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Ratio’s stare is heavy and filled with irritated skepticism. Aventurine can feel it even if he isn’t looking.
“Something on my face, Doc?” he asks lightly, keeping his eyes on the briefing notes in his hands. He’s long since memorized the information, but a refresher couldn’t hurt - especially considering the potential politics at play.
Ratio is quiet for a long moment, and only when Aventurine hears him shift in the plush leather seat of the IPC trade ship does he finally look up and meet Ratio’s gaze. Just like he thought, it’s sharp, even in the dim cabin lighting.
“Only your typical baseless confidence,” Ratio snaps back at him in the way that tells Aventurine that he’s genuinely frustrated beyond his usual prickly attitude. While Aventurine might try to soothe him any other day, he knows exactly why Ratio’s upset and is unrepentant.
“It’s not baseless,” Aventurine says with an easy smile. Ratio’s grip on the tablet he’s been reading through tightens, and Aventurine notes that he’s still looking at the same substance analysis that he’d pulled up when they boarded. “Didn’t you hear the examiner? ‘All good, no problems, working as expected, mission-ready’ -”
“Didn’t you hear what I said, shortly thereafter?” Ratio interrupts, narrowing his eyes and all but pinning Aventurine to his seat with the intensity of his glare. Aventurine just leans back slightly, relaxed, as if welcoming whatever Ratio is about to say. “There is no conceivable way that your abilities remain entirely unchanged following the destruction of your Cornerstone.”
Ratio lets out a little exhale, something close to a sigh, perhaps, and closes his eyes briefly. When he looks back at Aventurine, the look in his eyes is softer around the edges, just ever so slightly. Just like when he handed Aventurine his advice, handwritten and sealed in a scroll. “You need to tell me if you can’t -”
“Don’t worry, Doctor,” Aventurine says quickly, cutting Ratio off. His tone was beginning to shift away from frustration and towards concern. Towards real concern - not the facetious, easy banter that Aventurine is so comfortable with, nor the usual blunt remarks Aventurine is used to parrying like a dance. “I know what I’m doing.”
Aventurine smiles, then, lightening his voice in an attempt to ease the mood starting to edge into seriousness. “You saw the files; we’re meeting apothecaries, not warlords. I’ll be fine. You just focus on the science.”
“Insisting on sending you to a remote planet with an only partially traversable atmosphere for some uncertain business deal, even with apothecaries, that’s likely to devolve into violence is an exemplary instance of the IPC’s usual style of corporate idiocy.” Ratio’s scathing remark draws a little cough from the IPC attendant standing off to the side. Maybe it’s a choke - Aventurine is fighting back a laugh, himself.
Ratio is silent for a moment before speaking again. He looks back at his tablet as if to return to reading, then glances at Aventurine out of the corner of his eyes. “You do realize it’s a trap.”
“Obviously, Professor,” Aventurine says breezily. After one last skim, he gathers his notes together and slides them back into a folder. He’s as ready as he can be. Asking to meet Aventurine and Ratio alone on a planet where the larger IPC trade ship can't land safely due to the atmosphere? Of course it is. But the higher-ups did the cost-benefit analysis and decided the potential medicine deal was worth the risk.
“And so?” Ratio looks up again as he speaks, waiting until Aventurine is done, silently demanding his attention. “Do you have a plan, or do you intend to gamble on your luck and nothing else?”
Aventurine fiddles with the folder for a moment longer than he needs to before he caves and meets Ratio’s eyes. “You’ll be there,” he says. He tries not to sound hopeful, eager, pleased at the thought. He grins, chasing those feelings away with painted-on levity. “What if I gambled on you, instead?”
All Ratio does is hold Aventurine’s stare, his dawn-bright eyes locked on Aventurine’s face, flickering across his expression. The changes to Ratio’s expression are tiny - minute, barely there, invisible to anyone but those who know him as well as Aventurine does. As he sees the subtle change from disbelief to concern to fond exasperation, he hopes he is the only one.
“Apologies for the interruption, Mr. Aventurine, Dr. Ratio. We are approaching the drop point. Please board the landing vessel.”
The moment fades, but does not disappear. A hint of it lingers between them, sitting like charged static in the shorter than average distance between their arms as they walk side by side and board the smaller vessel. Aventurine shoos Ratio from the pilot’s seat and slides in. Though Ratio sighs and grumbles something about reckless behavior and remembering proper undocking procedure, he acquiesces and sits in the passenger seat.
As expected, negotiations with the mysterious group of nomadic apothecaries go awry - and in record time, at that.
Aventurine knows it’s a delicate balance that he’s trying to strike; if the apothecaries’ medicine is the real deal, the IPC wants a hand in the supply chain and profits. If it’s the real deal but the apothecaries are followers of Yaoshi, he has to keep the IPC’s recently renewed trade agreement with the Xianzhou in mind. In some ways, the apothecaries’ medicine being fake or ineffective would be the easiest outcome - one word from Ratio and he’ll call the whole thing off and they’ll be back on the main trade ship in a couple of system hours. The sooner they’re off this tiny, abandoned, arid planet, the better.
It doesn’t take long to extract the information he needs from the apothecaries while Ratio examines the medicine samples. Their full-body cloaks and cloth face coverings make it a little harder to gauge their reactions, but they aren’t trained negotiators - they can’t fully conceal their emotions. So Aventurine pries subtly, asking nonchalant, casual, roundabout questions as if he’s simply curious, both as an IPC representative and on a personal level. It doesn’t escape his notice that Ratio chimes in to help occasionally, too, asking questions laced with medical and scientific terminology but clear enough to Aventurine that he’s trying to extract more information from them.
On one hand, the medicine is legitimate - each one is made of natural compounds, bound together in complex, delicate ways, and it’s effective. The samples they've brought are better than what's on the market now, and Aventurine doesn't have to be knowledgeable about pharmaceuticals to know that it's exactly what the IPC's looking for. Aventurine just smiles his usual honeyed business smile and begins to open negotiations; his instructions were to leave with a net gain if the medicine was legitimate, but it will be a delicate balance.
Because on the other hand, it’s clear, in the end, that they are followers of Yaoshi and that the medicine is likely created with the help of Their blessing.
Almost as soon as Aventurine makes the connection to Yaoshi and his thoughts flicker to the IPC’s trade agreement with the Xianzhou, a white-robed apothecary at the back of the group whispers something to their companion. Things are proceeding as normal in one moment, then he hears the click of weapons and automatically braces himself in front of Ratio in the next.
“Just as we feared, your intentions are impure,” the white-robed apothecary says. Their companions surround them and point guns of unusual make at Aventurine and Ratio. “We hoped that despite your agreement with followers of the Archer, you would be a fair partner to us; but we cannot risk conflict with them.”
“We could be,” Aventurine says, keeping his tone light and friendly. He relaxes his posture, one hand in his pocket and gesturing casually with the other. His Imaginary energy thrums at his fingertips, ready to manifest into a shield at a moment’s notice. Ratio says nothing, crossing his arms and staying obediently behind Aventurine. He supposes Ratio doesn’t really need to move to see the apothecaries over his head, anyway. “What makes you think otherwise? Nothing about our meeting has anything to do with anyone else, and I thought the deal I proposed was more than fair. The conversation isn’t over yet - we’re open to further discussion.”
“Young man, the mortal body cannot fully conceal its reactions to speaking lies,” the white-robed apothecary says. They gesture slowly, elegantly, and the long sleeve of their robe barely moves, as if the fabric is heavy. Their voice is just as steady and measured. “Your deception is perfect on the surface, but with Their blessing, I can sense the stutter of your heartbeat and the flow of your breath.”
“Is that so? Well, you know, all businesspeople hold some cards close to their chests - it doesn’t necessarily mean what I said was a lie.” Aventurine speaks carefully, smile plastered on his face. “Besides, as a show of good faith, we came all the way - woah?!”
He barely reacts in time to put up his shield as one of the apothecaries fires at them. The usual golden shield manifests, just like always, but when the bullet strikes the impact reverberates through Aventurine like it’s hitting the inside of his ribs. It only lasts for a fraction of a second, but the force of the shot is heavy and piercing, as if the bullet itself is drilling against his ribs and stopping just before the bone fractures. The force of it knocks the air from Aventurine’s lungs, and he finds himself silently gasping for breath before smoothing out his poker face again.
“Gambler, you -”
Aventurine forces a laugh, too loud and cheerful even to his own ears, and interrupts Ratio. He doesn’t turn to see what’s surely a look just as heavy and piercing aimed at him. “Aren’t you being a bit hasty, friends?” he says instead, keeping his eyes on the apothecaries.
“It was a mistake to meet with you. We will take no chances,” the white-robed apothecary says. They raise a hand and give the signal to their companions, and the other apothecaries fire.
Aventurine is prepared for it this time, and his shields are up and ready before the first shot goes off. He’s ready for the pain, too, but it doesn’t make the searing bolts of it any easier to bear. His smile remains plastered on his face, but he can feel the edges growing taut and he can feel his skin prickle with sweat from the effort. Luckily, Ratio is behind him - Aventurine doesn’t have to see the disappointment in his expression when he realizes Aventurine was lying about his abilities being unchanged after his Cornerstone was shattered. Not yet.
From behind him, Aventurine feels the pulse of Imaginary energy as Ratio throws a chalk-shaped projectile. It hits one apothecary dead-on, and the person falls to the ground with a dull thud.
“We need to find cover,” Ratio says, but Aventurine can barely hear him over the rushing of blood in his ears and the pounding, pulsing pain that radiates from somewhere inside him every time his shields are struck. He has to focus; he has to keep them safe. He has to keep Ratio safe - that’s his job, isn’t it? Aventurine has always taken pride in the fact that Ratio could rely on him like this. Even now, Ratio stands behind him unflinching in the face of gunfire and even if Ratio doesn’t say it outright, even if his answer had been “that depends on you,” if this isn’t trust -
Aventurine has to keep Ratio safe. He has to answer those feelings, even if it hurts, even if every shot that hits his shields slams into the inside of his chest, feeling like it burrows into his bones, as if ripping at his muscles from the inside, sharp and stabbing - because there’s something else sitting in his chest, heavy and bright, and he can’t put it into words any better than doing all he can to keep Ratio safe, his shattered Cornerstone be damned -
“You -” Ratio’s voice is suddenly close to his ear and his hand is suddenly on Aventurine’s shoulder like a warm, anchoring weight. Aventurine’s eyes try to refocus, but the robed apothecaries are blurry and his head throbs. “You’re in pain.” Ratio isn’t asking; his words come out as a flat statement, tight with something - disappointment? Probably. Worry? He hopes not. Incredulity? Almost certainly.
Aventurine manages a laugh, trying to tell Ratio that it’s all just fine, but he doesn’t manage to put the syllables together more than an unconvincing: “M’fine.” His tongue isn’t working right, as if his brain can’t give it the proper commands around the incessant pain lancing through his body. Huh.
“Drop your shield!” Ratio’s voice is more urgent, now, and his hand tightens around Aventurine’s shoulder. His fingers dig into his coat and press into his muscle - not enough to hurt, but demanding his attention. But Aventurine can’t do that - what would happen then? “Listen to me - we need to move -”
“That’s enough.” The white-robed apothecary’s voice rings out clear over the gunshots and Ratio’s words, which is just as well since Aventurine isn’t sure if he can move at this point. His vision finally focuses, just in time to see the white-robed apothecary step forward and point something between a crossbow and a gun at him and fire.
Aventurine doesn’t see what shoots out of it, but he feels it strike his shield.
Whatever it is has a nasty spin and it drills into his Imaginary energy - which holds for one long, tense second, before the projectile sparks with energy of its own and Aventurine’s shield snaps and shatters into shards of golden light.
The sensation is utterly agonizing.
Every crack and splintered piece of his shield sends body-wracking tremors of pain through Aventurine, waves trying to pull him under, throwing him about until the world spins and blurs around him. Aventurine struggles to breathe, to keep upright, but he can tell he’s fighting a losing battle. His body is so heavy but the flares of pain are so bright, and he just barely feels Ratio grab him by the shoulders and pull him to the side enough that the projectile only grazes his arm. The sear of the wound barely registers.
It takes all of Aventurine’s focus and willpower to raise a shaking hand, press his middle finger and thumb together, and weakly snap his fingers. He doesn’t see the Imaginary chips crash down, but he feels the effort of it ripping through his chest and he coughs, something warm and wet spilling from his lips and trickling down his chin.
Everything is blurred and static-filled, and he feels dream-sluggish as his legs give out and he’s pulled into a tight embrace. Aventurine barely senses anything outside of the crashing waves of disorienting pain. He only knows he’s been picked up when the tilting shift of the world jostles him.
Faintly, Aventurine hears someone speaking to him in a sharp, worried tone. Faintly, he feels himself being held in a strong embrace. Faintly, he sees a great tower of marble crash into the ground and tilt towards the apothecaries.
The marble tower crashes amid shouts of alarm. Before the dust settles, Aventurine’s vision fades to black.
Heat roils under Aventurine’s skin when he comes to, and for a moment he can’t tell if he’s woken up or if he’s still passed out.
The first thing he feels is the rasp of cold, synthetic air scratching his overheated insides when he gasps to wakefulness. His first instinct is to cough; his second is to stifle it when the movement shoots discomfort through his muscles. Everything aches, and his limbs feel so heavy. He can barely move.
When Aventurine forces his eyes open, everything is dark and blurry. He recognizes the interior of the two-man landing vessel he and Ratio took to meet with the apothecaries, but the seats have been pushed forward and the back emptied and turned into a makeshift bed. He tries to ignore the prickling heat crawling through his skin and the throbbing, pounding headache as he sits up, his head heavy and muddled. A thermal blanket falls from Aventurine as he struggles to prop himself up on one arm, and when he looks to see what he had been laying on, he sees a familiar blue and white garment folded neatly under his head.
Before he can fully process the situation he’s woken up to, his thoughts moving sluggishly, the door of the vessel hisses open and a jolt of panic shoots through the cotton clogging up his mind. Instinctively, he tries to draw on the dregs of his Imaginary energy, only to be met with a stabbing pain lancing through his chest. Aventurine lets out a weak wheeze, and then there is someone kneeling at his side.
“Don’t be an imbecile,” Ratio says. Aventurine’s tension melts away as soon as he hears Ratio’s voice. Ratio speaks low and quiet, and his cool hands are immediately flitting over Aventurine’s feverish skin; brushing away his sweaty bangs, pressing against his forehead, fingers touching the pulse-point at his neck. “What do you think you’re doing? Lie back down.”
Aventurine takes a stuttering inhale, as deep as he dares to, and barely resists when Ratio presses further into his space. He should, probably - he should say that he’s just fine, but it feels like his thoughts are jumbled up and floating. Instead of saying that Ratio doesn’t need to nurse him, that he’s perfectly alright, don’t waste the effort, he ends up asking, “What happened?” Aventurine’s voice is hoarse and barely a whisper, and he feels sapped of energy after just two words.
Ratio doesn’t reply immediately, instead cradling the back of Aventurine’s head with one hand and pushing against his shoulder with the other until he’s on the ground again. “You were shot,” Ratio says tersely. His tone is laced with worry under the way he bites the words out, but his expression is of frustration; brows pulled together so severely there’s a little wrinkle of displeasure at the bridge of his nose. How cute.
“Yeah, I got that. Are you -” Aventurine stops and turns his head to the side to cough, wincing at the wave of dizziness that hits him. He has to pause and catch his breath, and the exertion of just coughing has set his head spinning and sweat beading at his hairline. The heat surges through him until he’s managed to get his breath back, head swimming.
When he tries to speak again, Ratio stops him with a gesture. “The wound from the projectile is little more than a scrape, and I’ve dressed it already. There should be no further discomfort from it,” he says, pulling the blanket back up over Aventurine. His movements are slow and gentle, and he turns to the side to pull Aventurine’s coat from somewhere and lay it over him, too. Huh. He didn’t realize it’d been taken off. He catches sight of a bloodied cloth off to the side; Ratio must have cleaned him up. “However, the projectile also appeared to be laced with a poison - which we would not have to be dealing with if you had been honest about your condition. I am uninjured.”
Aventurine opens his mouth to speak, but Ratio pins him in place with a look and he thinks better of it. He thinks no further of trying to reply when Ratio pulls out a soft handkerchief and carefully presses it to Aventurine’s forehead and neck, wiping away the sweat. The movement is deliberate and almost tender; a stark contrast to the sharpness of his tone.
“Save yourself the effort of trying to come up with excuses. I’ll preempt your questions; the symptoms of the poison, taking into account the minimal quantity affecting you, include shortness of breath, fever, dizziness, disorientation, and general weakness, possibly mild confusion or delirium. It’s analogous to one of the substances I examined.” Ratio speaks bluntly, rattling off his diagnosis matter-of-factly and with practiced ease. When he passes the soft handkerchief over Aventurine’s cheek, Aventurine moves absently and tilts his head into the comforting touch. Ratio’s voice and movements stutter briefly, but he keeps his hand still and doesn’t comment on it. “... The effects should lessen considerably within 24 system hours, and once we return, I will synthesize an antidote for you.”
Aventurine nods, the movement small and slow, but he’s sure Ratio sees it - oh. Feels it, too. Aventurine realizes he's pressing against Ratio's hand and begrudgingly shifts his head to let Ratio withdraw once his brain catches up. His lips part as Aventurine strings together what he wants to say and regulates his breathing, trying to make sure he doesn’t send himself into a coughing fit. Ratio waits for him, bright gold and red eyes scrutinizing his expression, gliding over his face, all of his vast knowledge and expertise honed in on Aventurine.
“Then,” Aventurine says, instead of lingering on that thought, keeping his voice to a whisper and speaking slowly, taking his time and taking another breath. Focus. “Why haven’t we left? Are the apothecaries …”
“Injured, but able enough to escape,” Ratio says. The look in his eyes sharpens, his expression hardening minutely, and he glances out of the window of the vessel. Aventurine can’t see much of what’s outside from his position on the ground, but he can see a darkening sky. Ratio’s voice takes on a cold edge. “They will not slip the net.”
A beat later, Ratio continues, his expression and tone schooled back to his normal seriousness. “To answer your question,” he says, looking back at Aventurine, “this planet’s magnetosphere is prone to phenomena akin to geomagnetic storms, one of which is occurring currently. We will have to wait for it to subside before returning to the main ship.”
“So we’re stuck, huh,” Aventurine says, voice breathy and his smile weak as he tries to inject his typical light-heated, flippant tone into his words. He isn’t entirely sure he succeeds, based on the flat, unimpressed stare Ratio gives him, but the fever makes it feel like his brain is simmering in hot fluids. It’s hard to keep his thoughts straight. “Good thing you’re here to take care of me, Doc.”
“We wouldn’t be in this situation if you didn’t foolishly keep vital information regarding your abilities from me.” Wow, Ratio must really be mad about that. He’s brought it up twice already. The thought makes a little laugh bubble from Aventurine’s chest, and it only serves to intensify the already angry glare Ratio is leveling at him. “It’s no laughing matter. A shattered Cornerstone is unprecedented, not to mention that your inability to be truthful hindered any potential precautions and preparations we could have made that would have prevented something like this happening. I wasn’t asking you those questions simply to annoy, gambler, and now your condition -”
“I noticed it earlier, but when you’re worried, your nose wrinkles a little. It’s really cute.” Hey, take it easy on me, Doctor; I’m a patient.
… Oh.
Ratio stares at Aventurine, jaw snapping shut as whatever he was about to say dies on his tongue. His expression still looks angry - if Aventurine doesn’t take into account the faint dusting of pink high on his cheeks.
“I … That has nothing to do with the topic at hand!” Ratio’s voice and expression remain mostly the same, but Aventurine, even in his fever-addled state of mind, can pick out the way his words pitch up slightly. He didn’t mean to say that out loud, but he finds that he doesn’t regret it.
“Actually,” Aventurine says, pausing to cough. It’s more of a wheeze, and the sound is airy as he takes a too-shallow inhale. “I was just -”
“Night is falling,” Ratio says, interrupting with a completely unrelated sentence. He looks away, crossing his arms awkwardly before uncrossing them a moment later. Without his outerwear draped over his skin-tight top, every tantalizing line of his muscles are on full display. Aventurine stares unashamedly, sure that his eyes are fever-bright and if Ratio turned around, would he flush pink again under Aventurine’s full attention?
Instead, Ratio rummages around in the storage compartment of the vessel. “Nights on this planet are accompanied by a significant drop in temperature,” he says in the same way he probably rattles off equations to his students. “This vessel is temperature controlled to an extent, but we must conserve resources to make the journey off-planet. It will be cold.”
Ratio pulls out two woolen blankets, wrapping one around himself and setting the other beside Aventurine. He reaches out again, hesitating for a brief moment before appearing to steel himself and complete the movement to press the back of his hand against Aventurine’s forehead. “It’s imperative that your temperature remains regulated while under the effects of the poison. Tell me if your symptoms change or worsen.”
The request is so earnestly spoken behind the sharp tone, almost a plea, that Aventurine’s tease gets caught in his throat. When he looks at Ratio’s expression - still serious, still worried, still with that cute little nose wrinkle - his breath hitches slightly and all he manages is a soft, breathy promise. “... I will.”
It does not escape Aventurine’s notice that Ratio has given him the thermal blanket and kept only a regular woolen one for himself.
Just like Ratio said it would, the temperature drops quickly, even in the safety of the vessel. Ratio refuses to take his outerwear back, even when Aventurine pulls it from under his head; all he does is fold it back up and slide it back underneath Aventurine, scolding him verbally but rearranging the blankets over him with light, careful touches.
Under such unfamiliar but comforting care, Aventurine finds himself drifting in and out of feverish sleep. His head still feels clogged with cotton and muddled, and a haze blurs the edges of his consciousness. One moment he swears he’s at Pier Point, one moment he sees Ratio’s blurry outline, and the next he’s reliving a banquet, navigating cruel comments dipped in honeyed facades, dancing with predators waiting to strike, fangs and claws draped in silk and satin. Their faces are obscured with blots of pitch-black nothingness, and their shadows ripple like water. Unlike the usual warmth of packed ballrooms full of alcohol and moving bodies, a bone-deep chill spreads through Aventurine. He searches the crowd, searches the dancers, checks the guests hiding on the fringes of the room, looking for someone without that nothingness covering their face, looking for indigo hair and dawn eyes always just out of reach -
Aventurine wakes, shivering, to Ratio moving around the vessel quietly. He’s adjusting settings, and lit only by a faint, neon blue glow of the screens. The light sets the edges of his outline aglow, highlighting his features and reflecting in his eyes. When he turns back around and sees Aventurine staring at him, Ratio kneels beside him again and checks his temperature.
“Go back to sleep,” Ratio says, withdrawing his hand and rearranging Aventurine’s bangs for a brief moment before pulling the extra woolen blanket over him.
Aventurine lets Ratio fuss over him, already feeling warmer with the extra insulation. He doesn’t reply right away, instead observing Ratio. His voice and expression are the same as always, but Aventurine’s gaze lingers on the way that single woolen blanket is pulled tightly around his shoulders.
“What -” Aventurine starts to speak, but has to stop to cough. His voice is raspy and by the time his fit is over, he’s out of breath. Ratio wraps a strong arm around his shoulders and props him up into a sitting position, resting Aventurine against his chest, and brings a flask of water to his lips, tilting it carefully. As soon as he’s wrapped in Ratio’s embrace, Aventurine finds that his warmth chases away the chill and he can’t help but relax against him. Aventurine drinks gratefully, and Ratio pulls the flask back at exactly the moment he’s finished. “What about you?”
Ratio closes the flask and sets it aside carefully, as if trying to avoid jostling Aventurine, and doesn’t separate immediately. “I will rest shortly.”
That wasn’t what he meant. Aventurine raises his eyebrows slightly, and when Ratio moves to help him back down, he uncooperatively grabs the blanket around Ratio’s shoulders. Despite his weak grip, Ratio stops and gives him a look. “What now?”
“I meant,” Aventurine starts, trying to catch his breath. His inhales feel shallower than normal, and he feels almost drunk with fever. He should probably just stop, but - “Aren’t you cold? The blankets … they’re big enough for both of us, you know.”
Ratio says nothing for a long moment - long enough that some clarity returns to Aventurine, but when he realizes what he was asking, he doesn’t rush to retract it or make excuses. He’s already made his gamble; he may as well wait and see what Ratio’s reply is.
“That’s unnecessary,” Ratio says, finally. He averts his eyes, looking away from Aventurine and instead staring at his hand gripping the blanket. A man less well-versed in Ratio’s peculiarities might stop there, but Aventurine can tell when there’s good odds that Ratio will let him get away with more. He’s always been one to push his luck, anyway; and Ratio might complain and scold him, but he’s nothing if not indulgent towards Aventurine.
Aventurine knows that one day he might push too far. One day, his luck might run out along with Ratio’s patience with him. One day, he might make a risky bet only to turn and find no one at his side. That’s always been a possibility. But for now, when he has an actual excuse …
“But you’re warm,” Aventurine says. Instead of lilting his tone into a whine, he lets his breathlessness catch up to him. His words come out weak, airy, and in a rushed whisper. He’s not really forcing it, he just isn’t trying to control his breathing this time.
Ratio’s grip around his shoulders tightens just ever so slightly, and Aventurine knows he’s won.
“Fine,” Ratio says a moment later. “I suppose it will be easier to keep an eye on your condition.”
This time, when Ratio lowers Aventurine down again, he doesn’t resist. He lets go of the blanket around Ratio’s shoulders and obediently lies back down, watching Ratio move deliberately slowly and carefully as he adds his blanket to the layers over Aventurine then rearranges them again. He hesitates briefly, holding the edge of the blankets, and glances at Aventurine. When Aventurine just looks back at him, holding Ratio’s gaze and shifting slightly to make room, Ratio sighs quietly and finally slides under the blankets beside him.
Aventurine had been mostly right - the blankets are big enough for both of them, but only if they’re pressed close. He had also been right that Ratio is warm. He almost laughs at how stiffly Ratio lies beside him, on his back and staring resolutely up at the ceiling, but more than that, satisfaction settles in Aventurine’s chest. Fever crawls through his brain as he turns his head to stare at Ratio’s profile, admiring the slope of his jaw, the way his hair frames his face, the steady rise and fall of his chest. Aventurine’s fingers twitch, wanting to reach out and pull Ratio closer, wanting to latch onto his warmth, to bask in his care and attention, hold him tightly like no one else is allowed to. But Aventurine holds himself back - he’s pushed this far, and the fear of Ratio pulling away stalls his desires.
The thing is, though - and it’s so hard to not think about, this close, the thoughts ringing in his head loudly - that he cares for Ratio. Deeply. There isn’t anyone else he trusts like this, that he wants to keep by his side, that he’d do anything to protect, it’s affection, certainly, but more than that it might be -
Ratio suddenly turns towards him and slaps a hand over Aventurine’s mouth, with more force than he meant to but not enough to hurt. His face is flushed, pink at his cheeks and the tips of his exposed ears and spreading down his neck. “You are delirious,” Ratio grits out. He is looking anywhere except at Aventurine, but there isn’t really anywhere to escape to. Not when their faces are just centimeters apart and Aventurine has unconsciously looped his arm around Ratio’s waist.
Aventurine did not mean to say that out loud.
May as well go for broke.
Aventurine moves sluggishly, prying Ratio’s hand off his mouth. Ratio lets him, but before he can take his hand back, Aventurine intertwines their fingers. Ratio startles, staring at their hands. “I mean it, though,” Aventurine murmurs, and Ratio’s eyes snap back to his. His heart is hammering heavily in his chest, and the fever-heat climbing through his body is rising, lingering on his face, but he presses on anyway. “Stay with me.”
This isn’t quite a typical confession, but it’s as much as Aventurine can manage. It’s more than he thought he’d say. It’s more than he’d planned to put into words.
Ratio, so very smart, always so observant, always able to piece together what Aventurine really means, searches his face with a cautious expression. He is quiet, and Aventurine can see the gears turning in his mind. He can see the way Ratio is processing his words, his actions, and their positions. Doubt begins to creep into Aventurine’s mind, squirming in his chest, and only when Ratio tightens his grip on Aventurine’s hand does he realize it had been trembling slightly.
Finally, Ratio sighs and shifts forward, keeping their hands together but sliding his other arm under Aventurine’s head, pillowing him against his bicep. Ratio pulls Aventurine in gently, hand once again cradling the back of his head, and tucking Aventurine under his chin and wrapping him in comforting warmth.
“Just go to sleep, Aventurine,” Ratio says, and Aventurine can feel the reverberations of his voice as he rests against Ratio’s chest. He doesn’t answer Aventurine’s confession explicitly, but isn’t this as good as? This is enough, for now at least.
It’s enough to set Aventurine’s mind at ease. He smiles against Ratio’s chest and only then realizes that his shivers have stopped. He still feels overheated, but he’s comfortable. His aches seem to have subsided, and sleep overtakes him once more.
It’s noticeably brighter and warmer when Aventurine wakes.
He’s confused for a moment when he feels something slipping out of his hand, and instinctively grips it tighter. When he hears a familiar huff of annoyance, he forces his eyes open and is met with Ratio, half sitting up and trying to extract himself from Aventurine’s embrace. His hair is slightly mussed, and when he meets Aventurine’s gaze, he freezes.
“... If you’re awake, let go,” Ratio says. His voice is somewhat tense, and his expression teeters between being embarrassed and guarded.
Aventurine doesn’t. He feels much better now. His Imaginary energy has mostly recovered. The fever has subsided to just a lingering warmth, and he can breathe easier. His mind is clearer too, the lines between his thoughts and words no longer blurred; and it must show on his face, because as he goes over the events of the previous night, Ratio looks away uncomfortably.
“Your temperature is closer to normal now,” Ratio says stiffly, still avoiding Aventurine’s stare. “You appeared to be in a state of delirium last night; whatever your addled brain conjured, put it out of your mind.”
Ah, so the good doctor is giving him an out. Aventurine could take it - he could laugh and agree and pretend it never happened, and they could slip back into their usual, comfortable back and forth.
But what if he doesn’t want to? What if he wants more - what if he wants to have the sole privilege of Ratio’s care and attention again? What if he’s tasted the warmth of his embrace and wants seconds? He didn’t hallucinate Ratio’s acceptance - their current position is proof enough of that.
One more gamble. He has good odds.
“I’d rather not,” Aventurine says brightly. He grins up at Ratio, tugging lightly on their intertwined hands to get his attention. His bravado is only partially forced. Ratio startles and looks back at Aventurine, brow furrowing and clearly thinking hard about the situation. His little nose wrinkle is back. Cute.
Ratio watches Aventurine cautiously as he pushes himself up to a sitting position, moving into Ratio’s space. He doesn’t move back, even when Aventurine rises up to meet him, closing the distance slowly, carefully, loosening his grip on Ratio’s hand just in case he wants to pull away.
But he doesn’t. Ratio remains still and lets Aventurine tilt his head up and press closer until their noses brush, closer until their lips brush, too, and closer still until Aventurine is flush against him.
Ratio makes a little noise in the back of his throat and his hand tightens against Aventurine’s as he presses a kiss to Ratio’s lips. It’s just barely chaste; neither of them attempt to deepen it, but they both press against each other as if afraid the other will disappear. Aventurine, first, then Ratio, in response. The vessel vanishes around them and Aventurine’s focus shrinks to their points of contact; the warm press of their lips, their fingers intertwined, their hearts beating a duet in their chests so close together.
Though he is much better than the night before, Aventurine has to break the kiss first to breathe. He only pulls back enough to catch his breath, instead pressing his forehead to Ratio’s and watching Ratio’s expression. The red lining his eyes accentuates the blush on his cheeks, and his eyes dart to the side then back to Aventurine’s eyes then away again. But he doesn’t pull away; he stays right where he is, right where Aventurine has asked him to be.
“Well, Ratio?” Aventurine whispers in the scant space between them. He remains so close that he can feel the brush of Ratio’s lips against his as he speaks. After a long second, Ratio looks back at him. “Still want me to put it out of my mind?”
Ratio just scoffs, a quiet noise with no real heat to it, and his warm breath ghosts over Aventurine’s skin. “It seems like there’s no need to worry about your condition,” he says instead. "But don't think I've forgotten about your abilities." Like his scoff, there’s no real sharpness in his tone. Instead, it’s low and almost soft. Like his breath, like the look in his eyes, it’s warm. This time, when that unmistakable care seeps into Ratio's voice, Aventurine doesn't interrupt. He just smiles, as if welcoming it. It will be a conversation for later, but for now ...
At that moment, just like a painting, the sun breaks over the horizon in the distance. It casts gentle golden rays through the glass window of the vessel, setting the inside aflame with its glow. Aventurine is at once captured by the way the dawn light reflects off Ratio’s eyes, shining bright and golden, his entire focus, all of his care, all of his attention on only Aventurine.
Aventurine only catches the briefest glimpse out of Ratio’s lips quirk into a smile of his own before he presses forward again, capturing Aventurine’s in another kiss.
This kiss is soft. It’s sweet, it’s careful, and it lingers. It’s a reply; it says, I’m not going anywhere.