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Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
- William Shakespeare
After Ratio wakes up from the nightmare Penacony turned out to be, he leaves the suite to assess the situation and overhears two IPC employees, whispering about how a certain – name not mentioned – him got out alive, despite the odds. Like any man with hopes would, he leaps to a conclusion: no one else, to his knowledge, was in such dire danger that his escape would be worth a conversation – hence, Aventurine survived.
Even before years of working with the IPC taught Ratio not to trust water cooler gossip, he had learnt to believe only the things he can see, so he rushes to confirm.
Aventurine’s room is guarded, the wardens – refuse to share information with him, don’t let him in and, most importantly, they don’t accept his money.
Ratio suddenly wishes people were more corrupt.
Chances of something serious happening to Aventurine, from the beginning, have been close to zero; but, in Aventurine’s case, they never truly are. He attracts death almost as masterfully as he avoids it – and, for a man who relies on luck, that would mean a lot. Ratio doesn’t; he relies on himself, on what he could do to ensure Aventurine’s safety – he should have done more, should have taken the hit instead of Aventurine, should have walked this path with him until the end – and – on Aventurine.
To an extent.
Because Aventurine attracts death. Attracts it willingly, eagerly, his negotiation style, his proneness to risk–taking, his recklessness – for the demise, these are sweeter than honey. They parted ways and, although Ratio had already figured out that death is very much impossibly in the land of dreams – nauseous, sickening, uneasy feeling that had, sometimes, visited him when Aventurine’s working trips lasted for longer than expected, visited him again, but – lingered, instead of being dismissed by a light-hearted reply – aw, miss me already? – to Ratio’s messages.
Freedom of choice is a principle Ratio upholds firmly. Yet, if he could – he would prohibit Aventurine from what Ratio views as desperate attempts to ruin his life.
Death, within the dreamscape, is impossible. Aventurine possesses that pesky tendency of defying the impossible – and, in his expression back then, Ratio spotted the familiar resolution, that blind confidence that Aventurine would emerge victorious. What emerging victorious implied, applied to this particular situation – Ratio preferred not to ponder on.
He has no rational reason to think that Aventurine didn’t make it out alive.
For four days, Ratio’s thoughts are occupied by nothing but.
He isn’t of a fatalistic mind; he doesn’t long for the best but prepares for the worst. He bases his opinion on facts and evidence – but Aventurine doesn’t and, maybe because this matter concerns Aventurine, what Ratio experiences these four days, he realizes, is not that different from mourning.
He mourns Aventurine quietly. Ratio doesn’t have anyone to share his – sorrow, he supposes – with; he probably wouldn’t anyway, when he had such a person.
When Ratio had such a person, after an unserious short–lived struggle, he would manage to lay Ratio’s head upon his lap, lean in and, rubbing the wrinkle between Ratio’s furrowed brows, ask, I don’t remember you ever looking so grim. An experiment went wrong?
And then, Ratio would tell him – because just being around Aventurine somehow drags words out of him, be it an early morning, the time of the day during which Ratio would rather not speak at all or when he is so deep in thinking that he barely notices the world around him – there is a possibility that you have passed away.
Aventurine would laugh. How unfortunate. I guess I have no other choice but to become a ghost and haunt you until the day you join me.
That would be an utterly stupid line to say. Ratio would let him know, but he would also feel – at ease. Because Aventurine would be there, with him, spouting nonsense. Alive. In their relationship, it is Aventurine who usually resorts to grand gestures, but Ratio, at the moment, would give a lot for that. Perhaps, everything.
The first time he receives an opportunity to meet Aventurine in person – they are boarding the ship that is going to deliver them back home. It takes – a lot, perhaps, everything, for him to keep his composure and not to pull Aventurine into an embrace, to wrap his hands around Aventurine so tightly that his bones dig into Ratio’s skin, his own bones, his organs.
Vision might be as lacking of a sense as hearing without vision.
Maybe later, when they are not being watched, he will indulge his other senses. Right now, as they walk up the ramp, too narrow to accommodate them both aligned, Ratio almost presses into Aventurine’s side with his, and says, “Damn gambler. You made it.”
“It is a miracle a knight in shining armor happened to pass by.”
Of a divine variety, no less. If Ratio was aware of the knight’s identity, he would send them – whatever it is the knights enjoy most.
“Not luck?”
“I doubt luck would have been of much help this time.”
Ratio feels a subtle tug on the fabric of his trousers. Aventurine intends for him to notice it; he has no issue with slipping anything into or out of Ratio’s pockets discreetly.
“He wasn’t the only one involved in a miracle making, though. Your case. I assume you want it back.”
Ratio has already gotten all he wanted back.
Aventurine doesn’t utter another word until the end of the trip, until they bid their farewells – dryly. Silence doesn’t sound like him – Aventurine is all chuckle, snarking comments, clinking of coins, rattling of chips, shuffling of cards, and not the quietness, fallen over a cemetery.
Ratio convinces himself that his behavior is normal for a man who has just been through – he isn’t sure what, exactly, but, judging by Aventurine’s weary face, that dream was far from those which Penacony typically advertises.
***
Ratio expects Aventurine to visit him. Between two of them, Aventurine is the one who always does, this is how they are, Ratio is an unmovable object and Aventurine is a constant. A constant which shows up on Ratio’s doorstep every Friday; a constant which always takes the first step; a constant which isn’t ashamed of appearing importunate or obnoxious, where would they be if Aventurine chose to play hard to get instead of taking initiative.
He waits. At first, it is too soon. Then, Aventurine’s absence becomes concerning, and Ratio considers visiting him, but, in the end, doesn’t. Aventurine might require more time – or he might be busy.
The IPC summons Ratio for questioning. A young girl with lifeless eyes asks him about Penacony; asks him – what is your relationship with Aventurine? Ratio doesn’t understand how this matter is the IPC’s business – and he also isn’t sure how to answer. Not to her, to her, he replies – we are occasionally paired up when the IPC needs the Guild’s expertise. To himself; he – naively, maybe – thought that what they shared meant something, but starts suspecting that it didn’t.
And if it didn’t – why would he come to Aventurine.
The list of excuses never ceases, which cannot be said about the list of reasons. Ratio would be satisfied with just one if it was objective and rational, and aching longing to have Aventurine around is neither.
Ratio waits some more; finds out that Aventurine is on duty again. Finds out – from the post on Aventurine’s page; finds out – like the rest of the people who follow him, who don’t even know him, who have never woken up in the same bed with him, who wouldn’t worry if he never posted again.
This message – look who is back in the game – is not a reason in any sense. Yet somehow it is enough to move him.
The universe is usually kind to Aventurine; to Ratio it is, at best, neutral – yet, it finally chooses to grace him with its benevolence in the form of a clerk who he meets outside Aventurine’s office, her hands occupied with files – and he doesn’t even have to offer her money for parting with them.
Nothing greets him as he walks in – not the scent of the perfume that used to knock the air out of Ratio’s lungs – maybe Aventurine has finally run out of it – not Aventurine himself, his eyes barely darting to Ratio from behind the semi–transparent screen of the computer.
“I see you were reinstated.”
“No rest for the wicked. I’ve heard there is a promotion on the way.”
“Your superiors should stop rewarding you for your every foolish decision.”
It reinforces an unhealthy behavioral pattern Aventurine doesn’t need reinforced. If he is rewarded for his every foolish decision, it is natural that he keeps making foolish decisions. And a knight in shining armor isn’t always going to be there to rescue him.
Neither is Ratio.
He drops the files on Aventurine’s desk.
“Thanks.”
It feels quiet, this gratitude. Empty. Unfamiliar. Aventurine would rather say – you wanted to see me so bad that you applied for the role of a part–time assistant? You didn’t have to. You are always welcome here.
“Are you feeling unwell?”
“No, of course not,” Aventurine responds quickly. “Just, you know. A person who truly enjoys their job probably hasn’t been born yet.”
Not true. Aventurine did – always enthusiastic, always smiling; part of it, of course, was a pretense, but in Aventurine’s case, a pretense is almost as good as the real thing. Now, it seems like Aventurine doesn’t have energy even for this much.
Aventurine breaks away from the screen, rubbing his face with his hands, and finally looks at Ratio, his gaze – blank. “Sorry, did you want something?”
Maybe he did. But it is clear that anything he could have wanted is of no interest to Aventurine. Ratio is not in the habit of chasing after anyone. Not after an Aeon – and certainly not after a mortal.
It takes a lot, perhaps, everything, for him to say, “No. I was just passing by.”
Ratio anticipates that Aventurine will remind him about being too far from his usual route – but he simply nods.
***
“And then the…”
The sudden vibration of the phone against the wooden desk echoes through the otherwise silent room, each buzz sending a sharp, resonating sound that amplifies in stillness Ratio has worked his whole life to achieve.
He doesn’t accept calls during the lectures, how could he impose the rule of no phones allowed in the class if he was the first one to break it, but.
No surprise that Aventurine has a supernova size ego. If the laws were constantly broken for him, Ratio would have it too. On the other hand, Aventurine is – or, at least, used to be – aware of his schedule; he wouldn’t call if it wasn’t serious.
“Start reading chapter six.”
Ratio storms out of the classroom before the students’ insinuating whispering catches up to him.
“I am at work. What do you want?”
It takes a concerning amount of time for Aventurine to start speaking. And if Ratio wasn’t listening closely, he could as well mistake a quiet, rustling, unhurried, almost confused hello for the static noise.
“Are you still in bed?”
“What? No.” A pause so lengthy that Ratio wonders whether he should remind Aventurine that they are in the middle of a conversation. “I’m at work, too. Listen, it’s about one of these cats you brought me.”
Ratio found it – quite humorous. Aventurine once sent him flowers – so many that Ratio still finds the dried petals in the most unexpected places. Why not send him a bouquet of these poor creations, he thought.
Last time Ratio saw Aventurine, he appeared to be – kind of distraught; not yet incapable of tending to himself, but – on his way there. He can’t see Aventurine right now, but he sounds – barely better than he seemed back then. Not to mention – everything Ratio has started to notice even before that. Perhaps, there was nothing humorous in pushing the role of a caretaker on him after all.
“I think it’s ill. Could you take a look?”
“I am not a vet.”
Aventurine sighs heavily.
“Vets don’t even know what it is. Most of them just said that I had a strange sense of humor. One offered me crazy money for a chance to study it.”
What could be less flattering than being someone’s last resort – and yet, Ratio is overflown with this feeling, the sadistic, twisted sort, as in – look who you turn to when you have no one.
“My lab at eight. Don’t be late.”
***
Ratio reaches the bottom of the page, briefly glances at Aventurine, scrolls the page up, carefully rereading the results – and places the tablet on the exam table.
“Everything seems to function normally.”
Aventurine’s hand, stroking the creature’s tail, halts. “What’s wrong with it, then?”
He is not the only person in the room with that question, although Ratio’s concern doesn’t lie with the creature’s well–being. It is less energetic than it was during their last meeting, sure, but Aventurine – Aventurine gives an impression of a man from whom life has been drained out.
It is, too, more of a personal opinion than a claim based on facts. Aventurine’s appearance is not that different from what it always has been, the same perfectly ironed clothes, the same moisturized skin, the same clean hair, but instead of adding to his personality it just seems to constrict what is inside him, a second rib cage around the whole body, tight and compressive.
“Have you tried asking it?” He wouldn’t be surprised, though, if it replied I’m fine.
“That’s funny.”
“You are aware that they can talk, aren’t you?”
“I think I would be if they could.”
Ratio lowers his gaze to the creature. “Why haven’t you been speaking?”
Large round black eyes with yellow edges slowly move back and forth between them until, eventually, fix on Ratio. “Because,” – just a single word, uttered in a high–pitched, child–like, muscle spasm-inducing voice, makes him remember why, exactly, it might have stayed silent for so long – “a certain someone said he would make a sandwich out of us if we didn’t shut up.”
“You told my cats you would eat them?”
“First of all, these beings are not cats.”
“Should’ve known that taking it to you would do more harm than good,” Aventurine almost whispers, but Ratio hears him – loud and clear.
“That is unfair. Have I ever been anything but helpful when you needed assistance? Have I ever turned you down? Have I…” Ratio stops abruptly, letting out a heavy sigh – although he could go on and on, but Aventurine is staring at him – past him, rather – in some heartbroken sort of confusion – not the expression Ratio is used to seeing, Aventurine has never been anything but sanguine – and continuing would be akin to kicking an already hurt dog.
Leaving Ratio’s words without a comment, Aventurine diverts his attention to the creature. “What’s up with you, buddy?”
“Nothing! The scary man’s fancy machines didn’t lie. It’s just – I love you almost as much as I love Ruan Mei and sometimes even more. Please, don’t tell her I said that. And because I love you so much, I also miss you a lot. You used to play with us, but then you disappeared for a thousand years, and then you came back, and now you never play with us, you are just sad and sleepy all the time, and…”
“Alright, you may stop there.” He looks at Ratio. “I see why you did that.”
Ratio did that because their discussion of Hirst’s Tapestry of Time was getting on his nerves. But this – this is another matter entirely.
“Let it proceed. I, personally, would love to hear what it has to say.”
“I think I should get going.” Aventurine bends over to lift the cat carrier from the floor. “Do you even want to be transported in this?”
“I don’t mind. I will do everything for you.”
Ratio pities the creature – Aventurine doesn’t treat those who will do everything for him kindly.
“So you got your answer,” Ratio says as the cat – creature – crawls into the carrier. “It misses you.”
“Wonders never cease.”
No matter how absent or indifferent Ruan Mei as a creator is, she is still better than whoever created him was. She, at least, bestowed the ability to say I miss you upon her creations.
“How much do I owe you?”
“Don’t insult me.”
“Well, see you later, then, I suppose.”
***
They meet on the ship before another job; it is an accidental meeting – Aventurine hasn’t been seeking him out and Ratio isn’t chasing after anyone. Ratio finds – rather, stumbles upon – Aventurine in the kitchen; he is sitting on a bench behind one of the tables, tucked into a corner with his knees drawn up to their chest, and eating a candy bar.
Ratio fills a cup with coffee, too watery, too scentless to be anything good, the IPC at its finest, only the worst for their worst, and takes a seat, not at the same table yet still facing Aventurine, some genius decided that positioning all the chairs towards the window and nailing them to the floor was a wonderful idea.
Aventurine smiles at him – on one hand he is pleased that Aventurine finds it in himself to smile again, but, on the other, it is that fake smile Ratio hoped he would never see, Aventurine with him used to smile – slightly less fake or that’s what he prefers to believe – turns the bar logo front and, running his hand along its side, like a model in a cheap commercial, asks, “Want some?”
Ratio wants some-thing, still, even after months of radio silence, because feelings are more persistent than flies attracted by the smell of a rotting corpse. But between his brain and his tongue, between truth and sincerity, exists a border which he can’t seem to cross, because crossing it would imply – he is chasing after someone, and he isn’t.
Aventurine has never had a similar problem; he knew how to tell the truth in such a way that it wouldn’t reveal his weakness and how to lie in such a way that his lie would be mistaken for the truth. A skill that goes against Ratio’s very nature, but it allowed Aventurine, at times, to be sincere, at least about his own desires, so maybe Ratio should have asked Aventurine to teach him how it is done when he had a chance.
Ratio wants to give up his principles and fix – whatever it is going on with Aventurine, Aventurine, his life in general. Ridiculous how an opinion on such important matters changes – pretty easily, too, when there is the right motivation. He would – if Aventurine allowed him, but he, by avoiding him, by drifting away from him, made it pretty clear that it is not what he wants.
And, on a more human, on a more selfish level – he wants what’s his truly back. Not returned to him as in – returned to life, but to him personally.
“Why are you staring at me like that?”
You know, I’ve noticed that you’ve been staring at me – their relationship started with this line. Ratio hadn’t been staring, of course, but he had been – looking at Aventurine, sometimes. At how Aventurine’s ear slightly bent when he put a stylus behind it, at how he pulled up his gloves before shaking a hand, as if he was afraid of getting dirty, a very reasonable concern in their line of work, at how the corner of his lips, when Aventurine caught him looking, twitched upwards as he gave Ratio a wink.
He had been looking at Aventurine. Because, he thought, wherever they ended up together, there wasn’t much to look at other than Aventurine. Because, he thought, Aventurine dressed and behaved in a way that inexorably attracted attention. Because – he was an unstudied species, supposed to be shallow like the rest of the IPC idiots Ratio had a displeasure to work with, but the moment he allowed his guard to go down, the moment he stopped performing – he wasn’t.
You are mistaken, Ratio replied. And you are not being honest – the mere notion, of course, was ridiculous – I can tell that you want a piece of this. Aventurine was right, he realized – he also realized that he absolutely hated that careless manner with which Aventurine used to talk about himself.
“How are your co–habitants doing?”
Aventurine says after swallowing, “Can’t seem to stop talking about some guy named Hirst. I feel like I know everything about him now. As always, against my will.”
“And you?”
“Told you already. I’m fine.”
Only – that was a long time ago. And, despite the smile, Aventurine hasn’t become finer since then. He has just learnt how to hide the fact that he isn’t fine better.
***
Ratio has been present during Aventurine so–called negotiations in the past – enough times to realize how absolutely he despises them. Despises them because they always seem to balance, unsteadily, on the verge between the most amicable meeting ever gathered in the history of meetings and a total bloodshed. Despises them because both parties are effusively prepared to completely destroy that balance. Despises the way Aventurine does business.
This one – adds to the reasons to despise them. Before Ratio has a chance to think it through, his legs, as if on their own, bring him between all the guns pointed at Aventurine and Aventurine himself. Ratio has never willingly sought death; rather, he is its natural enemy – but, at this very moment, his death is the least of Ratio’s concerns.
The dispute resolves peacefully. They always do, or Aventurine wouldn’t have survived for this long. Looking in Aventurine’s eyes, after what Ratio has done, is as awkward as it would be to stand above his freshly dug grave. Slightly more so.
So he is not looking in them. He is looking in the eyes of the receptionist who is checking them in, listening to her voice that barely penetrates the thumping of the heart in his ears, my most sincere apologies, sirs. I am aware that the esteemed organization has made a reservation a long time ago… he is not in the mood for such a lengthy speech, he is barely in the mood for anything at all, so Ratio asks her to cut to the point, and she continues, we can only offer you a standard double room.
Aventurine chimes in before he has a chance – to refuse, to agree, he hasn’t decided which it would be, most likely the former, “We are fine with that.”
“Are we?”
“Unless we aren’t?” Aventurine’s expression – confused, lost; as if he wasn’t notified of changes that have recently occurred. “Let’s talk later. Sorry for keeping you waiting. We will take the room.”
Perhaps, by later, Aventurine meant some other later. In a distant future, when old age loosens minds and tongues, when who they were before will have been erased, their personalities unrecognizably transformed, things that mattered once insignificant. The future in which they will run into each – accidentally, because they are who they are now, and things that matter – do.
They don’t talk as they ride the elevator and they don’t talk as they enter the room. Before leaving to take a shower, Ratio waits for a moment, pretending to check his phone – in case they talk, but they still don’t. On one hand, he is grateful – he has nothing to say, except admitting his mistakes, that he might have taken their relationship more seriously than it was, except expressing regret that Aventurine didn’t, except – what can I do to help you when you don’t want to be helped?
Aventurine has nothing to say either.
Ratio lingers in the shower for longer than necessary; and, when he walks out of the bathroom, they don’t talk either, a conversation requires two, at least, and Aventurine disappears almost immediately.
He leaves the bathrobe on the back of the chair and, hastily undoing the bed, settles on it, facing the ceiling. Aventurine returns, does the same; they are not talking – but silence is screaming instead of them.
“Let’s play a game.”
Still – not talking. But truth trapped inside is a heavy burden, and these games of his is one of the methods Aventurine resorts to when he can’t bear its weight anymore. A shift of responsibility, the chance made me do it, who am I to argue with luck. They have probably played thousands of them. Some were more ridiculous than others, Ratio still participated, if only to humor Aventurine – with a single common feature being Aventurine’s inevitable loss.
“If you win, I…”
“You don’t need games with me.” And it is upsetting that, after all this time, Aventurine thinks that he does.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ratio notices his face shift from momentary cheerfulness to a closed–off expression. Aventurine probably interprets his words as – I am not interested in whatever you have to say, but this is not what he meant.
“How about we play a different kind of game? Truth or dare.”
“That’s a game for horny teenagers. There are no stakes.”
“Oh, but there are. Perhaps, they are just too high for you.”
“Ouch.” He can hear Aventurine’s smile. “Fine, you go first.”
“Truth.”
“Of course it is.” Aventurine hums pensively. “What was your first kiss like?”
“Is this the only question you have managed to come up with?”
“Told you – it is a game for horny teenagers, and I have never had a chance to be one. Consider it as me making up for the lost stage of life.”
Ratio sighs. “He provoked me.”
“Yes, that’s what they always say.”
“Not like that. He was – quite insufferable. Said that I wasn’t being honest, that alone got under my skin. I bet you will never muster the gall to take what you want. I did. Your turn.”
“You don’t exactly kiss and tell, do you? Spared me all the juicy details… Truth.”
What he is about to ask is not a real question, not like it would be if they weren’t playing. Those games create a sort of a pocket dimension – in which everything goes and everything stays after the game ends.
“Why do I no longer see you around?”
“I’ve been thinking a lot after what happened on Penacony – about…” Aventurine brings his palm to his forehead to rub it. “About whether there was anyone who still needed me. About who I could truly call a friend. I kind of decided that there was no one. And if there is no one – why does it always have to be me who is smiling for a miserable shred of attention, who has to charm it out of the others, who is ready to pay for favor. I don’t know. Maybe I was wrong.” He briefly turns his head to Ratio. “Your turn.”
They pretty much deserve each other, it seems.
“Dare.”
“Color me surprised. Didn’t know you have the gall to take the dare. I dare you to come here.”
He would never. Because Ratio isn’t chasing after anyone – but this isn’t a chase, this is a dare, so he rises to his feet and crosses the aisle in between the beds in one step. Aventurine sits up, adjusting the pillows so he can recline against them.
“Well?”
“If you wanted something else, you should have articulated it better. I am not a mind-reader.”
“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t assume that the man of your mind needs clearer instructions.” Aventurine opens his arms.
They might deserve each other, but it doesn’t null the fact that they don’t fit together. Like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle not simply from the different ends of a picture, but from two different boxes. Aventurine is charming and lovable – and Ratio is, well, just Ratio, not good enough to attract an Aeon’s gaze, too good for everyone else. And yet, when he rests his head upon Aventurine’s chest, wrapping his hands around him, it feels – right. As it should be – or, at least, as he wanted it.
“Relax,” Aventurine says, running his fingers through Ratio’s hair. “I’m not going to break... I have to warn you, though, I’m probably not the best person to sleep next to these days.”
“Why?”
“Are we still playing?”
“Yes. Answer the question.”
“Hey, has it ever occurred to you that I might have chosen a dare?” Aventurine chuckles, muscles on his abdomen tensing up. “I have nightmares.”
“I do, too.”
“Really? What are yours about?”
Ratio’s recent dreams could rival Penacony’s most refined nightmares.
In these dreams, Aventurine empties a whole magazine – into his chest, his abdomen, his head. Ratio has defied the laws of physics once or twice, but even he can’t compete with the speed of a bullet and with the perseverance of a suicide. What is left for him is to pull the bullets out of Aventurine’s already gone cold body with his bare hands.
In these dreams, Aventurine is drowning – voluntarily; in the waking world, it is quite a task, but nothing is impossible in a dream. Including him, suddenly being filled with the fear of water – and hence, incapable of saving Aventurine.
In these dreams, Aventurine jumps from a tall building, drinks himself to a quite literal oblivion, ties a rope around his neck – and more. When Ratio recovers from his slumber, he doesn’t always remember the content of a dream – how did Aventurine take his life today – but every morning the same heavy sensation is weighing upon his chest.
In these dreams, Aventurine isn’t lying under him, skin hot after a shower, heart beating against his ear, breathing, alive.
“That which will never happen.”
Ratio’s grip around him tightens, Aventurine’s bones digging into his skin, his bones, his organs; tightens until there is no air between them, no distance – nothing at all.
“You are unusually possessive today.”
If that’s what it means to be full of determination not to allow anything or anyone, be it a man, eternal sleep or death, to take Aventurine away from him, then yes.
***
Aventurine, as Ratio opens the door, says, smiling, “Hi. Sorry I didn’t bring you anything.”
This statement is up to debate. But he will leave those to someone else tonight.