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Aventurine draws every eye in the room the moment he walks in – simultaneously close and unattainable. Golden chains of varying lengths gleam against skin like gilding on a work of art, and he himself is nothing but a sculpted silhouette, serpentine grace, a sharp smile. He wears a shirt cut deep at the chest and a blazer – both impeccably pressed and custom-tailored to fit his image of a IPC top manager.
But this neckline will never reveal even an inch of his scarred skin. Aventurine will never appear in public without watches and bracelets that reliably hide the scars on his wrists, and gloves that prevent anyone from seeing the misaligned bones in fingers. Under no circumstances will these exquisite outfits shift so as to reveal shoulders and back.
And that’s what Aventurine is all about – the way he puts himself on display and, with that condescending smirk, lets people enjoy only what he wants them to see.
Aventurine is bathed in the spotlight of strangers’ gazes, and Ratio has been watching him all evening – Gambler hasn’t met his gaze even once. They had a falling out on the mission – foolishly and harshly, that didn’t escalate into a heated argument, but ended in an icy silence.
Doctor Ratio's sure he was noticed. They always did it this way: Aventurine would entertain the guests for a while, and then, if things went well, he and Veritas would spend the rest of the evening together.
Ratio thinks with nausea that today everything will be different, sipping white wine from his glass and trying to drown his guilt in it.
He wishes Aventurine would come over to him right now. Doctor sees his blond hair darting through the crowd like flashes of light at the other end of the hall.
He’d like them to step out onto the balcony, because Veritas hates how noisy these events are. Aventurine, giggling, would share all the latest gossip: which guild project the corporation plans to finance next month, or what happened on the Obsidian's mission. Ratio would once again recount the silly things his students had written in their essays or complain about his colleagues’ irresponsibility. They would laugh and chat for hours, sheltered by the shade of the weeping willows.
Veritas is ashamed to admit it, but he craves it so badly it hurts. Their meetings and conversations bring a smile to his face and make something flare up inside him.
And he destroyed it with his own hands.
They were on a joint mission, both exhausted and irritable after grueling negotiations. They argued, clashed. The doctor told Aventurine to shut up, because he was fed up with his chatter, because a gambler should know when to keep mouth shut. Perhaps it really was harsh and rude, but Ratio didn’t care at that moment – all he wanted was blissful silence.
He should have realized that something was wrong. Noticed Aventurine’s gaze, full of sudden fury, and how he froze at those words. He should have seen the painful gleam that lit up in eyes. He should have seen how Aventurine withdrew into himself. But Veritas didn’t.
When Ratio woke up the next day, Aventurine was gone. The doctor was left alone in the room – the bed in the adjacent room was cold, and there was no sign that anyone else had been there. Aventurine had left during the night – he’d packed things and walked away, just like that.
With only one message sent: "I was urgently called to another mission and had to leave in the middle of the night. There will be no signal along the way." An absolute lie.
Ratio really messed up. He made Aventurine feel so terrible that he couldn't even stay in the same room with him and wait until morning, when they were supposed to leave.
It was in Aventurine style – to run away without explanation. The doctor truly regretted, deeply regretted, that he became the cause of it; guilt twists between his ribs and squeezed chest painfully. It seemed to him that he had learned to notice those small, barely perceptible things that steered Aventurine’s gaze toward the past.
The silence weighs heavily on mind. Aventurine is always boisterous, always chatting, laughing, joking, and telling stories. The silence is filled with his resonant voice and his golden laughter. Ratio has grown deeply accustomed to this – Aventurine bursts into his life and has remained a constant presence.
And in some strange way, everything is falling apart for Veritas. He can’t stop thinking about it; that conversation keeps replaying in head. Ratio tries to notice something he missed yesterday – and he does. Packing, a taxi, the flight, returning to the apartment – it all blurred into a single mess that day.
Veritas understands how the human psychology works. Triggers aren’t always obvious to an outside observer. He’s seen Aventurine slips into a depressed state because of small, non-obvious things.
“I apologize for my words yesterday. Can we meet and talk?”
And all Ratio gets in response is yet another lie: “Oh, what are you talking about, Doc? Did we even have a fight yesterday?” It’s hard to earn Aventurine's trust. And the doctor desperately doesn’t want to lose it. That’s why he stands here, in the corner, paralyzed by a strange indecision. Veritas has grown used to the feeling – though perhaps it’s just another of the gambler’s deceptive schemes – that Aventurine is slightly closer to him than to the others.
The gambler stormed into his life like a whirlwind of colors – and Ratio, with a heavy heart, feels he couldn’t imagine life without them. He had grown accustomed to him at work – it was a pure pleasure to be with someone capable of keeping up with and matching his quick thinking and sharp mind. Veritas felt starved for that.
He snaps out of thoughts to notice that Aventurine is nowhere to be seen in the crowd. Veritas heads for the balcony, knowing deep down that he’ll be there. The doctor steps inside, pushing the heavy curtain. Aventurine doesn’t turn around, even though Ratio knows he must have heard him long ago.
“Good evening, Doctor,” says Aventurine without turning around – recognizing him by his footsteps.
“Can we talk?” asks Ratio.
“I need to get back to the guests. Maybe later,” replies Aventurine. His face is impassive, his voice even. He turns and walks back with a smooth gait, into the noise and clatter of the hall.
“I want to apologize. And don’t say you don’t understand why; I shouldn’t have said those things that evening. I’m very sorry; I know it hurt you and caused you to leave early.”
Aventurine stops halfway, shoots Veritas a quick, appraising glance, and sighs.
"No need. My reaction was excessive and stupid,” Aventurine says with an awkward smile, pulling a chip out of his pocket and rolling it between his fingers. “Let’s just drop the subject. I promise I’ll talk less from now on,” Aventurine laughs again – just to fill the silence. “I understand why you don’t want to listen,” another laugh escapes his throat – like armor and protection, like reducing all the pain to a joke, like bringing this conversation to an end.
But in Aventurine’s eyes, there’s still a hint of both hurt and disappointment. It’s as if Veritas had unwittingly managed to strike where Aventurine least expected it.
"Please don't take seriously what I said in the heat of the moment. I shouldn't have told you to shut up and yelled. Now I realize I crossed a line, so I want to make it clear: I like that you talk a lot. You are interesting to me and I enjoy our conversations, and I don't want the amount of our communication to decrease,"
“You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last to tell me that, Doctor. No need for insincere apologies,” he shakes his head. The conversation was starting to wear him down. “You can’t possibly be interested in someone like me. Come on, my academic knowledge is at the level of a five-year-old,” Aventurine snorts self-deprecatingly. “Most people really aren’t interested in listening to me; you shouldn’t apologize for that. It’s true, I know I’ll never measure up to you.”
Ratio takes a step closer. Aventurine's left hand is trembling, so he clasps both behind back.
“Aventurine, I’m sorry. I love our conversations, I love your thoughts, and I find your way of thinking fascinating. I shouldn’t have just shut you down, even if I was angry. I’m really sorry that my words triggered you so much that they made you leave,” he says quietly. Aventurine lets out a stifled sigh, takes a nervous step toward the railing, and clings to the metal with his fingers.
“I think I understand – and I knew back then – that you probably said it in the heat of the moment, but… it just hurts, you know? It was so unexpected that it knocked me off my feet. It..." his fingers clench the railing until his knuckles turn white, and he turns the words over in his mouth – afraid and wanting to say, to explain, not knowing why himself, "...it really reminded me of all those times when I was silenced. When they tried to teach me that I needed my master’s permission to speak. When they whipped me for opening mouth without allowing. You know, no matter how much they beat me for it, they couldn’t make me stop,"
Aventurine lets out a sort of chuckle, and Ratio walks over to the railing to look him in the face.
"It was stupid: I knew I’d be punished, but I argued every single time with all those bastards who treated me like an animal, like a voiceless toy, who insulted me with impunity, while I had no right to talk back. And people even now... they look at me as if they’d give anything to shut me up with a lash of the whip, to hear my screams instead of my words," Aventurine's lips tremble, and he clenches jaw.
“You know I never meant it that way,” the doctor clarifies quietly. “I’m sorry I made you feel bad and stirred up unpleasant memories. I respect and value your words and our conversations, Aventurine. You’re one of the smartest people I know. Your plans are chaotic and contain a frightening number of uncertain variables, but they always end in spectacular success. It never ceases to impress me,” Veritas could have showered him with hundreds of praises, but the gambler twitches the corner of his mouth in that heart-wrenching gesture of disbelief, as if to say “liar”.
“I’ve had the honor of receiving praise from Veritas Ratio himself,” says Aventurine with a chuckle, turning slightly toward him. They’re standing so close that not a single emotion on their faces can be hidden. All that’s left for them is honesty.
“Don’t you dare think my praise is a lie, gambler. I’ll repeat it over and over and over again until you believe me. You’re the only one I’ve ever worked with who’s truly effective as my partner – just as I am with you. In my eyes, no one will ever be your equal, Aventurine," his voice trembles as he stares intently at gambler’s face, reading reaction from the barely perceptible shifts in expression. Aventurine is no fool and knows that there's more than just admiration in Ratio's words.
Leaves form a canopy overhead, and distant, smoky clouds drift across the sky like streaks of gasoline. The acacia is in bloom, and its sweet, slightly bitter scent floods the balcony – the doctor takes a deep breath, and the fragrance of the blossoms mingles in lungs with the heavy, honeyed Aventurine's perfume.
Veritas has already said too much, too plainly, and they stand under the weight of those words.
It can be nothing other than a declaration of love – intricately honed, just like the doctor’s style. Aventurine’s face is perfectly inscrutable. Ratio feels himself growing strangely weaker with every passing second of this wait. He knows – counting from nerves – that about seven seconds have passed since he finished speaking, but it feels to him as if an entire eternity has flowed past them in that moment.
Veritas Ratio is weak in front of Aventurine.
He doesn't know when the gambler managed to get under his skin.
“Come here. You think too much, dear doctor,” Veritas falls into his arms, and Aventurine gently pulls him close to chest, running fingers through hair. The doctor goes limp in his arms. Ratio wants to pull him close, to wrap arms around shoulders or waist, but his hands hover in the air, hesitating. Aventurine hates unexpected touches.
“Sure, Ver,” he says gently, and Ratio pulls him close the very next second.
Veritas knows that Aventurine won’t let anyone but him hold him like this, won’t close his eyes or rest head on his shoulder with a trust that needs no words. The gambler is relaxed, and in eyes, the blackness of slightly dilated pupils, and the faint blush, he sees the answer.
“I love you too, Veritas.”