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The moment the last of the Anti-Matter Legion disappears into ashes and the chaos of combat subsides, Aventurine relaxes his posture, allows his shields to drop, and looks for the exit.
The laboratory door is on the opposite side of the room – a distance that looks so far away that it’s nigh insurmountable with his head ringing and the room spinning. The white tiled floor pitches and rolls like a stormy sea under his feet. The lines of the ceiling look like radio waves.
“Nicely done, Doctor,” Aventurine says, as if he weren’t fighting back a cold sweat. The nausea from the reverberations leftover from that experimental device exploding lingers; whatever that blast was, it managed to both rip open a portal for the Anti-Matter Legion and produce waves of energy that still rattle around in his bones, setting everything askew and making his body feel sluggish. Aventurine manages a smile, and Ratio just looks back at him and closes his eyes briefly before tucking his codex away. The lack of a witty retort and the way Ratio’s frown is deeper than usual is evidence enough that he’s feeling the effects, too.
Everything is sore. Aventurine plasters his usual smile on his face and lets Ratio drag him to stand against the wall as the Intelligentsia Guild response team filters in and begins their triage, but he isn’t paying attention. It feels like his insides are still reverberating beneath his skin. His head throbs. The echo of the blast makes him feel deeply unsettled; as if the control he’s held onto his whole life is about to slip.
Aventurine needs to get out of here.
He waves off the response team members that try to check his condition. He waves off Ratio’s comment about being irresponsible. There are too many people here. The door is too far away. The response team already said he isn’t to leave without an all-clear, and on top of that, for once he isn’t sure if he has it in him to make up an appropriate excuse. This is the Intelligentsia Guild, after all - he doesn’t hold quite the same amount of sway.
Maybe if Aventurine waits a bit, the reverberations will die down and he won’t feel like he’s teetering on the edge of losing control.
Still tuning out the noise around him, Aventurine shifts his posture and stands idly beside Ratio, one hand behind his back and his head tilted at just the right angle so that his sunglasses catch the harsh laboratory lights.
The research laboratory is all but teeming with activity; Ratio and Aventurine are told to stand by and wait for the response team to check them over, and they’d have to fight the throng of activity to even move from their spot at the back wall. A few more moments pass, and then it is painfully clear to Aventurine that no, the reverberations are not dying down. He stiffens when a wave of vertigo washes over him and grasps the back of his coat with the hand behind his back and cannot help but feel a rush of panic as he looks at the exit again. It’s too far away.
And then, from his side, Ratio throws an arm out. There is a crash, several screams, a pulse of energy, and he startles everyone in the room with the Imaginary statue that slams into the ground in front of him.
“Ratio?! What the -”
Ratio ignores the shouts of confusion and instead grabs Aventurine’s hand, using his Imaginary construct to draw attention as he pulls Aventurine through the crowd, down the hall, and towards the Space Anchor at the end of it. Aventurine’s head is spinning as he lets Ratio teleport them to a different wing of the Guild and pull him into his office. Once the door clicks shut behind them, Aventurine speaks up again, bewildered. “What was that , Doc?”
Ratio lets go of Aventurine and looks him up and down. Aventurine doesn’t even have it in him to tease him for the blatant staring. “I should be asking you. What’s the matter? Something is clearly amiss that you kept from the response team.” Ratio’s tone and expression are neutral in that careful way of his, the way that Aventurine knows that he’s frustrated but is trying very hard to keep it under wraps. Just for Aventurine. How lucky he is. “If you refuse to speak to them, fine - but if it’s an injury, hiding it from me is both foolish and counterproductive.”
He doesn’t say it aloud, but Aventurine can hear the unspoken plea in his words. Let me help.
Aventurine stares at him for a moment, taking off his sunglasses and tucking them away. His gaze softens slightly and he laughs, but it sounds strained even to him. “I’m not injured, I just - ugh …”
Too soon, another pang of discomfort wracks his body and Aventurine winces, taking a step back at the same time as Ratio steps forward. He watches Ratio stop as soon as he retreats, hand hanging in the air. Observant as always, giving Aventurine space, but hovering close as he all but rips off his coat with a sense of urgency bordering on panic. In his rush, Aventurine lets the expensive material drop to the floor but he isn’t fast enough to do much more; his breath catches and his heart drops to his stomach in nauseating anxiety gripping him from the inside as his shirt and vest tear at his back. The ripping sound is accompanied by pressure and then relief - along with the rustle of feathers.
Aventurine can’t hold them in any longer, even though he never stops trying; he doesn’t look up, but he can see the shadows fall over him as his wings emerge. He thinks he hears a soft intake of breath.
When Aventurine finally gathers the courage to raise his head to look at Ratio, forcing his wings to retreat from where they instinctively curled around him to hide from any possible judgment in Ratio’s expression, all he sees is something like wonder.
Ratio stares at him with unabashed, raw curiosity. His expression is something dangerously close to what Aventurine might label amazement, clear in the rise of his brows and how his eyes are wide, his ever-so-sharp gaze flickering across the large, golden feathers. Aventurine watches Ratio’s attention flit to the ends of them, where they have peacock-like purple and blue eye patterns.
There is only a split second of silence, but it is unbearable. Ratio has shown no real reaction, and it’s setting Aventurine’s nerves on edge. “Like what you see, Professor?” he asks, plastering an easy smile onto his face and forcefully lifting his voice until it’s light and teasing. Each word weighs heavy on his tongue as he forces them out.
Ratio’s eyes snap back to Aventurine’s face and his answer comes matter-of-factly, with no hesitation: “As always.”
Aventurine startles at the plainly spoken compliment. The tips of his wings twitch uncomfortably and he glances away, his smile slipping in a moment of uncertainty. When he looks back, however, he sees that Ratio has returned to looking at his wings and there is a slight flush to his cheeks. For a long moment, neither of them speak - Aventurine’s mouth is dry and his mind is racing as he tries to decipher Ratio’s response. That’s … that’s not negative, right? Not that Ratio’s particularly inclined to having over the top reactions anyway, but the lack of a clear response one way or the other is unsettling.
Just when Aventurine is about to say something - anything, he isn’t sure what - Ratio gestures slowly. “What do you need?” He does not move as he speaks, and his voice is low and even. As calm as always. “If you are in pain or experiencing discomfort, tell me. If you’d prefer privacy, my office is yours.”
“No, I just … I’m not in any pain,” Aventurine says, eyes flickering across Ratio’s expression, bracing himself for a hint of revulsion or, maybe worse, that look Ratio gets when he examines experiments in little glass beakers, intrigued but detached. Not that Aventurine thinks he would turn that impersonal scientist’s gaze on him, really, but … “I just need to wait it out, I think. Until the reverberations go away and I can hide these again.”
“I see.” Ratio falls silent again, briefly, before he glances towards the office door. “Then should I -”
“No.” Aventurine has spoken before he realizes it, and he is just as surprised as Ratio looks at his sudden outburst. He keeps his expression under control, but his wings are another story - they tense up, jolting slightly before he forces them to freeze, holding them so still that the tips quiver from the effort. He takes a breath and tries again, lowering his voice back to his normal volume. “I mean … You can stay. Just lock the door?”
Ratio obliges with a nod, moving to lock the door, then returning to the exact same spot he had been standing in previously. He looks like he’s calculating something, probably trying to figure out what to say. It’s kind of endearing.
“I appreciate the lack of questions,” Aventurine says eventually, with a self-deprecating laugh. It’s obvious that neither of them know how to navigate this particular revelation, but they can’t just stand there staring at each other all evening. “But I can practically hear your thoughts racing. … What do you want to know?”
It is not a promise of answers, and Aventurine knows Ratio is aware, but the offer of even broaching the subject speaks to his trust in Ratio. Ratio blinks, as if momentarily stunned by it, then answers carefully. “Naturally, I am curious - but it’s your body and your secret. It is your right to decide when, if, and how much to share.”
Aventurine is quiet again, considering Ratio’s lack of a direct answer.
“I can’t fly,” Aventurine says abruptly, just when Ratio opens his mouth to speak again. He stills, taking the information in, then nods encouragingly. He does not ask if Aventurine could in the past and, for that and countless other things, Aventurine is grateful. “I’ve always had them. No one else knows. I’ve hidden them my whole life - but I guess even my luck runs out, huh?” Aventurine smiles, rueful, and shrugs.“Does that answer some of your questions?”
“It does,” Ratio says. Aventurine forces his wings to relax before he gives himself a cramp, and Ratio’s eyes flicker to them briefly as they shift. When he does so, Aventurine catches his gaze and spreads them slightly, as if giving Ratio permission to stare.
Ratio takes the invitation eagerly, and Aventurine watches his eyes drink in the plumage. He can almost hear the questions in Ratio’s mind, the comparisons to Aventurine’s medical records, the calculations and speculation on his anatomy. Aventurine almost laughs at the thought.
When Ratio looks back up, there is a slight smile on his face, something open and curious and devoid of expectation. “Decline immediately if you have any reservations whatsoever,” Ratio says, and although there is a gentleness to his tone, Aventurine instinctively braces himself for whatever is coming next. “But would you be averse to touch?”
Aventurine doesn’t reply right away, but Ratio doesn’t press him. He crosses one arm and lifts his other hand to his face, pressing his knuckle to his lips as if in thought, as if he’s perfectly content to wait and think while Aventurine decides how to answer.
The answer is yes - he is averse to touch. He’s managed to keep his wings hidden his whole life, even through the lowest points of it, even during the worst pain he’s ever experienced. Just the fact that they are out - finally - makes him feel vulnerable. It’s a relieving sort of painful sensitivity; like releasing tension he’d grown so used to bearing with that he only knows how much it hurts once it’s gone, but at the same time just the air conditioner blowing against the feathers is almost too much. The thought of fingers against them, brushing through the plumage …
“No,” he says instead, because in the end it isn’t just touch - it’s Ratio. Ratio, who has done nothing but prove over and over again just how deeply he cares, once Aventurine learned how to read him. Ratio, who never gives Aventurine any less than everything he has, even if it isn’t in so many words. Aventurine takes a shuddering breath and steps forward, trying to relax his wings as he spreads them further, curling the tips in so his substantial wingspan nearly envelops the both of them, and ignores the tremor running through the plumage. His eyes remain locked on Ratio’s and when he speaks, he tries his best to show Ratio that he’s being honest. He lets his smile fade, lets his fingers ball into anxious fists, lets his wings twitch nervously. “Go ahead.”
Despite being almost surrounded by the golden feathers he’s so taken with, Ratio’s eyes do not leave Aventurine’s face. Instead, he is looking at Aventurine - not his wings - with that same sense of wonder as before, the bright look in his eyes reserved for breakthroughs and revelations setting the gold and red aglow, and Aventurine can’t look away.
When Ratio brings his hand up, he does not reach for Aventurine’s wings - he reaches up and cups Aventurines’ cheek, smoothing his thumb over the sensitive skin there in a gentle motion as opposed to his typical, serious tone of voice. “Let’s sit down.”
Aventurine just nods and allows Ratio to lead him to the couch in the corner, the one Ratio said was unnecessary but appeared anyway after Aventurine started making regular trips to his office after hours. He pauses, as if thinking, before sitting down and pulling Aventurine into his lap so they are chest-to-chest with Aventurine’s knees bracketing Ratio’s thighs.
“Oh? I thought we were here for something else, Doc,” Aventurine says, ignoring the fact that neither his tease nor his smile is quite as sharp as he intended.
Ratio just huffs out something like a sigh. “Don’t willfully misinterpret my actions, gambler,” he says, glancing up when Aventurine’s wings splay out as he shifts and tries to keep his balance. “Any other position would confine your wings.”
That’s true, Aventurine supposes, and says nothing further. He just hums and rests his hands on Ratio’s shoulders, flashing him a smile to convey that he is not nervous and trepidation is not coiling tighter and tighter in his stomach. He isn’t sure he’s successful. “Well, go on,”Aventurine says, and Ratio just stares at him. He covers one of Aventurine’s hands with his own, not even commenting on how Aventurine is wrinkling the fabric with his tight grip, but Aventurine cuts him off before he can speak. “Really. We’re not getting any younger.”
Despite the unimpressed look Ratio gives him, he finally complies. He moves slowly, reaching out with plenty of time for Aventurine to change his mind, before softly brushing the tips of his fingers against the soft feathers.
Just that light touch sends a shudder down Aventurine’s spine. Ratio watches his face and, when he sees no pain or discomfort, presses his fingers in a little stronger. Aventurine sighs at the touch - it’s weird, new, different, he isn’t used to it, and yet at the same time it’s so satisfying. It’s like an itch being scratched, like the most stiff muscle he has being kneaded to release the tension.
Ratio doesn’t comment on how, when he runs his fingers through the feathers from as high as he can reach, Aventurine nearly melts against his chest. All he does is adjust his other arm to wrap around Aventurine’s waist and hold him close and secure.
Every gentle drag of Ratio’s fingers sends waves of comfort through Aventurine, something so deeply nice that it tugs at his heart. It’s like the safety of his own, warm bed after an exhausting day, or a drink of ice water after being parched. Every tender touch to his feathers unwinds that ball of unsettling tension deep in his chest, eases the throbbing in his head, and grounds him from the vertigo. After a few moments, his wings begin to relax, too, letting themselves lower and droop until they’re resting comfortably across the entire couch, covering both Aventurine and Ratio like a blanket.
When Ratio begins to preen Aventurine’s wing, the moment he rearranges two feathers that Aventurine didn’t even know were bothering him, Aventurine drops his head into the crook of Ratio’s neck and his eyes flutter shut. It’s astounding, he thinks, just how much Ratio knows. Affection swells warm and weighty in his chest at the thought. Who else would be able to just take something like this in stride? Who would know, without Aventurine even being able to tell that there was something wrong, exactly how to make those stiff, long-hidden feathers feel better?
It’s almost like Ratio knows his wings better than he does, and there is something that should be terrifying about it; that someone else has such an upper hand over Aventurine, that it goes against every self-defense mechanism he’s honed over the years, and yet - it’s not.
It’s not, because it’s Ratio.
And it’s just like him to know how to preen feathers. Aventurine laughs softly into Ratio’s neck, and his fingers still for a moment before returning to smoothing out a particularly uncomfortable feather between his thumb and index finger. As he brushes the pad of his thumb rhythmically over the length of it, Aventurine exhales slowly. He hasn’t felt this relaxed in years, if ever.
“You must be working some kind of magic, Doc,” Aventurine mutters. He doesn’t even open his eyes - not that he thinks he has the strength to. His body feels heavy and boneless, and he’s so content to just lie there, curled into Ratio’s embrace.
“Nothing of the sort,” Ratio says, and his voice is soft and fond and reverberating from his chest and close to Aventurine’s ear. “It’s simply a matter of interlocking any barbs or barbules that have shifted or become separated.”
Aventurine laughs again, but he doesn’t move beyond that. If anything, he presses closer into the crook of Ratio’s neck, basking in the warmth of his presence. “Somehow you make even that sound endearing,” Aventurine says, and Ratio doesn’t reply but he can feel the little shake of a silent laugh under him.
Aventurine smiles against Ratio’s pulse point, and Ratio adjusts their position carefully, switching his arms, before beginning to preen Aventurine’s other wing. It feels just as good, if not better, as the first one. Despite his light, careful touches, Aventurine feels like he’s been through a deep massage - he can’t keep his eyes open, and he can barely keep himself awake. Now that he feels the aftereffects of the explosion fading, exhaustion pulls at him. His breath is beginning to come in deeper, slower exhales.
“Rest,” Ratio says, then, as if reading his mind. Aventurine feels Ratio shift and press a kiss to his head, then continue to run loving fingers through his feathers. Every touch is deliberate and gentle. “For as long as you need to.”
“Mmn.” Aventurine doesn’t manage to do much more than mumble into Ratio’s neck, but he’s sure Ratio is listening. “Thanks, Ratio.”
Ratio’s hand stills, then threads through Aventurine’s hair instead, smoothing over it gently before returning to his wing, momentarily tracing the feathers almost reverently before returning to preening them. “And you, Aventurine,” he says, so quietly Aventurine almost doesn’t catch it as sleep begins to overtake him, but he knows what Ratio is referring to when he says it. It’s a thank you in return; for his trust, his vulnerability, his secrets. Aventurine doesn’t have the presence of mind to reply, but his wings do it for him; they shift upwards, resting against the back of the couch, and curl in, cocooning the both of them in a warm, protective embrace.