Archive of Our Own

The IPC's newest project brings Ratio to the forty-seventh floor of their headquarters in Pier Point yet again. It's something utterly mundane, which Ratio should condemn as an abhorrent waste of his time, but he doesn't. Following his and Aventurine's mission on Penacony—and the measly four weeks medical leave Aventurine was granted afterwards—Ratio finds that he is pleasantly surprised by the task he has been summoned for today.

The acquisition of a planet, even a little one, is no small feat. Fortunately, neither of them will be responsible for carrying it out. Their job this time is simply to devise a strategy, which will later be executed by a different Stoneheart— Topaz. She is frequently sent on missions like these, planets far easier to conquer than the ones he visits with Aventurine. The IPC tends to reserve only the highest risk assignments for his partner. Lucky Ratio.

The planet in question is Asteron-IV, a small terrestrial world near the edge of its system. Its economy is unremarkable, sustained primarily by the export of a rare mineral essential to ship production. Unfortunately for Asteron-IV, three straight years of declining exports have left its government indebted to half a dozen interstellar creditors and the IPC intends to become the seventh. Or, more accurately, the last.

Aventurine's proposed strategy is simple. The IPC will purchase the planet's outstanding foreign debt, consolidate it, and offer the government a substantially lower interest rate in exchange for exclusive access to its mineral reserves. Within a decade, if Aventurine's projections are correct, Asteron-IV will owe the IPC more than it can ever possibly repay. At that point, the Corporation will generously offer to forgive a portion of the debt in exchange for administrative control over several of the planet's largest mines.

Ratio has spent at least an hour explaining why this is a terrible plan.

"Not terrible," Aventurine corrects from across the desk. He's reclined so far into his chair that Ratio suspects he's forgotten they're supposed to be working. His jacket has long since been discarded over the back of the chair, and the first few buttons of his shirt have somehow come undone. Ratio keeps his attention on the projections.

Aventurine continues, "Just slow. Topaz isn't the type to waltz in there and take a world by storm."

"It's predatory."

"That's a matter of perspective."

"It is quite literally a debt trap."

"For a trap, it's extremely generous."

Ratio only stares at him in response. Aventurine smiles back.

It is, unfortunately, a good plan. Ratio's objections are less concerned with its efficacy than with the unnecessary decade Aventurine has allotted it. The planet's government is already desperate for foreign investment. With the appropriate incentives and a restructuring of its existing debt, Ratio estimates the IPC could secure the same concessions within three years without first staging an economic crisis.

Aventurine goes strangely quiet when Ratio points this out. Then he leans forward, takes Ratio's tablet directly out of his hands, and spends several minutes reading through his calculations.

"Doctor," he finally says, "sometimes I think you might have a future in this business."

"I would rather contract a terminal illness."

"Don't say that. I'd have to find a new partner."

Ratio chooses not to respond to that.

They've nearly finished revising the proposal when Aventurine's phone begins to ring. Just a couple minutes after he picks up, he stands from his chair. He covers the speaker with a hand, pulls it away from his ear for a moment, and addresses Ratio.

"So sorry, but you'll have to excuse me, doc. This'll only take five minutes." With that, he raises the phone to his ear again and slips out the door to meet whoever he's speaking to. Presumably a colleague. Probably Topaz, because Aventurine has just taken half of the case-relevant documents with him.

Ratio tries to resume working, but that idiot gambler has taken all of the papers he'd been working on. Well, whatever. It's only five minutes.

Ten minutes later, Aventurine is still nowhere to be found. Ratio decides he's waited long enough and texts his partner to hurry up because he needs those documents.

Aventurine: check my desk
Aventurine: bottom drawer
Aventurine: should be a copy there

Ratio: You could've mentioned this before you left.

Aventurine: but then you wouldn't have had a reason to text me

Ratio stares at the message longer than is necessary.

Ratio: Insufferable as always, I see.

He doesn't bother suppressing the faint smile that follows. There's no one around to see it.

Then he clicks his phone off. He does actually need that file, so he pushes himself off the couch and walks the few paces over to the desk. The desk itself is somewhat messy, covered in strewn about papers from at least ten different cases. One of the files has been haphazardly thrown open and Ratio closes it out of habit just to be greeted by the very large, very bolded "CONFIDENTIAL" stamped on the front. Should he really be looking at all this stuff?

Aside from the important documents Aventurine is clearly mishandling, the desk is rather bare. Even Ratio has personalized his own desk somewhat. His doctorates are framed and hanging on the wall behind it, and he uses the edge of the desk to display his favorite books, a spare alabaster bust, and one lone rubber duck. For some charm, of course. He's not completely heartless.

Aventurine's desk could be any disorganized person's mess. There is nothing on it to indicate the presence of anyone other than a Stoneheart of the IPC—which is obviously Aventurine, but it's also not Aventurine. Still, if Aventurine wanted to maintain his farce even in the privacy of his office, he could've at least decorated with a deck of cards or some playing chips.

How peculiar is it that Ratio's seen this desk about a hundred times and he's only just noticing this? To Ratio's credit, though, his attention is usually given wholly to the man who sits behind the desk.

Ratio reaches down and opens the bottom drawer. It is much neater than the desk, to his surprise. There are multiple files stacked neatly on top of each other in one corner. The other corner is storing a large bottle of hard liquor that Ratio politely ignores. His fingers pull the files back just enough to let him skim the names when he releases. The one he needs is right in the middle, so he lifts the top half of the pile to allow himself to shimmy the file out. It moves out partway, but catches on something and refuses to budge any further. Ratio gives it a forceful tug and it comes out, bringing the file underneath with it.

Ratio's eyes flit briefly to the second file as he tosses it gently on the pile. It's labeled with some word he doesn't recognize, and it isn't his business anyway, so he turns his attention to the file he'd actually been searching for.

It takes thirty seconds for his mind to register what he'd actually just read. Remarkbly slow by his standards.

Kakavasha.

The word is unmistakably Sigonian. No—not Sigonian. Avgin. Ratio cannot overlook the root of the word. The Kakava is a festival sacred to the Avgin in particular, not Sigonia as a whole.

This universe has no living Avgin other than Aventurine. He is the sole survivor. It tracks that the memory of his home's customs would be something he keeps tucked away in a drawer only he is opening.

Ratio picks up the file again, just to memorize the spelling of the word. A custom that is important to his partner is one he should probably research. On the off chance that Aventurine would one day want to share it with him, Ratio should like to be prepared.

Only the second time he looks at the file does he notice the smaller print above the foreign word. When he reads it, Ratio drops the file like it's a piece of hot coal.

LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF

It's a name. Kakavasha is a name, and Ratio has just stumbled across the last will and testament of a dead Avgin in Aventurine's desk.

Ratio doesn't know the names of Aventurine's family. All he knows is that there was a family. He knows there was once an entire clan whose traditions Aventurine carries alone now. Beyond that, Ratio has never asked.

Aventurine has never offered.

For all Ratio knows, Kakavasha belonged to one of them.

His fingers reach for the file automatically, but he doesn't look down. He has already learned something Aventurine never intended to tell him. His only choice is to maintain what little privacy Aventurine has left. His hand is trembling slightly as he picks up the file, but he manages. That is, until a sudden violent shake sends the contents of the file tumbling to the floor right as it's almost reached the drawer.

Ratio curses under his breath. Several sheets have scattered beneath the desk, while another has landed faceup beside his foot. He crouches and begins collecting them as quickly as possible, careful to keep his eyes trained on the blank margins rather than the text. He has intruded enough already. He does not need to know what possessions a dead mother or father left behind, nor who they were left to.

One page has slipped beneath Aventurine's chair, so Ratio reaches for it.

He tries to avoid reading it. He's mostly successful, but his mind has been trained to recognize two very specific words, no matter what the context is. He doesn't read the text, but as his eyes glance over it, his subconcscious stops him.

It's his own name.

It can't be that. What would his name be doing in the will of someone who died long before their kin met him?

Ratio's eyes jump to the top of the page.

ARTICLE VII
SPECIFIC BEQUESTS TO DR. VERITAS RATIO

7.1 — Academic Works.
All books, manuscripts, academic journals, archival materials, and other scholarly works in my possession at the time of my death which are identified in my personal records as having been reserved for, acquired on behalf of, or otherwise intended for Dr. Ratio, including, without limitation, the first-edition annotated copy of The Epistemological Treatises of Quandale Dingle presently held in my private collection.

Ratio's eyes stop on the title. He knows that book—more specifically, he knows that edition. The first edition printing is one of only fourteen surviving copies containing Dingle's original annotations, written before several of his more controversial arguments were removed from later publications. The revisions are the subject of endless academic speculation, largely because no complete transcription of the original has ever been made publicly available.

Ratio has wanted to examine it for years. He had mentioned as much to Aventurine once, though he cannot immediately recall why. Some auction they'd attended on Pier Point, perhaps. They'd been there on business when he'd noticed the volume listed among the private lots. He remembers explaining its significance at some length. What he really remembers is Aventurine nodding along with all the visible interest of a man being lectured on the reproductive habits of moss.

The book had sold before Ratio could inquire after it. Now he knows to whom.

Ratio reads the line again. Presently held in my private collection.

What possible use could Aventurine have for it?

The man has never expressed the slightest interest in epistemology. Ratio isn't entirely convinced Aventurine even knows what epistemology is. He certainly has no reason to spend an obscene number of credits acquiring a centuries-old academic text.

No reason at all, really. None, except that Ratio had wanted it.

Ratio narrows his eyes. His brilliant mind has gotten ahead of itself, as it often does. It had seen that title and gone racing past the realization that this will is Aventurine's.

He looks back toward the abandoned folder. Kakavasha. Not a mother or father. Not some distant member of a clan whose name Aventurine has carried with him all these years. It's Aventurine.

Ratio looks at the word for what feels like a long time. So, that's his name.

He has known Aventurine for years. He knows which hand he favors when shuffling cards and which shoulder cramps first when he's exhausted.

He did not know his name. Worse still, Aventurine had never given it to him.

He shouldn't know it now. And somehow, impossibly, that is not even the most concerning information he's being present with.

The page in his hands is lighter than a feather, yet heavier than a pile of bricks. His name is not merely mentioned in Aventurine's will. He has an entire article.

His eyes pass over the title of the book again. If Aventurine bought it for him, why hasn't the man given it to him?

Perhaps Aventurine simply hadn't gotten around to it. It's certainly possible, but it's also incredibly idiotic. Aventurine had evidently found the time to purchase the damned thing. He had even found the time to have an attorney draft explicit instructions ensuring it reached Ratio after his death. Yet at no point during any of that had he found the thirty seconds required to say, Doctor, I bought you a book.

Ratio's eye twitches. He knows he shouldn't, but he can't stop himself. He needs to know what other moronic things are included in this list.

7.2 — Educational Fund.
An amount equal to twenty percent (20%) of the net liquid assets comprising my residuary estate shall be placed into a separate fund under the sole direction of Dr. Ratio. Such funds shall be used exclusively for the establishment, maintenance, expansion, or financial support of schools, universities, libraries, research institutions, public lectures, scholarship programs, or other educational endeavors selected at his discretion.

Most people, when encountering a will, instantly think of real estate, inheritances, funds, or anything at all with monetary value. So, no, the money does not surprise him. The fact that it's been left to Ratio still has him reeling, but he wills himself to get over that initial shock. Everything on this page is intended for him.

What is a surprise, though, is the condition it's been assigned. It is unnecessary. There is nothing else Ratio could even think of spending a sum like that on.

Aventurine knows that. Of course he knows that.

Ratio has subjected the man to enough unsolicited lectures on the universal distribution of knowledge. Aventurine has heard him complain at length about inadequate public education and scholars more concerned with preserving their own prestige than teaching anyone beneath them. Usually, he responds with some flippant remark about Ratio single-handedly curing stupidity.

He doesn't know the precise value of Aventurine's estate. He has never had reason to know, and investigating the personal finances of a Stoneheart is not his job as Aventurine's partner. Still, he's seen enough of Aventurine's spending habits to make an educated estimate.

Twenty percent could build schools. It could fund libraries, laboratories, lectures, and research grants. Properly invested, the fund could sustain some of them long after Ratio himself was dead.

His eyes return to the final words. Selected at his discretion. Aventurine hasn't even stipulated which institutions should receive it, he's simply decided that Ratio will know.

The book had been one thing. Aventurine remembered something Ratio wanted and, for reasons still beyond him, bought it. This is different. This requires Aventurine to know what Ratio would do with a fortune and trust him enough to do it.

Ratio isn't sure which realization bothers him more. Perhaps bothers isn't even the correct word.

Ratio knows what he feels for Aventurine. He has known for some time now, and pretending otherwise in the privacy of his own mind would be an exercise in stupidity. Attraction had been easy enough to identify, even if the rest had taken longer. It came with the realization that he had stopped being able to excuse his concern for Aventurine as merely professional, and that Aventurine's company had become something he sought rather than merely tolerated, and also that the prospect of losing him had become more frightening than Ratio cared to admit.

Ratio has spent months operating under the assumption that his feelings are his own problem. Aventurine flirts with him, certainly, but Aventurine flirts as easily as he breathes. Ratio would have to be an idiot to mistake that for evidence of anything.

A private will is different. There is no audience here for Aventurine to charm. Aventurine had written these instructions for a future in which he would not even be alive to witness their effect. And still, he'd thought of Ratio.

7.3 — Personal Effects.
My personal set of playing cards, consisting of fifty-four (54) cards and presently maintained among my private effects, together with its case, shall pass to Dr. Ratio absolutely.

For the avoidance of doubt, this provision refers to the worn set in regular use and not to any commemorative, collectible, jeweled, or promotional decks which may be found among my property.

Yes, Ratio is familiar with that deck. He'd seen it before in Aventurine's home on the rare occasion he'd been invited over— always to discuss official business, of course.

The book had no value to Aventurine in the same way this deck of cards has no value to Ratio. No monetary value, at least. The cards aren't particularly rare. They're worn at the edges from years of use, and one of the corners has a slight bend that Ratio remembers pointing out once. Aventurine had accused him of looking for marked cards. Ratio had accused him of being precisely the sort of man who would mark them.

So why leave them to him?

Ratio's fingers tighten around the page. There is no practical reason for him to inherit them. He doesn't gamble recreationally. He owns cards of his own, somewhere, and if he required another deck he could purchase one for a negligible number of credits.

The book is something of Aventurine's that has value because Ratio wants it.

The cards are something Ratio could only value because they're Aventurine's.

Which means he isn't leaving Ratio a deck of cards because he thinks Ratio needs one. He's leaving him something to remember him by.

Ratio wishes suddenly that Aventurine had chosen something else. He doesn't want Aventurine's possessions in his absence. He has no desire to have a worn deck of cards sitting uselessly on his desk, some pitiful substitute for the hands that once shuffled them. He doesn't want to look at the bent corner and remember the argument it once caused.

He wants the man.

The thought startles him. In the fleeting moments where Ratio allows himself to indulge in his deepest, innermost feelings, they are usually tethered to the melancholy of knowing nothing will ever come of them. In all the time he's been aware of his feelings, has he ever thought something as simple as I want him?

Wanting implies an expectation of possession—or, at the very least, the belief that possession is possible. That is a realm his feelings for Aventurine have never crossed. He can acknowledge that the man is beautiful and he can admit, privately, that his company has become something Ratio anticipates with embarrassing enthusiasm. He can even tolerate the occasional fantasy of what might happen if one of Aventurine's countless flirtations were ever followed through.

Fantasies are manageable, contained within his mind. "I want him" is not.

Because Ratio doesn't mean that he wants to kiss Aventurine, though he does. He doesn't mean that he wants to take him to bed, though that particular desire has distracted him quite a few times.

He means that he wants Aventurine to still be sitting behind this desk tomorrow and to be summoned to this ridiculous office for assignments beneath his qualifications. He wants to visit Aventurine's home under the increasingly transparent pretense of discussing official business and another opportunity to accuse him of marking that stupid deck of cards while they're still in Aventurine's hands.

Ratio does not just want Aventurine. He wants a future with Aventurine in it.

7.4 — Personal Correspondence.
One handwritten note authored by Dr. Ratio and presently retained among my personal effects shall be returned to him unopened and in its existing condition.

My Executor shall not reproduce, transcribe, archive, disclose, or otherwise retain the contents of said note.

Dr. Ratio will know which one.

Aventurine is right.

Of course Ratio knows which note he's referring to. He'd assumed Aventurine threw it away. Why wouldn't he? The note had served its purpose. Once the operation was over, it was nothing more than a scrap of paper bearing information that had ceased to be relevant.

It hadn't been kept as part of an official record on the events that took place during their mission. It had been kept as part of his personal effects.

Ratio swallows. The book he can understand, if only barely. Aventurine had bought something Ratio wanted and apparently never found the courage— or the good sense— to actually give it to him. The cards are worse. They are something of Aventurine's that could only ever possess sentimental value to Ratio.

But the note is clearly something of Ratio's that possesses sentimental value to Aventurine— what other explanation could there be for keeping it?

Had he simply forgotten to throw it away? It seems unlikely. One does not bestow a friend something they've forgotten about, especially not posthumously. Equally unlikely is the possibility that Aventurine had kept it as a memento from Penacony. If his partner were to ever need a refresher of the events that transpired on that blasted planet, Ratio is sure the IPC has an extensive collection of reports and physical evidence. Besides, it's difficult to imagine that Aventurine would want a reminder of the dozens of suicide attempts he endured in the dreamscape.

Perhaps Aventurine had found the note amusing. That theory is at least plausible. Ratio can see Aventurine chuckling to himself upon reading the note the first time. It was already somewhat uncharacteristic for Ratio to pen such a note, but immediately after their whole charade it might have seemed even further unusual.

But that explanation does not account for the instructions Aventurine left his executor. If the note being returned was decided purely out of amusement, why take such care to ensure that the only other person to ever read it would be Ratio?

So, after testing and rejecting every other possible answer, Ratio returns to his initial conclusion: Aventurine kept the note because it was valuable to him.

Aventurine kept the note and didn't tell Ratio. He probably hadn't told anyone, actually. He hadn't done it to maintain a perfomance, to gain an advantage, or to garner a reaction from some poor soul. He'd done it for himself.

This does not mean Aventurine loves him. Ratio establishes that immediately.

Affection and sentimentality are the only emotions this document proves. Perhaps there is attraction, but Ratio had already suspected as much. None of these things, separately or together, are sufficient evidence of romantic love, and only an idiot would contort them into certainty simply because certainty happens to be what he wants.

Still, despite his best efforts to be rational, a warm feeling starts spreading in Ratio's chest. He suppresses it immediately. No, he will not stand in Aventurine's office and derive hope from the man's last will and testament.

In fact, the longer Ratio looks at the page, the less touched he feels.

What an appalling, cowardly way to say any of this.

Aventurine can take the care to buy a book Ratio mentioned one time. He can give Ratio his money and tell Ratio that he trusts him with it. He can give Ratio his favorite set of cards and preserve a stupid scrap of paper for months and instruct some unfortunate executor to return it after his death.

But apparently doing any of it while he's still alive is beyond him.

Ratio is frowning now and he feels little desire to read any further, but his eyes are glued to the paper. There is one section left.

7.5 — Refusal or Disclaimer of Bequests.
Should Dr. Ratio refuse, disclaim, or otherwise decline any property devised to him under this Article, my Executor is instructed to tender such property to him on no fewer than three (3) separate occasions before accepting such refusal as final.

Any verbal refusal accompanied by the terms “idiotic,” “unnecessary,” “frivolous,” “wasteful,” or substantially similar language shall not, standing alone, constitute a valid disclaimer for purposes of this Article.

Following three (3) unsuccessful attempts at delivery, any property refused by Dr. Ratio shall become part of my residuary estate, with the exception of the property described in Sections 7.3 and 7.4, which shall be retained for him indefinitely or until he expressly directs its destruction or disposition in writing.

Ratio stares at that second paragraph. Not only had Aventurine imagined what Ratio might want after his death, he'd also planned for Ratio trying to refuse it.

The word "idiotic" is definitely in Ratio's casual rotation, especially when he's around Aventurine. But the idea that Ratio would deem anything left to him after Aventurine passes to be idiotic is so otherworldly stupid, moronic, and all other synonyms besides idiotic because the word is suddenly sounding very unpleasant to Ratio.

His eyes shift to the last paragraph.

...with the exception of the property described in Sections 7.3 and 7.4, which shall be retained for him indefinitely...

Everything other than the cards and the note, Ratio is permitted to refuse eventually. Aventurine's money can return to his estate and the book can be sold or donated or left to gather dust in whatever obscenely large private library currently houses it. But not the other two. Aventurine has decided that even if Ratio refuses them three times, or for the remainder of his natural life, they will remain his.

Then another implication occurs to him: Aventurine has imagined this. Not merely his own death, because Ratio has known for some time that Aventurine plays fast and loose with his life. He'd just gotten a brutal reminder of it, actually.

He's imagined Ratio after it.

He has imagined Ratio being handed these things enough to have predicted his objections. He has apparently devoted enough thought to the matter to distinguish between the things Ratio should be permitted to refuse and the things Aventurine has decided he must keep.

Ratio feels suddenly ill. How many times has Aventurine pictured a world in which Ratio outlives him?

And then: it has only been seven weeks since the Penacony mission. This will cannot be any older than the note itself, which means that this is very recent.

Ratio's eyes snap to the abandoned file. There will be a date somewhere. He flips through the pages rapidly until he finds it.

LAST AMENDED:

Four weeks ago. During his recovery.

Aventurine survived Penacony by what could generously be described as an absurd combination of luck, planning, and other people's intervention. He returned to Pier Point battered enough that even the IPC, an organization hardly renowned for its concern over employee welfare, had ordered him away from work for four weeks.

And somewhere in those four weeks, Aventurine had sat down and revised his will.

Not to reconsider his occupation or to reflect upon the series of decisions that had very nearly resulted in his death. Certainly not to develop any greater appreciation for his own continued existence.

Aventurine had survived Penacony and immediately set about ensuring that the next time he threw himself headfirst into an impossible gamble, everyone else would be adequately compensated for the inconvenience of his death.

Now that he's holding the rest of the file in his hands, he becomes acutely aware of the fact that he has no idea when Aventurine is going to come back. He doesn't really want his partner to find him snooping through his things, so he hurriedly puts everything back in order. Ratio is still Ratio, though, so what might take someone else a grand total of thirty seconds takes him closer to a couple minutes because he is nothing if not meticulous.

As the drawer slides shut, Ratio thinks to himself that it looks as though the will was never touched.

He grabs the file that he actually needs. His hand is trembling again as he does this, and his heartbeat is pounding. In whatever time he has left alone in this office, he will have to calm himself. Aventurine might just be the most perceptive person in the universe, and Ratio cannot have a conversation about this right now.

He settles onto the couch, trying to focus on the numbers in front of him. He can feel himself struggling, and three minutes pass with him rereading the same paragraph about seven times. He tosses the file next to him on the couch and groans. The office looks exactly as it did before Aventurine left. The jacket is still draped carefully over his desk chair and his half finished drink is balanced on the chair's arm. How long has Aventurine even been gone? Ratio, for being such a timely person, is surprised to think that he has no idea. He checks his phone, and it tells him twenty-six minutes have passed. Somehow, it feels like that number is both way too big and way too small.

Ratio closes his eyes and takes a slow breath. Aventurine is still alive, probably off somewhere on this floor irritating some unfortunate colleague of his. The will is exactly where he found it. Its contents are irrelevant for as long as its author remains alive, which Ratio fully intends to be a very long time.

Therefore, there is no reason for his body to be behaving like he's about to go into cardiac arrest. By the time the office door opens, Ratio has almost convinced his body of this.

"Sorry, Doc. That took longer than I thought."

Ratio looks up. Aventurine steps through the doorway with the missing documents tucked beneath one arm. He looks exactly the same as he did half an hour ago. Ratio isn't sure what he expected, but his pulse now finally feels normal again. His eyes catch first on Aventurine's face, then his throat, then the steady rise of his chest beneath his partially unbuttoned shirt.

Aventurine is alive, obviously. The observation is so profoundly stupid that Ratio resents himself for making it.

"That was quite a bit longer than five minutes," Ratio says, lowering his eyes and reaching for the file again.

Aventurine glances toward the clock. "You were counting?"

"Not at all," Ratio lies.

"Aw. And here I thought you missed me."

"Don't flatter yourself." The line sounds as it always does, terse and annoyed. It is not easy to sound casual— well, Ratio's equivalent of sounding casual— when indignation sits simmering on his tongue. But Aventurine does this every day, this art of feigning an easy attitude. How in the world does he manage?

Aventurine crosses the room and drops the stolen documents onto the desk. "Find what you needed?"

Ratio's fingers tense where they're holding the open file. "Yes."

"Everything?"

Ratio looks up sharply. Aventurine is already sorting through the papers, entirely oblivious. Of course he's oblivious. It was an innocent question.

"Everything relevant," Ratio answers.

"Perfect."

Ratio watches him sit down before he remembers that he's supposed to be reading.

For the next several minutes, they work without incident. Or, at least, Aventurine does. Ratio contributes enough to maintain the appearance of normalcy, though his usual ability to divide his attention between listening and reading is proving to be much more difficult than usual.

It doesn't help that Aventurine is as boisterous as ever. He taps both his foot and his pen as he complains about one of Ratio's amendments. Like always, he attempts a couple jabs during their conversation and appears miffed when Ratio now ignores each of them. At one point, he stretches, arms raised above his head, and Ratio is subjected to another entirely unnecessary glimpse of skin where his shirt rides up.

Ratio has never before felt so irritated by things he would usually find endearing. It's no surprise that Aventurine catches on.

"Three years is still too aggressive," Aventurine says.

"It isn't."

"Topaz will hate it."

"Then Topaz is welcome to devise her own strategy."

Aventurine laughs. "There's my doctor."

Ratio's brow furrows. "What?"

"You were getting awfully quiet on me."

"Unlike some people, I don't experience a pathological need to fill every moment of silence," Ratio huffs.

"I was starting to worry," Aventurine says.

He sounds casual, because he always sounds casual, but Ratio's fraying mind can't help but take the words to heart.

Ratio looks back down at his work. "Don't."

Aventurine is quiet for a minute before he asks, "Don't what?"

Ratio's eyes remain fixed on the page. He should have said nothing. Better yet, he should have responded with some dismissive remark and allowed the conversation to die naturally. Don't is vague enough to pivot the conversation in a direction he does not want it to go in.

"Worry."

"…About you?"

Ratio's grip tightens around his pen. "Yes."

"That's a rather unreasonable request."

When Ratio looks at him, Aventurine is still smiling. It's not that broad smile he uses to bare his teeth during poker. It's a smaller thing, almost absentminded, like the statement he'd just made is not unusual at all.

Ratio feels that carefully simmering heat begin to boil. Aventurine thinks it unreasonable to ask him not to worry about Ratio. Expecting Ratio to someday receive a fifth of his estate, his favorite deck of cards, and that handwritten note must then be perfectly reasonable, by that logic.

"Is it?"

Aventurine's smile falters. "Doctor?"

Ratio looks away. "It's nothing."

Maybe Aventurine finally gets the hint, then, because he quiets down. He stops fidgeting, actually appearing to concentrate on his assignment for once. It doesn't last long, though, because Aventurine is too used to keeping his hands busy. Yeah, Ratio's noticed that little tell of his. The left hand disappearing behind his back or into his pocket isn't as subtle as he thinks it is. Or maybe it is subtle and Ratio just spends too much time looking at him. Whatever the case may be, Aventurine doesn't last long without a chip between his fingers or a deck shuffling in his hands.

Ratio can hear the familiar sound of cards being shuffled and he looks up instinctively. Immediately, his eyes zero in on the deck Aventurine's using. They widen slightly, recognizing the cards straight away. He waits for the one card to flash its bent corner as Aventurine manipulates the deck.

When he sees it, the feeling inside him turns into a violent, rolling boil. The question tumbles out of him before he can stop it.

"Do you intend to die?"

Aventurine looks confused. "Like… Today?"

"I am asking if you intend to die ever," Ratio says, voice tight. It's a stupid question, and he knows it, but he does not care to be precise right now.

"Well, that is how mortality works, Doctor. Unless you've developed some new eternal life serum you've yet to share with the rest of us…?"

"I am not joking."

"Neither am I, doctor," Aventurine says, setting his cards on the desk. He keeps the bent one in his hand, balancing it between two fingertips. The card rotates slowly as he applies pressure on it.

"You know perfectly well what I mean," Ratio says.

Aventurine stops spinning the card. His eyebrows fall from their quizzical stance, narrowing into an expression that tells Ratio he's being studied. "Where is this coming from?" Aventurine asks.

Ratio purses his lips. After a moment, he asks, "Do you expect to die young?"

That finally wipes the smile from Aventurine's face. "That's a rather morbid question."

"Coming from you?"

Aventurine's expression tightens slightly. His eyebrows go further down, a corner of his mouth raises in an incredulous half-smile. His lips part, but he doesn't say anything.

Ratio should stop. He knows he should stop. This conversation began because he read something that was never intended for him, and Aventurine has every right to keep the contents of that drawer private.

Then, Aventurine's finger runs absently over the bent corner of the card and Ratio's little resolve crumbles instantly.

"You amended your will four weeks ago."

Aventurine does not respond immediately. He places the card with the remainder of the deck, then slips his hand underneath the desk and out of sight. His right hand stays visible, and he leans forward to prop his head up with it.

Ratio registers these movements subconsciously. His mind is entirely focused on Aventurine's face. There is surprise first, unmistakable despite how quickly Aventurine suppresses it. Then confusion. Then something Ratio cannot immediately identify.

"You opened the drawer," Aventurine says.

"At your instruction."

"I told you to get the Asteron file."

Ratio does not hide. He violated his partner's privacy, and he cannot deny it. "It got caught on a second file."

"So you decided to read it?" Aventurine asks, but it is clear he does not expect an answer from Ratio. "You saw a name you had no way of recognizing, and you read it anyway."

"I did not do it intentionally."

Aventurine leans his head back and barks out a laugh. "Right, you didn't intentionally read a fifteen page document."

Ratio barely stops himself from clenching his teeth. "That isn't what I said."

"By all means, do enlighten me."

"The file fell open—"

"And held you at gunpoint?"

"Aventurine," Ratio sighs. He edges forward on the couch. "You have every right to be angry with me."

"How generous—"

"But you may be angry with me later."

Aventurine stares at him. "Excuse me?"

"I said later."

"Oh, I heard you." His smile is back, but there is nothing pleasant about it. "I wasn't aware you were yet another person getting to decide how I feel."

"I am not."

"Could've fooled me," Aventurine spits out.

"I invaded your privacy," Ratio says. "I learned things you clearly never intended to tell me."

Aventurine's expression changes slightly, but Ratio continues before he can interrupt. "It was wrong of me, and for that I offer my sincerest apologies" Ratio sucks in a breath, then says, "But we must discuss that later. My wrongdoing does not make what I found any less concerning."

Now Aventurine looks peeved again. "Concerning to you?"

"Yes."

Aventurine laughs again. "Doctor, it's a will. Its entire purpose is to contain instructions for when I die."

"I know what a will is."

"Then I'm struggling to see the problem!" Aventurine exclaims.

"You amended it four weeks ago. Four weeks ago— when, might I remind you, you were on medical leave."

Aventurine's visible hand shifts beneath his chin. "I had plenty of time."

Ratio stares at him. "You had plenty of time?"

"They wouldn't let me work. I had to find something to do."

For one astonishing moment, Ratio cannot think of what to say. "You nearly died."

Aventurine looks away. Not in shame, really, it looks like he's trying not to roll his eyes. "Yes, Doctor. I remember," he drawls.

A moment ago, Aventurine was furious. That, Ratio understood. This dismissive attitude he's being shown right now, though? Ratio feels his boiling reach a peak, bubbling out of him before he can stop it.

"Do you?"

The question still comes out sharper than Ratio intends, but he's not going to backtrack.

Aventurine's eyes narrow. "Careful."

"No. I don't think I will be."

Ratio rises from the couch, stalking over to the desk. "You returned from Penacony after planning to end your own life, injured badly enough that even the IPC saw fit to remove you from active duty. And sometime during the four weeks you were meant to spend recovering, you sat down and decided to think about how to better plan your inevitable demise."

Aventurine's jaw tightens. "That's not what I did."

"Then explain it to me," Ratio says. He's now in front of the desk, leaning down to brace both hands on it to get as close to eye-level as possible.

"There's nothing to explain. I'm a Stoneheart. I have assets on half a dozen worlds, more enemies than I care to count, and an occupation that doesn't exactly advertise its retirement plans. Having an up-to-date will is just being responsible."

"I am not objecting to you having a will!"

The volume of Ratio's own voice surprises them both. Ratio sighs, standing up straight again. He rubs his face with one hand while deliberating what to say next. After a long breath, he starts again. "I am objecting," he says, quieter, "to the fact that you consider your premature death such a certainty that you've planned my life around it."

Aventurine goes very still. "Your life?"

"Don't be obtuse."

"I'm not. You seem to be under the impression that my estate planning constitutes some elaborate prediction of your future," Aventurine says, enunciating his point by standing up to face Ratio.

"I am not talking about the fifth of your estate that you've left to me. I am talking about the cards."

"What?" Aventurine asks impatiently. Or, he sounds impatient. For all Ratio knows, it could be an attempt to end this conversation early.

"You've arranged for more than just money to be left to me, Aventurine."

Aventurine laughs, incredulous. ""What exactly would you have preferred, Doctor? Fifty percent of my assests, instead? Sure, Doc. You know I don't have anyone else to give it to."

Ratio whips around and slams a hand on the desk. "Do not insult me."

"I wasn't—"

"What I would prefer," Ratio says in a strained voice, "is for you to give me that godforsaken book with your own two hands."

Aventurine laughs again, without humor. "That's what this is about?"

"No. I would have preferred you do any of thsse things yourself rather than assign the task to an executor."

"And the cards?"

Ratio goes quiet. He does not want the cards. He wants those cards to stay where they belong in Aventurine's pocket, ready for their owner whenever he needs to distract his hands.

Aventurine's expression changes at Ratio's continued silence. "Would you have wanted those too?"

"Not like this," Ratio says finally.

Ratio turns away, about to walk back over to the couch, but he stops himself. There is one last thing he must ask. He has no right to, but the pandora's box has been opened and he can no longer stop himself.

He looks back at his partner. "Why did you amend it after our mission? What… What was so compelling that you had to go and change your will?"

"Penacony was a useful reminder that, eventually, one of my bets isn't going to pay off."

Aventurine says this as calmy as one would place an order at a restaurant. Oh, great. Ratio had just started to calm down, but now he's right back to furious.

"Do you genuinely believe that's all your death would be?"

Aventurine frowns. "I didn't say that."

"An unsuccessful bet?"

"Doctor—"

"Some inconvenience you have to clean up in advance?" Ratio's voice lashes at Aventurine like something venomous. His tone is cruelly sarcastic, and Aventurine groans in response.

"What do you want from me?" Aventurine snaps.

What does Ratio want from him? Ratio recalls an earlier thought. He wants the man.

"More than you're willing to give, it seems."

Aventurine's eyes widen by a margin. The hand gripping the desk loosens, and his whole body goes a little slack.

These are things most people probably wouldn't notice, especially not while they're furious at the man they're noticing. But Ratio's mind has become attuned to every one of his partner's tics, and he cannot simply shut it off. He notices these things, and he cannot help but think that maybe it means that Aventurine understands what Ratio is really saying.

Ratio doesn't know how he feels about that. All he knows is that he doesn't want to stick around and find out.

"We can finish this another time," he breathes out, actually turning and walking over to the couch. He collects his tablet and walks briskly towards the door.

His hand is on the doorknob a few seconds later when Aventurine finally responds.

"Doctor, wait…"

Ratio looks back at Aventurine, his hand still gripping the doorkob. Aventurine does not meet his eye, instead staring blankly in Ratio's general direction. For one foolish moment, Ratio feels that hope from earlier begin to rear its head in his chest. He waits, but Aventurine does not say anything further.

"Good night, Aventurine," Ratio sighs, then turns the doorknob and leaves without looking back.

By the next morning, Ratio has already made a mental list of every mistake he made the previous day. First and most obviously, he read a deeply personal document that did not belong to him. Second, he interrogated its author about information he had no right to possess. Third, he raised his voice. And, most mortifyingly, he slammed his hand against Aventurine's desk. The memory alone makes him wince. There is also the matter of what he said immediately before leaving. More than you're willing to give, it seems. He buries his face in his hands. What an icredibly stupid thing to say.

He does not expect Aventurine to contact him because he knows Aventurine too well. So when he receives an automated email that afternoon, thanking him for his contribution on the Asteron strategy, he is not even the least bit surprised that Aventurine had submitted it on his own.

He knows he will not hear from Aventurine today, so Ratio tries to divert his focus. He has papers that need grading and research that needs tending, anyway.

The morning after that, Aventurine has still not contacted him. There is no reason he should. Their work on Asteron-IV is finished, they have no upcoming assignments together, and Ratio had violated his privacy so spectacularly that a day of silence is arguably generous on Aventurine's part.

So he goes to work like usual. He goes to the gym afterwards, then home to a nice bath. By the end of the day, after a nice balanced dinner that would usually leave him feeling quite satisfied, Ratio has checked his phone thirteen times.

No, Ratio did not just check his phone thirteen times. He checked his phone a lot more than that, obviously. He spends all day responding to emails and student questions and uploading grades on his phone. Ratio checked his phone thirteen times without reason. Thirteen times there was no notification, no vibrate, just Ratio unlocking the screen, finding it empty, and putting the phone back down again.

The third day passes similarly, though the amount of time Ratio spends waiting for a very particular notification increases by a significant factor.

Aventurine has still not contacted him.

The thought to contact Aventurine himself occurs to Ratio several times. Each time, Ratio dismisses it. He had already taken something Aventurine had never willingly given him. He will not now demand his attention as well. If Aventurine decides that their relationship—professional or otherwise—has been irreparably damaged by Ratio's actions, then Ratio will have to accept the consequences.

Ratio cannot put into words how much he hates that idea, even if it's probably the most ethical way to handle the situation. He has half a mind to throw his damn ethics to the side and march over to Aventurine's apartment, but the other half of his intact mind is riddled with guilt and would never allow him to do it.

By the fourth evening, Ratio has accomplished enough work at the university to justify going home at a reasonable hour. He makes dinner, reads for approximately forty minutes, and spends another twenty preparing material for a lecture he could deliver from memory. He tries not to check his phone so much.

At around a quarter past eight, his doorbell rings. To his utter humiliation, Ratio's heart instantly leaps in his chest. Aventurine knows where he lives, of course, but there are approximately a thousand more probable explanations for someone ringing his doorbell. He thinks it over, trying to imagine who else could be at his door as he pulls up the security software on his tablet. He racks his brain for names, but all that it comes up with is Aventurine, Aventurine, Aventurine.

Ratio checks the security feed. Aventurine is standing outside his apartment.

Aventurine is fidgeting, shifting his weight from one foot to the other repeatedly. His arms are wrapped around a paper bag he's holding pressed against his chest. When Aventurine leans forward a bit and presses an ear to the door, probably trying to discern whether Ratio is home or not, Ratio catches a glimpse of what's in that bag.

A book?

The image of Aventurine listening to his apartment, waiting to be let in, snaps Ratio out of his trance. He rushes to his feet and over to the door.

He opens it without warning. Aventurine nearly falls into him.

"Whoa—"

He catches himself against the doorframe, stumbling half a step into the apartment. Ratio instinctively reaches for his arm, then thinks better of it just half a second after his fingers have already closed around Aventurine's sleeve.

After Ratio pulls his hand back, the two stare at each other for a moment. Aventurine straightens, then offers Ratio a weak smile.

"You know, most people check who's there before opening the door."

"I did."

"And you still opened it?"

Ratio's heart swells. Aventurine is still clutching the paper bag and his outfit is much less obnoxious than his usual garb. It's still that… err… interesting turqoise Aventurine is fond of for some strange reason, but it's muted. He's wearing a soft looking pullover and baggy jeans. It's more casual than Ratio has ever seen him look before.

"Against my better judgment," Ratio says. The corners of his lips turn up into a small smile, and he doesn't try to stop it.

Aventurine's smile grows in kind. It is the first time Ratio has seen that smile in four days, and the sight of it quells an anxiety he wasn't even aware he'd been feeling. Then his eyes drop to the bag. Aventurine's arms tighten around it when he notices Ratio's gaze.

"Are you going to invite me in, or should I give you this in the hallway?"

Give.

He'd already had his hopes, but suddenly, Ratio knows exactly which book is in that bag. His throat is tight as he pushes the door open further and steps aside. "Come in."

Aventurine starts looking around as soon as he steps inside. Ratio hasn't even closed the door yet.

"Don't."

Aventurine glances over his shoulder. "I haven't done anything."

"You're about to."

"You have no idea what I'm about to do."

"You are surveying my home for material you can use against me later."

"Doctor." Aventurine places a hand over his chest. The bag remains tucked under his other arm. "I'm hurt."

Ratio gives him a flat look, then turns to fetch Aventurine a pair of guest slippers from the shoe closet. In the probably ten seconds it takes him to do that, Aventurine has already found something to mock.

"Is that another bust?"

"Get out," Ratio says, not meaning it at all. Aventurine laughs.

Ratio drops the slippers at Aventurine's feet. "Wear these," he says.

"Yes, sir."

"Don't call me that."

Aventurine toes off his shoes and slips into the pair Ratio has given him. He has yet to let go of the bag.

Ratio has spent the last four days becoming increasingly convinced that Aventurine would never willingly speak to him again. Now, the man is standing in his entryway making fun of his decor. It is an improvement.

"Would you like something to drink?" Ratio asks, expecting Aventurine to decline.

"Sure," Aventurine says instead.

Ratio blinks in surprise, then recovers immediately. He can't have Aventurine thinking that he's overstepping by accepting something that was offered to him. "Tea? Coffee?"

"Whatever you're having," Aventurine replies.

Ratio nods, then turns to head into the kitchen. Ratio prefers tea himself, especially this late. Perhaps a nice, mild chamomile. But Ratio has never seen Aventurine drink anything other than black coffee. Hm, he probably still has some decaf in his kitchen somewhere.

As Ratio starts the electric kettle and takes out his ancient moka pot—he's not really a coffee person, he doesn't even know why he owns it—he hears a crinkle behind him. Aventurine has joined him in the kitchen. Ratio had intended for him to wait on the couch in the living room, but he supposes its his own fault for not inviting Aventurine to the couch. After how their relationship's been going lately, he's not surprised that Aventurine might not feel welcome to anything he isn't explicitly told he may use.

Except Aventurine sits on the countertop opposite Ratio without asking, so he clearly still feels comfortable to some degree. He's still holding the bag, though.

Aventurine watches Ratio quietly fill the moka pot with the decaf grounds. Ratio, very unlike himself, feels a tinge of self-consciousness settle in. Aventurine probably has the fanciest, state-of-the-art espresso machine on the market, but all Ratio has to offer is a moka pot he doesn't even remember when he bought. He should've just stuck with the tea.

"That's cute."

Ratio looks up. Aventurine is staring at the moka pot.

"What?"

"Your little coffee maker."

Ratio sighs, screwing the moka pot shut. "It is a perfectly functional piece of equipment."

"I didn't say it wasn't."

"You called it cute."

"It is cute." Aventurine leans forward, peering at it with a dramatic amount of interest. "Very charming."

Ratio huffs, looking down at the thing to hide his growing smile.

"For the record, I have an espresso machine," Aventurine continues.

"Of course you do."

"It cost more than this kitchen."

Ratio doesn't even look up. He suspected as much. "Of course it did."

"I don't actually use it much."

That makes Ratio glance at Aventurine. "You don't?"

Aventurine shrugs. "Usually just buy it out. I don't have the time in the morning."

Ratio places the little moka pot on the stove. He now has some restored pride in the device he'd just been insecure about. It's done something for Aventurine that his nice espresso machine can't.

He pours his own tea, ignoring Aventurine's inquisitive glance at the separate drinks. He knows Aventurine usually takes his coffee black, but he's also seen the man order milkshakes with more sugar than Ratio consumes in a day. And maybe it's just that Ratio thinks black coffee is disgusting, but his fingers itch to take out his cream and sugar. Without thinking too hard about it, he does exactly that.

Aventurine chuckles. "You've figured me out, huh? My little secret."

"I suppose I have, then," Ratio says coolly. Internally, he thanks whatever Aeon is listening that he decided on the cream and sugar.

The moka pot begins to hiss. Aventurine swings one leg idly against the cabinet beneath him, bag still clutched against his stomach. Ratio's eyes drop down to it momentarily, but the second he looks up he's met with Aventurine, already looking at him. He's been caught, hasn't he?

"Stop staring."

"I'm not."

"You've looked at it six times since I sat down."

Ratio bristles. "I have not."

"Seven, now."

"You cannot count the occasion on which you explicitly drew my attention to it."

Aventurine smiles. Ratio has missed him terribly.

Ratio hands Aventurine a cup full of sweetened, indulgent coffee. Aventurine accepts it with both hands, balancing the book on his lap. When he gives Ratio a thanks, something in Ratio's chest aches from the simple gratitude.

He picks up his own tea, then gestures toward the living room. "You could've sat in the living room this whole time. You don't have to ask."

"I know."

Ratio raises an eyebrow.

Aventurine takes a sip. "I wanted to stay in here with you."

Ratio stills, then brings his own cup to his lips to buy himself a moment to respond. "I see," he says.

Aventurine's mouth twitches against the rim of his cup. "Do you?"

There is something almost challenging in the question, but it lacks Aventurine's usual confidence. His fingers are curled tightly around the cup. The bag has been trapped between his thigh and the counter now that both his hands are occupied, as though even setting it beside him is too far for comfort.

Ratio does see. Or, at least, he thinks he does. Four days have given him ample opportunity to contemplate the expression that crossed Aventurine's face after he dropped that More than you're willing to give. He'd doubted himself repeatedly, convincing himself over and over that he'd imagined it all. But now, he's beginning to believe that he hadn't.

"I believe I'm beginning to."

Aventurine looks down into his coffee. "How dangerous," he says.

"For you, perhaps."

That earns him a quiet laugh.

Ratio sips his tea. He leans back against the counter behind him, watching Aventurine's foot swing back and forth. A couple minutes pass quietly before his eyes eventually drift up to the bag.

Aventurine breaks the silence. "You're looking again, Doctor."

"Can't I be curious? You mentioned it was being given to me."

"No, you can't be curious," Aventurine chuckles. "Not when you already know what it is."

Ratio quietly sets his cup down. He walks two paces forward, then gently takes Aventurine's cup out of his hands and sets that down, too. Then he steps back, allowing Aventurine to do the next part himself.

Aventurine keeps his eyes down on the bag as he gathers it in his arms again. Slowly, he reaches in and produces the book. It has been wrapped in translucent parchment and bound with twine, a justified precaution given the antiquity of the book. Aventurine grips it with both hands as he holds it out towards Ratio.

"I bought this for you," he says plainly.

Ratio reaches forward, his hands settling on the book. His fingers are just a hair's width away from Aventurine's. It takes Aventurine a moment to let go.

"You remembered," Ratio says.

"You only complained about it for twenty minutes."

"I did not complain."

"You called the current owner a 'miserable intellectual parasite hoarding knowledge to grow his own miserly pockets.'"

"That I did. An accurate assessment, I must say."

Ratio runs his fingers over the lettering on the cover. He can make it out just barely through the protective parchment. A layer of paper and a flimsy bag are nowhere near enough to protect such a delicate item, but Ratio finds himself satisfied regardless. Much better this earnest attempt from Aventurine than a sealed, properly packaged version from someone else after Aventurine's death. No executor, just Aventurine, sitting on his kitchen counter in borrowed slippers, watching Ratio accept the gift he'd bought for him.

"Thank you," he says.

"You're welcome."

He should probably leave it wrapped until he can properly inspect the binding. He'll handle that later. Instead, he finds himself staring at Aventurine's hands, now empty in his lap.

"Why now?" Ratio clarifies, "You purchased this months ago."

When Aventurine stays quiet, Ratio continues, "You could have given it to me at any point."

"I know."

"Yet it required me discovering your will and shouting at you before you finally managed it."

Aventurine winces. "When you put it like that, it sounds bad."

"It is bad."

Aventurine's smile lingers a second longer before disappearing. "I didn't buy it planning to put it in the will."

That surprises Ratio. "No?"

Aventurine shakes his head.

"Then why didn't you give it to me?"

Aventurine looks away. There is no answer for long enough that Ratio begins to suspect he won't receive one.

Then, quietly, he hears, "Because then you'd know."

Ratio's fingers grip the book tighter. "Know what?"

Aventurine gives him a look that says very clearly don't make me say it. Ratio ignores it, pressing Aventurine with, "Because then I'd know what?"

Aventurine exhales through his nose. "You're supposed to be the genius."

"I will not allow you to outsource your confession to my deductive reasoning."

Aventurine's eyes snap to his, wide in unconcealed shock. Ah, crap. Perhaps confession was premature.

"…So you do know," Aventurine says.

Ratio briefly considers lying. Four days ago, maybe he wouldn't have lied, but he might've evaded the question. Now, though, doing so would be cowardly. Especially after how mad he'd gotten at Aventurine.

"I have a theory," he says.

"How scientific. I wouldn't have expected anything less, Doctor."

"The evidence is compelling," Ratio says, determined to pull it out of Aventurine.

"And what's your conclusion?"

Blood is rushing in Ratio's ears. "I would prefer to hear yours."

"You're really going to make me say it, huh? Difficult as always, Doctor."

"Stop deflecting," Ratio urges him.

Aventurine is quiet after that. He searches Ratio's face for a long moment, and Ratio can only hope that Aventurine finds the reassurance he's surely looking for. He looks back at Aventurine intensely, refusing to be the one to break eye contact. Sure enough, Aventurine does eventually look away, focusing instead on the coffee cup next to him. He circles its rim absently with a finger.

"I bought you the book because I wanted you to have something from me," he says. "And then I realized giving it to you would make it painfully obvious that I..." He hesitates, biting his lip before steeling himself and continuring, "That this wasn't entirely professional for me."

"Our relationship has not been entirely professional for some time," Ratio says.

"Yeah, well. There's knowing that and then there's saying it."

"That there is," Ratio agrees.

Aventurine's finger continues its slow path around the rim of his cup. "The will was easier," he says.

"Because you wouldn't have to be there when I received it."

Aventurine gives a small shrug. "That was part of it."

"A rather significant part, I imagine."

"Maybe."

Ratio sighs. "Aventurine."

"Fine. Yes." His finger stops. "I could give you whatever I wanted that way. The book. The cards. The money. You could figure out whatever you wanted from it, and I'd never have to know what you thought."

Aventurine laughs under his breath. "Pretty convenient, when you think about it."

"Cowardly," Ratio corrects.

Aventurine looks up. Even now, Ratio is not one to sugarcoat. To his surprise, Aventurine smiles. "Yeah. That too."

"And yet you're here," Ratio says, looking back at the book in his hands.

"Yeah, I am."

"Why?"

Aventurine gives him an incredulous look. "Seriously?"

"I would like to hear you say it."

"Of course you would," Aventurine mutters. He exhales and looks down again. "I kept thinking about what you said."

Ratio doesn't have to ask which part. More than you're willing to give, it seems. That very statement has been playing like a broken record in his own mind as well.

"I wasn't sure what you meant at first."

Ratio says nothing. He doesn't want to ruin the careful alignment that has allowed for Aventurine to finally feel comfortable telling the truth to him. Aventurine seems hellbent on detroying it himself, though, because Ratio quickly catches him escaping to humor.

"I mean, I was pretty sure. Then I decided I was imagining it. Then I was sure again."

"Aventurine," Ratio warns.

"Shut up, Doctor. I'm trying here."

Ratio shuts up. Aventurine draws in a deep breath. "You said you wanted more than I was willing to give."

"I did," Ratio murmurs.

"So, I guess… I'm here to find out what 'more' is."

Aventurine looks up at Ratio now. He has done what Ratio asked. He came here to give him the book with his own two hands, exactly as Ratio stipulated. He admitted what the will had allowed him to avoid admitting while alive. And now, for the first time tonight, he has nothing left to offer.

He's waiting.

"You," Ratio says.

Aventurine's eyebrow quirks up. Ratio's face grows warm. Perhaps he could have phrased that more elegantly.

"Me," Aventurine repeats.

"Why do you look surprised?"

"I don't know, Doctor. Maybe because you just—" Aventurine laughs once, sounding slightly breathless. "You can't just say you like that."

Ratio does not respond. Not verbally, at least. He keeps staring down at Aventurine, not laughing with him. Ratio has learned that the best tool against Aventurine's deflection is to ignore it.

"You're serious," Aventurine says eventually, not smiling at all.

It's a statement, but it sounds more like a question and every last bit of irritation that had been building in Ratio is wiped away. The only priority of his right now is to nip all Aventurine's doubts in the bud.

"Yes," Ratio says. "Entirely."

Aventurine's lips part, but Ratio doesn't give him the opportunity to turn this into another joke. "I meant what I said in your office," he says. "I don't want your possessions."

He taps the book. "This notwithstanding. I am extremely pleased to have this."

That gets the tiniest of smiles out of Aventurine, at least.

"But I don't want your cards, or your money, or anything that should belong to you. I want you, not your property," Ratio says. He steps forward again, close enough to Aventurine to feel the man's breath on his skin. "I want you in my office distracting me from my work and in my home insulting my kitchen."

Ratio has to pause because his throat constricts then. How mundane it sounds, spoken aloud like this, yet these are the very notions that made him so emotional when he found that will.

"I want to take everything you'll give me, Aventurine."

"And if I say I won't give you anything?"

Ratio recognizes it for what it is—a joke. But he does not treat it as such. Too often, Aventurine's jokes have been thinly-veiled insecurities.

"Then I shall respect that wholeheartedly, granted it is what you truly desire." Ratio's voice lowers, "But do not deny me the opportunity to show you the depth of my affection if the only reason you object is your own self-doubt."

Aventurine gapes at him, and Ratio realizes belatedly that this may be the most nakedly affectionate thing he has ever said in his life. Well. It's too late now.

Aventurine swallows. "And if I want you too?"

Ratio's heart gives a violent thud. Finally.

"Then this conversation has been much longer than necessary."

Aventurine smiles, and this time, Ratio lets himself smile back. The thought to restrain it doesn't even cross his mind, for once. His crinkling eyes meet Aventurine's. Then, Aventurine's gaze drops.

Ratio notices, of course.

"Doctor?"

"What?"

"Are you going to make me ask for that too?"

Ratio almost laughs.

"No."

He reaches his hand out to caress Aventurine's cheek gently. His thumb brushes over Aventurine's lip, catching it for a second. For a moment, he basks in the moment, watching Aventurine watch him back. Then Aventurine's expectant expression becomes too much to resist, and Ratio uses that hand to pull his face up, meeting Ratio halfway.

He can vaguely taste the cream on Aventurine's lips. It's sweet, pulling him in again and again. He'd always intended for their first kiss to be a chaste thing, but it feels impossible now.

He shifts his hand from Aventurine's cheek to the back of his neck, using it to tilt Aventurine's head into a deeper kiss . Then he moves the hand down further, slowly covering the expanse of Aventurine's back until it finds his waist. His second hand joins the first, and he uses them to pull Aventurine impossibly closer. He can feel Aventurine's arms snake around the back of his own neck, and he revels in it.

This.

This is what that document could never have given him.

Aventurine is warm beneath his hands. His heart is beating. When Ratio pulls him closer, Aventurine comes willingly.

Ratio doesn't want anything from a dead man. He wants this.

Aventurine makes a quiet sound against his mouth, and whatever remains of Ratio's restraint goes with it. He traces his tongue along Aventurine's upper lip to coax his mouth open and kisses him even deeper.

Aventurine's legs wind around his waist. Ratio barely registers the movement until he feels Aventurine's ankles cross behind him, drawing their bodies flush together. Ratio can feel the hard line of Aventurine's erection press against him.

He breaks the kiss, moving his lips down to Aventurine's neck. Aventurine tilts his head up, silently allowing Ratio to do as he pleases. Ratio presses his first kiss to just under Aventurine's jaw, then makes his way slowly down.

Between kisses, he breathes out, "Aventurine," Kiss. "Tell me what you want," then a kiss, then, "Please."

"Everything," Aventurine says breathlessly, "Give me everything."

Aventurine squeezes his legs, driving the point home. Ratio gets the message, loud and clear. He brings his hands further down, over Aventurine's behind, and he lifts the man effortlessly into the air.

Aventurine's arms grip his neck tighter as Ratio carries him away. He buries his face in his partner's neck again, and perhaps Aventurine is ticklish because the man starts laughing.

A reaction like that would usually make Ratio feel a bit self conscious, but one glance at Aventurine's face dashes it immediately. Aventurine's cheeks are a little pink and his mouth is open in a gleeful, toothy smile.

"Where are you taking me, Doctor?" Aventurine asks, still giggling.

Ratio huffs against Aventurine's neck. "Veritas, if you will. I should not like to be called Doctor by the man I am taking to bed."

Aventurine's smile only grows, somehow. "Very well, then. Veritas."

Veritas has walked them over to his bedroom door, now. He gives Aventurine a quick kiss before shifting him, now carrying him with one arm. He turns the door handle and pushes it open with his side.

Ten seconds later, he's walked over to his bed. It is large and plush, because Veritas—like any sensible man should—values his sleep. He sits on the edge of his bed, still holding Aventurine's waist with one hand. His other hand props himself up on the bed. Aventurine adjusts to the new position, shifting his legs from around Veritas to now kneeling on the bed. His legs still bracket Veritas's and his weight remains predominantly on Veritas's lap.

Aventurine leans forward to kiss Veritas. As the kiss gets heavier, he brings his hands down from Veritas's neck to his chest. Then, when he starts panting because Veritas refuses to break the kiss, his hands find the hem of Veritas's shirt. They start tugging until eventually Veritas is forced to look down.

He lifts his arms cooperatively, allowing Aventurine to pull the shirt over his head. Aventurine tosses the shirt over his shoulder without looking and Veritas, for once, could not care less where it ends up. Aventurine does not keep kissing him right away, spreading his hands on Ratio's chest. As those hands find their way over Veritas's built torso, Veritas moves his own hand from Aventurine's waist to his face. His hand cradles the face as he had just a few minutes before. He wants to pull it forward and kiss it, but Aventurine seems a bit distracted so he makes himself wait.

When he feels Aventurine's fingers hover over his v-line, he decides to just go for the kiss. They can take this a bit slower.

Now, their hands return to where they were before. Aventurine's hands come back around Veritas's neck and the hand on Aventurine's face goes back down to his waist. Veritas uses that hand to hold Aventurine as he moves them, lifting his partner and leaving him on his back on the bed. Aventurine makes a small noise of surprise but Veritas drinks it down, not allowing their lips to part.

His hand slips under Aventurine's sweater. He runs it up and down Aventurine's side slowly. Aventurine does not react audibly but his kiss gets sloppier, mouth open and wet with saliva. When Veritas's hand brushes over his nipple, Aventurine gasps.

The noise has Veritas rushing to rip that sweater off Aventurine. Only when he pulls away to strip Aventurine does he get a good look at his partner's face. Aventurine's cheeks are now more red than pink and his lips are shiny with spit. His hair is already messy. And had Veritas left a mark on his neck? He knew beforehand that it was probably a bad idea, given Aventurine's high profile occupation. But he'd done it anyway, it appears. When had Veritas become an animal, unable to resist what his mind so desperately wants?

"Having second thoughts, Doctor?"

Veritas's eyes snap up to Aventurine's face again. He'd been called Doctor again, but it's alright. He figured it would take some time for Aventurine to adjust.

"Not at all," he answers smoothly, then lifts Aventurine's sweater off of him in one motion. He's not wearing anything under. Veritas runs his eyes slowly along every scar on his partner's body, his hands following upwards until they reach Aventurine's chest. He brushes a thumb over Aventurine's nipple again, and the reaction is even more delicious this time. Aventurine tilts his head back slightly, mouth parted as another gasp escapes him.

Veritas's mouth latches itself to Aventurine's neck again. He starts on the other side, now, gently peppering kisses over the brand etched into Aventurine's skin. He takes his time doing it, still rubbing Aventurine's nipple with a hand.

His kisses migrate slowly. They go down the column of Aventurine's neck, then his shoulder, and then his collarbone. Then they reach Aventurine's other nipple, and he gently flicks a tongue over it. Aventurine moans softly this time, not just a gasp.

As he starts sucking, Veritas's hands keep going. When they reach Aventurine's waistband, he detaches his mouth and looks up at Aventurine. His partner has his eyes shut, but he opens them when he realizes Veritas is waiting for him.

"Keep going," he pants. "Please, Veritas."

Veritas does not need to be told twice. He kisses his way down Aventurine's stomach and his fingers deftly undo the button of his jeans. He pulls the jeans down just far enough to free Aventurine's erection. It springs up somewhat, still constrained by his boxers. Veritas hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls those down, too.

Aventurine's dick is a good size, curved slightly to the right. Veritas wonders to himself momentarily whether he is so far gone that he would describe a phallus as endearing, because that is the first word that comes to mind. He would never say it out loud, though. He has that much sense, at least.

He does not stare for long, lest Aventurine get the wrong idea. He moves a hand up and down the shaft leisurely. What he wants is to put his mouth on it, but he reminds himself again to slow down.

Aventurine, as it turns out, is very reactive. He gasps as soon as Veritas puts his hand on it, then moans softly as he begins stroking. It is not helping Veritas hold himself back.

Veritas leans forward and takes the tip in his mouth. His fist keeps stroking, or at least it tries to. A hand tugs Veritas off by his hair.

"Haha, Ah— you don't need to do that, Doc. What about you?" Aventurine asks, but it comes in punched out breaths because Veritas doesn't stop moving his hand.

"I am enjoying myself. Quite a bit. Relax, Aventurine," Veritas says, and with that, he swallows Aventurine's dick down again. He takes it in all the way to the hilt, and the moan he's rewarded with makes his own dick strain hard against his pants.

He sucks until he tastes precum on his tongue, then pulls off. He pulls his whole body away, leaning over the bed to his nightstand. From a drawer, he procures a bottle of lube and a condom packet. By the time his attention is returned fully to Aventurine, Aventurine's pants and boxers are fully removed. Probably also thrown to some corner of Veritas's room.

Veritas kisses him again, wriggling himself between Aventurine's legs and spreading them wider. One of Veritas's hands rests on his inner thigh.

"Is this alright?" he murmurs.

"More than alright. So good," Aventurine says, words slightly slurring into each other. He hooks a leg around Ratio's back, pulling closer. "Keep going."

How can Veritas deny him when he's asked for it so sweetly? Even if he'd shoved Veritas down and demanded he be given what he wants, Veritas would've obliged without hesitation. He uncaps the lube and applies a generous amount of it to his fingers. With one finger, he circles Aventurine's hole. His other hand wraps around Aventurine's dick again.

Aventurine's reaction is mesmerizing. His back arches and he whines, pushing his hips back onto Veritas's hand to try and get his finger inside. Veritas's eyes stay glued on Aventurine as he sinks the finger in to its first knuckle. Aventurine's eyes screw shut and his mouth turns down in a wince briefly. A second later, though, he parts his lips as though he's just recalled that he's being watched.

"How do you feel?" Veritas asks. If Aventurine's squirming face is anything to judge by, Veritas has to say that his partner looks uncomfortable. He starts stroking up and down to help Aventurine relax.

"It's good. I feel good," Aventurine says.

Veritas looks down at where his finger is inside Aventurine. He pushes it in deeper, then gently pulls it out. Then he pushes it again until he's slowly thrusting it in and out. His finger is crooked, and he rotates his finger deliberately to stretch Aventurine properly. He adds a second finger soon after, slipping it in with the first once Aventurine is loose enough to take it.

"Aventurine," he starts, punctuating each phrase with a thrust of his fingers. "I am a scholar, as you know. My work cannot function without—"

He is cut off by a loud gasp from Aventurine, followed by a moan when his fingers pause where they are.

"—honest feedback," Veritas finishes. A smirk spreads across his face before he presses his fingers in harder. Evidently, he has found Aventurine's prostate.

Aventurine throws his head back, moaning loudly until Veritas relents. He removes his fingers entirely.

"Oh my God—"

Aventurine is cut off this time, Veritas thrusting three fingers inside and hitting Aventurine's prostate dead on. His second hand continues jerking Aventurine off until he feels the dick he's holding start pulsing like it's about to cum. Then he stops abruptly, slowing his fingers down as well. He misses Aventurine's prostate intentionally a couple times, observing how the rim looks stretched over his fingers.

He can hear Aventurine groan, but he ignores it. If Aventurine is already close, he must slow down and focus on what he's actually supposed to be doing.

"Fuck, Veritas. Please—Is that what you need? Please," Aventurine cries, "Please fuck me, please give it to me, please—"

Veritas looks up sharply at Aventurine. Why is Aventurine begging? Why is he making Aventurine beg for what is rightfully his? Veritas is the one who should be begging Aventurine and thanking him for the pleasure of doing anything at all.

"Yes, anything. Hush, vita mea," Veritas soothes. He straightens, unbuttoning his own trousers. He pushes his boxers out of the way to just free his dick. The condom packet is ripped open and quickly discarded. When his dick is fully sheathed, he lines it up with Aventurine's hole.

Aventurine props himself up on his elbows to look at what's prodding at him. Veritas watches his eyes go wide and feels a deep satisfaction, very unlike him. The size of his penis is not something he typically regards with great pride, but right now he feels immensely proud of it.

"Doctor, you're huge."

Veritas chuckles, "I am glad you think so."

Then he slowly pushes himself inside. He moves his whole body forward, bracing himself with his arms on either side of Aventurine's head on the bed. His whole frame is suspended above Aventurine as he gently continues. Aventurine takes this as an opportunity to grip Veritas's back.

Aventurine is so warm. It feels tight and hot around his dick and he already knows he's not going to be lasting very long.

"You're insane," he chokes out. "You feel insane."

"You— You can move."

Veritas sets a quick pace from the very beginning. He already feels hazy, so he has to give Aventurine what the man asked for before he's no longer able to. Aventurine is rendered incoherent, babbling a mixture of Veritas and don't stop over and over.

"Mmph, there—don't fucking stop," he pleads, as if Veritas would ever even dream of stopping.

It's only a couple of minutes before Veritas feels his stomach pooling. He curses, then reaches down to stroke Aventurine furiously in time with his thrusts. Aventurine throws his head back and pulls Veritas in closer with the arms he has around his back.

"I'm gonna cum," he moans, "I'm gonna cum— gonna cum."

"Me too," Veritas groans.

When Aventurine finishes, his face twists into an expression of ecstacy like Veritas has never seen before. His teary eyes, red cheeks, and messy hair send Veritas over the edge himself. He curses as he finishes, his hips stuttering in a clumsy rhythm.

Veritas wakes up warm. There is an unfamiliar weight pressed against him, but it's nice. He opens his eyes and looks down at Aventurine's arm, thrown over his torso. The rest of Aventurine's body is sprawled over the large bed, and he's even snoring quietly. Not so charming when he's asleep, it seems.

He moves Aventurine's arm gingerly off of himself, taking care not to wake him, and swings his feet over the side of the bed. Behind him, Aventurine makes a little, disgruntled noise. Veritas looks over his shoulder. Aventurine has rolled over into the space he had just been occupying. His hair is an absolute disaster. There is a crease along one cheek from the pillowcase and his mouth is slightly open. When he rolled over he'd pressed his face into Veritas's pillow and, mercifully, muffled his snoring.

Veritas reaches down and pulls the blanket higher over Aventurine's shoulder. Then he stands and gets a good look at the mess they'd made of his bedroom. Random articles of clothing litter the floor everywhere. Veritas bends over to pick through them, but he can't find his underwear. It's a problem for later, he decides, heading off to the bathroom with enough clothing to make himself decent.

Aventurine still isn't awake once Veritas has finished showering. He pulls out a set of lounge wear for Aventurine to wear when he finally does wake up, then heads off to the kitchen.

What would Aventurine like for breakfast? Veritas isn't sure yet.

He does know one thing, though, he thinks to himself as he pulls out cream and sugar for Aventurine's coffee.

He may as well wait for Aventurine to wake, then. They can decide on breakfast together.

Then Veritas spots the book that had been abandoned on the counter last night. He picks it up and takes it into the living room with him, settling into a plush chair as he waits for Aventurine. He undoes the twine and removes the parchment as carefully as possible. When the bare book is in his hands, he opens it tenderly.

A notecard slips out when he opens the cover. Confused, he reaches down to pick it up.

For Veritas. —K

Veritas runs his thumb lightly over the edge of the card. This, Aventurine meant for him to see. He turns the card over. As he predicts, there is nothing on the back. There is no need for anything else.

"Well? Was all the complaining worth it?"

Veritas looks up over the book. Aventurine has wandered in, wearing the clothes Veritas left for him.

Veritas smiles. "Yes, it was."

Then he shuts the book and places it on the coffee table before him.

"Do you like eggs?" he asks.