked almost delicate trapped between Ratio’s much larger hands. Worse still, the older man had stepped close enough that Aventurine could catch the faint sweetness clinging to him beneath the much stronger scent of durian and pastry.
His heartbeat gave an inconvenient little jump.
“Enough of that,” Ratio said. “You have already demonstrated three different shapes. I refuse to entertain a fourth.”
Aventurine looked from their joined hands to Ratio’s face.
“…Right.”
Ratio, however, seemed completely unaware of what he had done. Still firmly trapped in research mode, he continued to hound the blond with questions.
“Instead of giving me another unreliable demonstration, tell me this: could you confirm again if the custard have been piped?”
“Um…”
“What?”
Aventurine said nothing.
His gaze dropped pointedly towards their hands.
Ratio followed it.
For the first time, he seemed to register that he was still holding them.
Silence.
His grip loosened and Ratio cleared his throat before looking at the screen.
“Well? Was it piped or not?”
Aventurine slowly lowered his hands. His usual poker smile slipped neatly back into place.
“Y-yeah… it was piped.”
Ratio abruptly turned towards the monitorless screen.
With several quick strokes of chalk, he crossed out two possibilities beneath CONSISTENCY and circled HOLDS SHAPE.
Then he began writing.
PIPING — POSSIBLE
VISIBLE FILLING
PASTRY — NOT FULLY ENCLOSED
Below that, several previous possibilities disappeared beneath increasingly aggressive lines of chalk.
Aventurine watched with growing amusement.
Apparently, piped had been the first useful thing he had contributed all evening.
Ratio added another note beneath it.
Fill…ng must ret….n …ape after pip….
Aventurine squinted.
Then leaned closer.
Then squinted harder.
“…Ratio.”
“What?”
“What does that say?”
The older man barely glanced at the screen.
“Filling must retain its shape after piping.”
Aventurine stared.
“That’s what that says?”
Ratio’s chalk stopped.
“Obviously.”
“Doc, I’ve seen prescriptions with better handwriting.”
Slowly, Ratio turned his head.
Aventurine immediately raised both hands.
“I’m just saying! Usually your handwriting is beautiful. Tonight it looks like you’re trying to summon something.”
Ratio looked back at the screen.
His eyes narrowed.
For perhaps the first time that evening, he seemed to seriously examine his own handwriting.
A pause.
“…Irrelevant.”
Aventurine grinned.
“Is it? Because if I’m your unreliable primary source, you’re becoming a remarkably unreliable record keeper.”
Ratio’s grip tightened around the chalk.
“Do not test me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, my dear Professor.”
Aventurine raised both hands innocently.
“In my defence, I didn’t know I was submitting a culinary research proposal.”
Ratio muttered something under his breath and turned back to the screen.
He crossed out another formulation, then circled the new notes with considerably more force than necessary.
VISIBLE FILLING.
HOLDS SHAPE.
PIPING — POSSIBLE.
Ratio studied them for a moment.
Then he set down the chalk.
Aventurine studied him in turn.
The scholar looked exhausted. His hair was still dishevelled, his apron dusted with flour, and the shadows beneath his eyes did little to improve the picture.
Yet somehow, Ratio still looked prepared to trudge onward in the name of culinary science.
Perhaps Aventurine ought to make his escape while the Doctor still had enough patience left not to throw him into the waste bin alongside the failed custard.
“Well, I’m glad I could contribute to your little culinary research project, Doc. I suppose I should leave you to it.”
“Sit.”
Aventurine stopped.
“…What?”
Ratio was already reaching for a clean bowl.
“You’re staying.”
Aventurine’s brows rose.
“Oh?”
“Yes. Your memory has proven unreliable, but your palate should at least be functional.”
Aventurine placed a hand dramatically over his chest.
“My, my. After everything you’ve said about me tonight, I finally receive a compliment.”
Ratio ignored him.
“I have enough information to test another formulation. This time, you will provide direct feedback.”
He cracked an egg against the edge of the bowl.
Aventurine watched him.
“And if it doesn’t taste like the one I remember?”
“Then I’ll adjust it again.”
“And if the next one doesn’t work either?”
Ratio finally looked at him.
“Then I’ll adjust it again.”
Aventurine stared at him.
Ratio had already turned back to the bowl, as though there were nothing remarkable about his answer.
“Doc…”
“What?”
Aventurine hesitated.
“Why are you going through so much trouble over a custard?”
Ratio glanced at him as though the answer should have been obvious.
“Because you said you wanted to have it again.”
Aventurine went still.
Just because of that?
Something in Aventurine’s chest gave a small, traitorous flutter.
Oh.
There it was again.
That dangerous little spark of hope he had carefully tucked away earlier.
Apparently, it had no intention of staying put.
Because that was the part Aventurine hadn’t accounted for when he placed this little bet.
He had wondered whether Ratio would remember the durian custard.
He had wondered whether the Doctor would try to make it for him, just as he had with the takoyaki.
He had his answer.
But this was more than that.
If Aventurine said it wasn’t right, Ratio would try again.
And again.
Until it tasted right to him.
For once, Aventurine had no clever answer.
He simply smiled.
Ratio frowned.
“Why are you smiling?”
“No reason.”
“Then stop.”
“Can’t.”
Ratio made an irritated sound and turned back to the bowl.
Still smiling, Aventurine pulled out a chair and sat down.
It seemed his little experiment was producing far more interesting results than he had expected.
=======
The next attempt took considerably longer than Aventurine expected.
Not that he had any complaints.
He was far too entertained watching the results of Ratio’s two weeks of durian-related suffering.
The scholar now handled the spiky fruit with surprising ease. With his sleeves rolled above his elbows and a duck-patterned apron stretched across his chest, Ratio found the seam with the tip of a large knife, carefully pried the husk apart, then scooped out the soft yellow flesh inside.
Aventurine rested his chin against one hand.
My, my.
All that research into durian husks and their defensive properties, and somehow the good Doctor had finally learned to appreciate what was inside them.
Or, more accurately, he had learned to extract it efficiently because one troublesome gambler had mentioned a custard two weeks ago.
Then Aventurine noticed the other two fruits waiting on the counter.
He blinked.
That first one was unmistakable.
“Musang King?”
Ratio did not look up.
“Yes.”
Aventurine’s gaze moved to the next durian as Ratio pulled it closer.
Darker thorns. Different shape.
“Wait. Is that Black Thorn?”
“Obviously. The first two cultivars proved unsuitable. I had to make several more trips to the market.”
Aventurine stared at him.
The Doctor really had gone all in on this.
Ratio opened the second fruit with the same practiced efficiency before reaching for the third.
Aventurine took one look at it and laughed.
“Red Prawn too? You really don’t do anything by halves, do you, Doc?”
“You failed to identify the cultivar you originally consumed. Comparing several plausible candidates is the most efficient method of narrowing the variables.”
There it was.
Not I bought three different durians because you once mentioned liking a dessert.
No. That would have sounded far too sentimental.
It was narrowing the variables.
Aventurine rested his chin against one hand again, thoroughly entertained.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Professor.”
Ratio gave him a suspicious look before returning to the fruit.
Soon, three small dishes were arranged in front of Aventurine, each containing flesh from a different durian.
Musang King. Black Thorn. Red Prawn.
Three cultivars, all with their own slightly different flavours and textures.
Ratio folded his arms.
“Taste them.”
Aventurine looked from one dish to another.
“All of them?”
“That is generally how comparisons work.”
“And here I thought you were simply trying to feed me.”
“Gambler…”
Aventurine grinned.
Instead of reaching for the spoon Ratio had thoughtfully provided, Aventurine picked up the first piece with his fingers.
Ratio’s eyes dropped to his hand.
“…There is a spoon.”
Aventurine popped the durian into his mouth, careful not to swallow the seed.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Ratio stared at him for a moment before apparently deciding that this particular battle was not worth fighting.
Aventurine smiled as he tasted the fruit.
Sweet and creamy, but mild. Pleasant enough, though it lacked the richness lingering at the edge of his memory.
He shook his head.
“Not this one.”
Ratio immediately made a note.
Aventurine licked a trace of durian from his thumb.
“By the way, Doc. Did you know one of the locals told me they eat their durian with rice?”
Ratio’s chalk paused.
“Rice?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Why?”
Aventurine shrugged.
“Rice is a staple there. According to him, everything tastes better with rice.”
“That is an extraordinarily broad claim.”
“I didn’t say I agreed with him.”
Ratio considered this for a moment.
Then, inexplicably, he wrote something down.
Aventurine noticed.
“Was that really relevant to the custard?”
“No.”
“Then why did you write it down?”
Ratio’s chalk stopped.
A beat passed.
“Potential future reference.”
“Uh-huh.”
Aventurine’s smile widened.
Ratio ignored him.
It certainly wasn’t because he enjoyed learning new things from the peacock’s travels.
Nor because he had developed the unfortunate habit of listening whenever Aventurine rambled.
Obviously.
Aventurine picked up the second sample.
His eyes widened as soon as he tasted it.
Oh.
This one was stronger. Richer too, with a bitterness beneath the sweetness that made him pause.
He took another bite, considering it carefully, before shaking his head again.
“No. Too bitter.”
Another note.
Aventurine reached for the final dish.
The flavour was sweeter than the second, rich and creamy enough to coat his tongue. He frowned thoughtfully and took another bite.
Something about it felt familiar.
Not exactly the dessert he remembered—the custard, sugar and pastry would have changed the flavour considerably—but closer.
Much closer.
“…This one.”
Ratio looked up.
“Certain?”
Aventurine smiled.
“Yes, Doc. This one.”
Ratio pulled the selected dish towards himself.
“Good.”
Aventurine reached for one of the rejected samples.
Ratio moved it out of reach.
“Hey.”
“You have work to do.”
“I thought my work was eating.”
“Your work is providing useful feedback.”
“Same profession, really.”
Ratio ignored him.
Aventurine would have been perfectly content to sit prettily at the counter and watch the attractive scholar work.
Unfortunately, being a taste tester involved considerably more than that.
It meant answering questions.
Constantly.
Ratio turned the selected durian flesh into a smooth purée before folding it into the thick custard he had prepared. Once the mixture had cooled, he scooped a small amount directly from the bowl and held the spoon out to Aventurine.
“Taste.”
Aventurine obliged.
Ratio watched him with the intensity of an owl observing a particularly suspicious mouse.
“Well?”
Aventurine rolled the custard thoughtfully over his tongue.
The texture was close now. Soft and creamy, but thick enough to hold its shape. The sweetness was almost right too.
Still…
“More durian.”
Ratio’s chalk immediately moved across the screen.
“How much more?”
“Hmm…”
Aventurine considered it.
“Just a little.”
Ratio stopped writing.
“Define a little.”
Aventurine automatically raised both hands, thumb and forefinger moving closer together.
Ratio immediately raised one of his own.
“No. Give me something measurable.”
Aventurine stared at him.
“Doc, telling a gambler not to use his hands is like telling him not to play his cards.”
“You are not playing cards.”
“You know what I mean.”
Aventurine let his hands fall with a dramatic sigh.
“Fine. It needs to taste more like durian without tasting like I swallowed an entire durian.”
Ratio stared at him.
“…That is useless.”
“Oh, come on! That was perfectly clear. More durian, but not too much durian.”
“You have merely repeated yourself.”
“Slightly more durian?”
“Define slightly.”
Aventurine’s fingers twitched.
Ratio narrowed his eyes.
“Don’t use your hands again, Gambler. We’ve established how effective that is.”
Slowly, Aventurine lowered the hand he had begun to raise.
“You just lack imagination, Doc.”
Ratio scoffed.
“I refuse to have my imagination questioned by someone who possesses an excess of it and remarkably little sense to restrain it.”
Aventurine put a hand to his chest.
“Ouch, Doc. Now you’re questioning my common sense?”
“I’m questioning whether yours qualifies as common.”
Aventurine blinked.
Then he laughed.
“Common sense is terribly boring. Where’s the thrill in only betting when the odds are in your favour?”
Ratio stared at him.
“This is precisely why you require supervision.”
Aventurine’s laughter died rather abruptly.
“…Can I take that to mean you’ll always be watching out for me?”
Ratio went very still.
Heat crept into Aventurine’s cheeks.
“Define ‘slightly,’ Gambler, before I introduce you to the business end of this chalk.”
Aventurine laughed and glanced around the counter.
His gaze landed on a small measuring cup.
“Hmm…”
He picked it up and examined it before filling it with a little durian purée.
“Maybe about this much?”
Ratio stared at the cup.
Then at Aventurine.
He threw both hands into the air.
“You could have done that from the beginning!”
Aventurine burst out laughing.
“You told me to give you something measurable. I’m learning.”
“At an agonizing pace.”
Still chuckling, Aventurine waited until Ratio turned back to the bowl before casually stealing another piece of durian from the nearby dish.
He popped it into his mouth.
Ratio did not even turn around.
“Stop eating the ingredients.”
Aventurine froze mid-chew.
“…How did you know?”
“You are not nearly as subtle as you believe.”
Aventurine slowly glanced at the back of Ratio’s head.
“That’s mildly insulting.”
“It was intended to be.”
The older man sighed.
“I have already made several unnecessary trips to the market because of your inadequate description. I have no intention of making another because you ate the experiment.”
He paused.
“Nor do I intend to negotiate with that woman again.”
Aventurine’s brows rose.
“…That woman?”
Ratio went still.
A slow smile spread across Aventurine’s face.
“Oh? Did someone give the great Veritas Ratio a hard time?”
“Irrelevant.”
“Doc, who is she?”
“Do you want your custard or not?”
Aventurine considered his options.
“…I’ll ask again later.”
“You will not.”
Then, very carefully, Aventurine reached towards the bowl again.
“Gambler.”
His hand retreated.
“…I thought you wanted feedback.”
“On the finished product.”
“Preliminary feedback is important too.”
“Put it back.”
Aventurine looked at the piece already between his fingers.
“You want me to put this back?”
Ratio closed his eyes.
“Eat it and stop touching the rest.”
“Gladly.”
Eventually, after more measuring, mixing, muttering, and one surprisingly heated disagreement over the appropriate amount of sugar, Ratio placed the finished dessert in front of him.
Aventurine straightened.
The pastry was small, topped with a neat swirl of pale golden custard. It held its shape exactly as Aventurine remembered, soft ridges curling neatly towards the centre.
For once, Ratio said nothing.
He simply watched.
Aventurine picked up his fork and took the first bite.
The pastry gave way beneath it.
Then came the custard—smooth and creamy, carrying the unmistakable richness of durian without overwhelming everything else.
Aventurine stopped chewing.
Ratio immediately frowned.
“Well?”
Aventurine took another bite, slower this time.
There it was.
“…This is it.”
Something in Ratio’s expression shifted.
“You’re certain?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Consistency?”
“Just right.”
“Sweetness?”
“Just like I remember.”
“And the proportion of durian?”
Aventurine laughed.
“Doc.”
“What?”
“It’s right.”
Ratio finally seemed to relax.
Only slightly.
Anyone else might not have noticed.
But Aventurine had spent enough time watching Veritas Ratio to recognize the small release of tension in his shoulders.
Ratio reached for the sheet beside him.
“Then the final measurements should be—”
Aventurine’s gaze wandered past him.
There was another plate on the counter.
Another pastry.
He blinked.
“Doc, who’s that one for?”
Ratio followed his gaze.
“Me.”
Aventurine stared at him.
“You’re having one too?”
Ratio looked back at him as though the answer should have been obvious.
“You specifically said you wished you had someone with whom to eat it whenever it was in season.”
Aventurine went still.
Oh.
The kitchen suddenly seemed very quiet.
Ratio had remembered.
Not merely the durian.
Not merely the custard.
Not merely some vague description of something yellow and creamy that had apparently caused him two weeks of unnecessary suffering.
He had remembered that.
The little part Aventurine had deliberately slipped into the conversation and then spent the following days wondering if Ratio had even noticed.
Kinda wish I had someone to eat them with me whenever it’s in season.
He had noticed.
Aventurine lowered his eyes to his plate before the expression on his face could betray too much.
“And here I thought this was all about your culinary research.”
“It ceased being research several failed batches ago.”
Aventurine looked up.
Ratio had already picked up his own fork.
“Then why did you keep going?”
Ratio paused.
For perhaps the first time that evening, the Doctor seemed to find a question more difficult than Aventurine did.
Then his brows drew together.
“You mentioned something you wanted.”
Aventurine waited.
Ratio looked increasingly irritated by the silence.
“You told me. Why would I not remember?”
There went the last of Aventurine’s restraint.
He stood.
Ratio looked up.
“What are you—”
Aventurine leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
Ratio froze.
Completely.
Aventurine withdrew just as quickly.
For all his earlier confidence, his heart was now beating hard enough to make him wonder whether Ratio could hear it.
Still, he managed a smile.
“Consider that positive feedback. Thank you, Ratio.”
Ratio slowly raised a hand to his cheek.
The warmth lingered beneath his fingertips.
His pulse had inexplicably quickened.
Irritating.
He had spent weeks tracking down durians, arguing with an obstinate vendor, testing one failed formulation after another, and interrogating a thoroughly unreliable primary source over the consistency of custard.
He would not have tolerated half this trouble for anyone else.
That realization should have concerned him more than it did.
Instead, as he looked at Aventurine standing beside him with that uncharacteristically uncertain smile, Ratio found that none of it felt particularly unreasonable.
Somehow, for him, it had simply felt worth doing.
Ratio cleared his throat.
“…That is not a recognized method of evaluating custard.”
“No.”
Aventurine’s smile softened.
“That one wasn’t about the custard.”
Silence.
For once, Aventurine couldn’t read the expression on Ratio’s face.
Perhaps he had finally pushed his luck too far.
Perhaps—
Ratio lowered his hand.
“Sit down, Gambler.”
Aventurine’s heart sank half an inch.
Then Ratio pulled out the chair beside him.
“Your pastry is waiting.”
Aventurine looked at the chair.
Then at Ratio.
Slowly, his smile returned.
“Why, Ratio. If you wanted me beside you, you could have simply asked.”
“I just did.”
Aventurine blinked.
Oh.
Ratio sat down before Aventurine could recover.
“Are you going to eat, or do you intend to stand there smiling like an idiot for the remainder of the evening?”
“I’m considering my options.”
“There is one sensible option.”
Aventurine took the seat beside him.
Their shoulders nearly touched.
Ratio reached for his fork.
Aventurine looked at the pastry.
Then at Ratio.
An idea occurred to him.
Perhaps it was the lingering warmth in his chest.
Perhaps it was the fact that Ratio had spent two weeks wrestling with durians because Aventurine had mentioned wanting something once.
Or perhaps Aventurine simply felt unusually brave tonight.
Before Ratio could cut into his pastry, Aventurine reached over and stole the fork from his hand.
Ratio stared at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Returning the favour.”
Aventurine cut off a small piece of pastry, making sure to catch some of the pale golden custard with it.
“You’ve been feeding me an awful lot lately, Doc.”
He lifted the fork between them.
“Takoyaki. Durian custard. Three different cultivars of durian because apparently yellow wasn’t sufficient information…”
Ratio’s expression flattened.
“It was not.”
Aventurine laughed softly.
“Exactly.”
His smile softened.
“So let me do this one thing for you.”
Ratio looked at him.
Then at the fork.
Aventurine suddenly remembered another fork, another offer, and an alabaster headpiece appearing between them with almost insulting speed.
His smile turned teasing again.
“Unless you’re planning to hide under that marble head of yours again.”
“I do not hide under it.”
“Of course not.”
Aventurine brought the fork a little closer.
“Come on, Doc. Say ‘aaaah’.”
Ratio’s eyes narrowed.
For one terrible second, Aventurine thought the alabaster headpiece might actually materialise.
It didn’t.
Ratio sighed.
Then he leaned forward and took the bite.
Aventurine froze.
Oh.
Somehow, despite being the one who had started this, he had not prepared himself for Ratio to actually cooperate.
Ratio chewed thoughtfully.
Aventurine watched him with considerably more attention than any reasonable person should devote to another man eating custard.
“Well?”
“…Acceptable.”
“Acceptable? Ratio, after all that?”
“Would you prefer I lie? One bite is sufficient to identify several areas that could still be improved.”
Aventurine stared at him.
“Come on, Ratio. It’s meant to be enjoyed. Not assessed.”
“Those are not mutually exclusive.”
“For you, apparently.”
Aventurine lowered the fork towards the plate.
Ratio caught his wrist.
Aventurine paused.
“I did not say I was finished.”
His eyes slowly returned to Ratio.
“…Oh?”
Ratio released him.
“You insisted on feeding me. Finish what you started.”
Aventurine’s smile returned.
“Gladly.”
He cut another small piece from the pastry, catching some of the golden custard on his fork, and offered it to him.
The second bite was easier.
So was the third.
Somewhere along the way, Aventurine stopped teasing him about it.
Ratio stopped pretending to be irritated.
And when Aventurine finally returned to his own pastry, their chairs had somehow ended up close enough that neither had to reach very far.
For a while, they simply ate.
At some point, Aventurine glanced sideways.
Ratio was already looking at him.
Their eyes met.
Neither said anything.
Aventurine smiled.
Not the bright, practiced smile he wore across negotiation tables, nor the teasing grin he so often aimed at the scholar just to see what reaction he could provoke.
Just something small and warm.
To his surprise, Ratio returned it.
Barely.
But Aventurine saw it.
That was enough.
He shifted closer and leaned into Ratio’s side, one arm slipping loosely around him as he rested against his shoulder.
Ratio stiffened for only a moment.
Aventurine waited.
No complaint came.
Instead, Ratio settled beside him, allowing Aventurine to remain exactly where he was.
Aventurine’s smile returned as he took another bite.
Ratio was eating the durian custard Aventurine had wanted him to try.
Aventurine was eating the dessert he had once wished he could share with someone.
And now he was tucked comfortably against that someone’s side.
Just as he had asked.
Well.
Perhaps a little better than he had asked.
His little gamble had paid off rather spectacularly.
After all, durian season wouldn’t last forever.
Fortunately, he had a feeling his dining companion would.
==========
By the time the last of the pastries had disappeared, the kitchen still looked as though it had survived a small culinary disaster.
Ratio washed.
Aventurine dried.
It was, Aventurine thought, a remarkably domestic arrangement for two men surrounded by the remains of several failed custards and three different cultivars of durian.
He was halfway through drying a plate when his hands suddenly stopped.
Aventurine stared at it.
Then slowly raised his head.
“Doc.”
Ratio, elbow-deep in soapy water, did not look up.
“What?”
“I just thought of something.”
“That alone is cause for concern.”
Aventurine ignored him.
“Couldn’t you have just shown me pictures?”
Ratio stopped washing.
Silence.
Aventurine lowered the plate.
“You know. Search for durian custard, show me a few pictures and ask which one looked like the dessert I remembered.”
Ratio remained perfectly still.
Aventurine watched the realization arrive.
Slowly.
Horribly.
Ratio looked towards the monitorless screen.
Then at the counter where the evidence of his many failed attempts had once been.
Then at Aventurine.
“…Not another word.”
Aventurine’s lips twitched.
“Oh, no.”
“Gambler…”
He carefully set the plate down before he dropped it.
“Oh, I’m going to treasure this forever.”
“Aventurine…”
“Two weeks.”
Ratio turned back to the sink with considerably more force than necessary.
“Enough.”
“Three different cultivars.”
“I said enough.”
Aventurine broke into helpless laughter.
“The great Veritas Ratio, defeated by an image search.”
Ratio said nothing.
Aventurine was laughing hard enough now that he had to brace himself against the counter.
“I really wish I’d been there when you realised you needed three different cultivars. Did you stand there staring at them and think—”
“Aventurine.”
“—perhaps the fourth durian will finally reveal the secrets of the universe—”
Ratio turned.
Aventurine barely had time to register the movement before Ratio caught him by the chin and kissed him.
His laughter stopped.
Completely.
It was not a particularly long kiss.
Just long enough for Aventurine’s mind to go pleasantly, spectacularly blank.
When Ratio drew back, Aventurine stared at him.
Ratio stared back.
For several miraculous seconds, Aventurine had absolutely nothing to say.
Then his lips curved.
“Wow… Our first kiss is durian-flavoured.”
He chuckled, licking his lower lip.
“No complaints, though.”
Ratio closed his eyes as one hand rose to rub wearily at his aching forehead.
“This,” he muttered, “is why I cannot leave you unsupervised.”
Aventurine’s smile softened.
“Careful, Doc. I might start thinking you really intend to keep me.”
Ratio picked up the dish towel and threw it directly into his face.
“Stop asking stupid questions you already know the answer to.”
Aventurine pulled the towel from his face, positively beaming.
Ratio turned back to the sink.
“Hey, Doc?”
A long-suffering sigh.
“What?”
“Does this mean I can start requesting more exotic recipes?”
Ratio didn’t even turn around.
“Apparently, you still haven’t learned to stop asking questions you already know the answer to.”
Aventurine laughed.
“I’ve always wanted to try nasi katok… nasi lemak… Or maybe pho. Oh! Bakso also sounds good. Oh, wait—how about Lionpore chilli crab?”
Ratio stared at him.
He was beginning to realise something mildly alarming about his new boyfriend.
Aventurine was a foodie.
Not merely someone who enjoyed eating. Apparently, the man had accumulated an entire catalogue of dishes from across the universe that he intended to try someday.
Ratio glanced around his kitchen.
He had only just survived two weeks of durian custard.
Somehow, he had the unpleasant feeling that his kitchen would be seeing considerably more use from now on.
Strangely, the thought did not bother him nearly as much as it should have.
“Don’t push your luck, Gambler.”
Aventurine’s grin widened.
That was not a no.
“I’ll look up crab prices online so you don’t have to go all the way to the wet market.”
Ratio ignored him, although the faint smile that escaped him rather undermined the effort.
Then again, perhaps ordering online would be a waste.
It might be more interesting to bring the loud blond along to the wet market instead.
Not because Ratio wanted to take him on a date, of course.
He was merely curious to see how Aventurine’s particular talents would fare against a market full of aunties determined to extract the highest possible price for their crustaceans.
Perhaps they would prove as formidable as the woman at the durian stall.
Purely academic curiosity.
Obviously.
The End