Archive of Our Own

Final card, put, stepped onto the platter and revealed. Sheer despondency, helplessness, rage and the tranquil that comes after—a bountiful amount of emotions emerge from the faces of his opponents that dared to be confident of their own hand. 

Chips, tossed to the table as if they were lightweight snacks. All of it, all of it must be for this one particular moment in time where he'd lay himself drunk on the slightest chance that'd make at least one thread of his life quiver, the only problem in the world a lack of time for pleasures.

Hell is one decision away from Heaven. None of the things paved in his path onwards were mere mistakes. A fair bit of romanticism, or whatever that’s left in him, suspends him in this belief that it’s to be the ongoing works of fate, of an inherently unjust destiny just to engrave an inherently unjust flaw. 

Alas, the cast of those chips did little to satiate the ache, neither did hearing how they lament in embitterment at the face of an emperor’s limit. Strengthless rather, dissipating in an instant where the dust decides to settle, and he's left to ponder this illusory sense of satisfaction that gnaws at his side more than it actually eats.

The feeling lingers, even if Lord Aventurine unroots the wealth of soil beneath them all and let the world rumble. Let it toil in its wreckage. For sure, even just an inkling of that feeling would still remain, and my, what an infuriating thing that is. For bottomless hunger instead to assure his own self-destruction, rather than the hand of anyone who loathes him, or Doomsday itself.

At the same time, he wouldn’t have it any other way. If not for all the evil that exists in the world, or any impenetrable will of conviction to condemn him, it would always be himself—to stake his own heart like it were nothing, and escape away to the corners of the Earth unscathed though impossible and fathomless. Not to the streak of fortune that got him this far, no. 

But alas, with nowhere to run, he crosses his legs, motions done in the utmost delight. Looking up while still in his seat, having a preference to remain cozy as ever in that velvety plush chair, which frame conceals the rest of his shorter build.

He graces the intruder with a welcoming smile, as if they were no intruder, but just another visitor that wanted to see the comfortable and luxurious confines of his home.

“Or maybe not,” And if he were instead as he truly is, a sinner that only has nothing much than the crime of simply existing to confess, then his voice carries the weight of it lightlessly. “It seems that my ‘death’ is already determined. Is it not, Ms. Acheron?”

Upon glancing downwards is where she dares besmear his cheek. Unintentionally, really just a side-effect, by a mere droplet of a crimson tear. It glides down the cheek of a ferocious man that deemed the title of Lord the very second he fell down into the depths of the Earth, writhing, screeching, gasping, unbecoming. Until masterfully, like a work of art, tunes his smile to something far more bridled.

The way it's supposed to be, should be. The tear—it escapes down his chin, as if afraid to leave a trace of a touch in his presence.

When she speaks, it is with pity. Aventurine's expression remains the same. “You forget.. that even if you wish for it.. I can’t promise you anything. But now that you’re close to getting what you've wanted, I think you can stand to be a little more.. forthcoming.”

When sleepless dreams comes to knock from time to time within the daily routine he’s settled upon, resting his eyes had always done him a great favor. He knows not to underestimate its sublime mist, as it is a unique variant in day-to-day life, which is how Ratio puts it. Strangely though a common occurrence, Aventurine considers it unbefitting of importance. 

Past is just past buried along with his name. Occasional thoughts and recollection of his mother, sister—their eyes, their love, their warmth, dreams and wishes, and sweet tenderness. They remain just that. Past nonetheless, even if a childish part of him wants it to be otherwise.

But no, no, rather he deems his intrigue upon the mundane contemplations like the present thoughts on today’s dinner. If there’s anything else left he must pick up after in around the house. Then if not to shop and select for whichever book Ratio would like to read during bath time, then naturally a quarter of his thoughts would be spent circling back to menus.

Ratio's concerns blurs with his own, and still, Aventurine finds the fact that he's playing house in spite of previous history—to be less unordinary than the actual human he was sought to look after. And the human he's taking care of.. Veritas Ratio, he's not a picky eater, not quite. It is the amount of calcium, protein, carbohydrates, and whatnot, and more, that he needs to digest. On a regular basis too. Now, that is what he is most particular about. 

.. Well, hat man is very particular about everything, actually. It’s a charming quality he happens to possess, but Aventurine digresses. He knows better than to try and discourage his long range of habits, that even he deems peculiarities in comparison to other humanoid beings he came across.

Yet he figures the rough estimate that Ratio’s probably the only person in existence to have a demonic spirit living within his home, Have said spirit act out as his glorified maid then insist to do the same amount of chores as he does, if not possibly more, while also telling him how to properly do work, in a tone lacking in the stilted fear Aventurine’s commonly spoken with.

Any former lord in his place would feel a vein bulge around his head thinking about it, the disrespect and the disgrace of it all. But for Aventurine, those ministrations smoothen, followed by the low slumping of his shoulders—for in one way or the other, he'd always gradually mellow out into a fondness that’s one of a kind. 

That is just how his dear Veritas Ratio is, a source of that fondness. It might just kill him someday, in how all-consuming this feeling can be, to the extent he’s reminded of the flesh from within. How it’s made of raw meat, rather than brittle gold and porcelain.

It is better than frequenting drops of numbness, he supposes.

That all aside, he plucks the hems of his gloves and prepares himself to rise above the couch. Warm as it is to rest and reminisce for as much as he likes, or this time can be helped to do something useful. 

Productive. Purposeful—like he now has a purpose, his existence has meaning in an otherwise meaningless scape of a world, and Aventurine likes the sound of that. Absurd as it may be, to even himself, but given how he lived, when has anything ever made sense?

Thoroughly was how he cleaned the rice to match Ratio's (particular) taste. For even he knew that it'd be within Ratio's comfort that he must, thus ounces of time must be divided; pancakes must be spliced in the exact type of way that Ratio personally prefers. 

And an air of sheer irony follows whatever variety of excitement that came by alongside that monotony in their routine; for once, Aventurine has something to look forward to. (Even if that "something" comes in the form of a pretty face, but what more can he ask for?) 

Today's no exception. There were news of upcoming "homecoming," a night to remember in those exact line of words. Now, that's something worthy of attention, isn't it? Requires careful discernment is how he prescribed it within the very next instant that he'd managed. 

Information is sufficient enough, he appraises, though a part of Aventurine misses requesting sycophants to do it on a whim just by the snap of his fingers. Up to this day, he finds it not worthy of any other bargain.

Again, he digresses. The important aspect is that the demon heard it all from everyone else but Ratio himself, and my, though he's grateful of how owning this hilarious moniker of being his "strange roommate" has gotten him far, he'd rather hear it past Ratio's lips itself.

It's not even a step and a half across the door where he'd, oh so innocently in the best of his capabilities, voice an easy question, and immediately Ratio debunks it. Like wow, spare him a bit of time now, won’t he? But no, as if it were second nature, he says while hardly bothering to look at Aventurine's direction, eyes focused and trained to the laptop screen. 

 "No, I am far too busy for that sort of thing," Cruel really, such a cruel man. Isn't he important, to come fetch a talk with him than this thesis the former's so earnestly preoccupied with? Kidding, but somehow and miraculously.. one of these days, if Ratio ever gets bored of school, then the demon might just take him away to himself for good.

But no, that'd never happen and he sure knows it. On the contrary actually—Ratio likely never will. If anything, there's a distinct sense of passion that Aventurine finds too attractive for his own good. It's just one of those ticks that makes Veritas Ratio.. well, Veritas Ratio. 

And in a world like this, he finds that a wonderful thing to be.

"Your sudden interest." 

On the doorway, Aventurine looks up to hear him speak again. Watching, only to have his attention be on a leash, pulled back the only thing he has to offer that’s closest to vulnerability. Gestures that even its recipient, Ratio, isn't even aware of; still gestures that even the demon himself profoundly doesn't speak about. 

Because it has became something natural, having his eyes founded onto him like the human's form the marble of clouds itself, set on light-blue paint within canvas intended to further contrast beaut of his glory. If there is a god somewhere, it might as well look like him.

Because it is the closest thing to what the demon’s heart worships.

There's a gaze. One. "Care to explain it?"

Aventurine clears his throat, and prepares his lips to quirk into a witful smile,  "A better question would be that—why shouldn't I be interested? After all, this is the first I ever heard of a homecoming. For everyone to celebrate but you apparently. So why's that?" 

So were it easy to ask, yet not so much as to peer over his shoulder. It is rather fortunate that Aventurine takes these risks in treading such boundaries. Gingerly was the manner of how his fingertips grazes his skin before languidly flattening his palm to rest on top. 

In response, Ratio stiffens—for far too long than normal. So much tension rests in the knots, and must be by the recent lack of sleep. Poor thing. He's probably not as used to it, as typical behavior suggests he’d sleep regularly at before 8 PM, no matter what, as to help treat his diagnosed insomnia anyways.

It is only when he signed up for a physics degree (out of eight other undergraduate degrees he plans to get, masters, and ah, he wants eight PhDs too by the way)—is when a once so perfectly calculated routine is thrown into complete disarray. The course load is bigger than he had anticipated, causing a lot of insomniac-induced attacks that Aventurine has to tend to, care for, because it is Ratio whose suffering the most out of it. 

But just as said human opens his mouth, his jaw hangs slightly around the same time Aventurine’s hands tries to knead. Gentle touch isn't quite his forte, and neither is he a professional massage therapist, he's not even certain if he's made for such. Demons don't exactly have round, soft, and feeble fingers; theirs are more so sharp and angular, like talons. 

He tries his best not to hurt him though, tries hard, really, to be gentle when it comes to any manner concerning Veritas Ratio. 

The other man stays quiet. 

And from there, quick urgency had him fretting whether that's another cue for him to remove it immediately. Frame of his hands hovering by the keyboard of his laptop, eyes widening by a centimeter, concentration lost on the pen his hand beheld by his side, were they not all signs? Regardless, he steadied, and from there.. they all stilled.

Aventurine perks up a brow. He looks, and finds himself bemused by how Ratio released the form of tension around the face, for even an uptight man like him can be capable of growing lax.

".. Right," He speaks, and it's in that voice again. That tone which evoked patience, spoken with an infliction that leaves no doubts as to where all the heart is. "I forget that you hadn't been to school, my apologies. Sincerely.. but to further explain. When they speak of homecoming, they mean prom. While it may be formal celebration done on each third and fourth academic year, it's really not that interesting of a concept." 

"Oh? But wait, if that were the case, shouldn't you have been invited long ago? Last year, maybe?" Aventurine tilts his head, smile still in place, yes, but the shape of his eyes narrowed as if to account for consideration. Even briefly. "This shouldn't be my first time then, hearing about it I mean."

"As for how this is the first time you heard of it—by principle of Occam's razor, this case is no different. You didn't know only because I didn't tell you so."

 Ah. He didn't forget. Deliberately clandestine, he sees now. By the blatantly honesty however, he can’t help his laugh as it’s so Ratio in every way imaginable. "I see. Was the party arrangement nice?" 

 "I wouldn't know." A dip in volume, very unheard of from a voice that always bore fluent eloquence, now it softens and deflates—despite it carrying the weight of the world. "I didn't attend, never had."

He can only afford a blink. ".. And why is that?" 

Firstly, he clarifies. "I never intended for it to be a secret from you." Lest those fingers lay in anticipation for longer than necessary, hence in how Ratio conducts—a sound of each key press accompanies one after the other. Not enough however to serve as a detraction from the thoughts humming inside Aventurine's skull. 

"Because at the time, it wasn't even substantial enough for me to properly consider it through. Even now, I still cannot register its importance to me. My conclusion was that needless festivities only dullens my senses, but it does its purpose of cultivating idiocy, I suppose."

.. He finds it strange for Ratio to lie. "Uh huh, still not worth a shot even up to this day?"

Ratio's brows furrow a slightest amount. "Didn’t you just hear me? If I wanted to be served mindless distractions, there would be other things far more valuable to consider and ponder about."

"Forgive me for assuming then, Ratio," he smiles, and that grin is just an indication of how he is absolutely not sorry whatsoever. "I seen how lately you've been crunching your hours, caring little to none about the ticks on the clock, and it's so.. unlike you. Before, you'd been the one chiding me for my, quote unquote, unhealthy nocturnal tendencies and insomnia-induced habits—and hey," 

Before the human can speak, the demon gestures with his index finger, "Your words, not mine. And though you can barely handle it yourself, ironic isn't it—that it's not me this time who acquired the habit of going up past 1 AM, to spend it all to work."

 A frown tugs down on the ends of Ratio's lips but he knows better to dare not challenge, or correct him, much to Aventurine's pure, adulterated joy. He can only do so much as to mouth, "I don't have a choice, as much as I do not like the fact that my sleep schedule has been tarnished, much less how it triggers the state of my condition.

"Right.” The demon’s hands rub his collarbone upwards, “So in the same way I see it—after a few nights of rest, you, more or less, deserve a few more steps on the dance floor. To forget all about it in a night of grand splendor. With that said, doesn't that sound all the more fun and enticing?" 

A pause walked by them briskly, in the span of that time after, assuaged the previously contrived manner of Ratio’s voice perfectly. 

".. It actually does. But.. Hm, " Looking up at him at last, alas the human offers an countenance. But it's one unlike him, who Aventurine knows to never be afraid of his expressive range. Yet something unreadable flashes across that visage, and that only served to confuse the demon, reasoning him to tilt his head further. 

"What?" 

Ratio does not completely disregard his suspicion, in fact it strengthens. "That is quite nice of you to say."

"Ha," feigning offense, Aventurine's widening smile contradicts such tone. It comes back into him meticulously regardless. "Now that's hurtful. You act like I'm just so incapable of niceties."

Ratio looks past the man that he is, and he's reminded of the eerieness that came with being acknowledged. Perceived. Outwardly, from inch to inch, have the fiber of him dissected delicately, and that same childish part of him reveled in how it is to be seen in such a way by him, for it must be him. If not anyone else in the world, then it must be him.

He deducts, "Compassion is not beyond you. Sincerity is."

Barely. It was barely in how Aventurine made a face at that. In contrast, his smile grows and served a balmy amount of teeth. "So you do think I'm nice."

".. Hmph, ” A light shade of red laces over the roundness of his cheeks, but the human continues anyways. “I always believed that way even since my sister brought you here." 

Unrelenting. Was how he described the softness that have come to grace many of Ratio's beautiful features. It exists alongside their complacent, unspoken love for ambiguity, and every other factor that makes their relationship murky, where nothing is stranger for them than verbal acknowledgements of what clearly exists in front of them.

If there’s anything wrong with this casual touch, they, not even Ratio, made a mention of it whatsoever.

"But I am doing quite fine on my own, Aventurine," he answers without being directly asked. Ratio doesn't even need to know if he's being asked—this says it all. "I promise you, though.. maybe you could pass me a cup of tea?"

.. They say that when forgoing his previous position as Lord Aventurine to instead come into this life, it is said through the muttering whispers of hell that so too were his tactics abandoned in the dust. Schemes concealed, be it left rotten in the oxidizing, dying browns of the world, or imparted within the scorched sense of Earth. 

Though the skillful tact in Aventurine's silent, roundabout investigation within the jewels of his eyes—has undeniably loosened, the same can't be said for that itch to pry into the lumps of Ratio's skin for more answers. 

She said that in this life, maybe he can finally satiate that hunger hollowing his body throughout. She said to remind himself this, over and over, for as much as he likes, through his face, and his voice.

Reality states the contrary, he fears that it only grown worse since Ratio's presence have bled into his life. Simple, unassuming answers to questions, discussions, and exchanges—they fed off quite a bit to a certain degree. 

It is only fortunate that Aventurine knows how to act like that isn't the case. 

"Okay, I will," finally, is all that he says, letting go of his chin as well, looking as if he found the answer enough for his taste. It was not. And when he files out of the room, behaving diligently like his eyes did not just devour his human whole, more questions hang in the entirety of Ratio's thoughts. 

So much so that the pen was left untouched for the first time in a long while; no unheard scribbles past the walls. And well, at least that one part alleviates a bit of Aventurine's worries.

Ratio's defense, spanning today, starting 8 AM. A whole student body, a batch within the count of 50 to 60 students, and possibly even more if there’s a chance of this being another miscalculation on his end. Aventurine has skimmed their faces before in each time he takes Ratio home, and he doubts he'd be wrong by now.

Someone, apparently someone, in the faculty knew that time was money; they beheld the brightest idea of doing it all one by one, group by group—regular amount should be two hours, but given the amount of students there is, it should be 30 minutes minimum and the worst can be 45 minutes, for each presentation. (Unfair, given the content there is, and how this was announced four days prior, so he seen how Ratio paced around in the living room, attempting to cut it short in the best way he could.)

Must be by 3 PM where the air deafens,  A rough estimate they both have figured out over sharing breakfast—a warmly heated vegetable omelet wrap, where there'd be extra olives, smelted cheese and potatoes in between as Ratio would always want. The demon takes this task delicately, often opting to precise measurements than how he usually works around some of the meals.

Aventurine knows it to be a treat that he loves dearly to the extent it being a favorite, or at least, tied within placement top 1.5 according to his personal foods list. That's why he oughta have it made after shopping the other day; Ratio was more than happy to cook. Looks happier than he did these past few weeks, and for once, Aventurine finds himself glad about it.

He knows that it'd make him happy. Undoubtedly, it is one of the few things his sister had cooked for him before she departed that form from the physicality of worldly existence. And yes, he knows. That Ratio's childhood is far from normal, he concludes as much as he knows, drawn to the frame of his own life too for reference.

The amount of normalcy never, and perhaps, another reason is why when it came down to the between the both of them, they can never, really, judge each other unlike how they'd assess each other to their heart's content. Food for constant scrutiny, in a way that they'd never starve, never deprive of each other as they are always right there—people who always need each other, and to need someone as excruciating as he did—it'd be the death of him, really. It should be.

He doesn't mind that fact however, as long as it is him that gets to spin around the dagger that twists their guts together. Aventurine should decide when they both die, but yet he keeps them both alive, whether that be a worse fate than absolute nihility, or not, seeing as Ratio seems content by the end of the day. 

But a day is not without an occasional wager to settle for, however, so due to a certain someone's insistence, at breakfast they both landed a bet on whether it'd truly be by 3 PM or some other time before 5. 

Wrong, they both were. It was 7 PM when it ended, and when Ratio had walked out past the entrance hall to the doors, book pressed against that chest in his line of grasp. Gratification comes in trickles, steadying and slow to be surpassed by disbelief. Then it'd come eventually, affirmation of his academic self-worth, granted mellifluously to him once it felt to be over. Dulcet-toned words, tasted just as saccharine and honeyed as one would expect—all the best things he can positively describe.

Ultimately being it the obese fatigue that ends up suppressing any and each of it, least though Ratio could afford a slip of relief in how he announced a laugh—enervated out of all that makes him alive and human, and well especially. He doesn't sound well, as he should be, and a shudder of the breeze reminded him how frighteningly saddening that can be.

Worry not, before ruminations would befall him, he'd scan the parking lot within a quick glance. Above them were the blessed ink-black of the sky, felt transient and somehow even everlasting in its looming cover when dipping close into pure midnight velvet. To believe those corners were once filled by the darkest hue of heather and the brightest hue of jasper, only thing separating them a line of russet—earlier, it enveloped the sky for it is a thing to devour out of fleeting existence. Now snuffed out like how one would treat to a wick of a candle in a mere whisk. 

But no, that's not what surprised him. It's dark out, but Ratio didn’t resist squinting his eyes—befuddlement is what snapped him awake, and out of trance. 

".. Aventurine?"

A jade-colored car steers on over, circling in a direction where he'd meet the side. In response, the car window slides down to make way for the sight of Aventurine in rose-tinted, gold rimmed glasses. Said spectacles were lowered by yours truly, down the bridge of his nose when he shot a wink at Ratio.

"Don't you think it's rude to keep a man waiting? On one of his few days off from work nonetheless too." 

"Not when that man's you," A part of him swears to the heavens that he could feel an incoming headache by the time of his arrival, the opposite happens in fact. He's relieved more than ever to see him, but Ratio will likely never admit it. But he does mean that pang of guilt when it hits, "But a day off? Stubborn fool, you should have stayed back at home then."

In deliberate response yet again, Aventurine carries a playful roll of the eyes, and then it narrows. "Now, wouldn't that just defeat why I took this day off, to begin with?" 

Quite baffled, Ratio blinks at the admittance he just received. "You did all of this this just so you can pick me up?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Gentle was how the demon's face came to be, especially the look of those eyes. Then he scoffs, almost ruining the illusion altogether. ".. Oh, don't give me that look. Hop in, why don't you, and try not to fret off your pretty little head too much about it. Public transport may not be so bad, but you know whenever it's late at night, the trains and buses can get pretty crowded. You might even have to wait for another hour or so on line, and I'm sure you are tired of waiting at this point, aren’t you?"

He says nothing, and for a moment as Aventurine adjusts again the rearview window, settling his phone aside as to prepare, then Ratio speaks. He does not see his face when he does, he was far too busy tensing up when he shouldn't.

".. Thank you, I—truly do appreciate all that you've done for me today."

Is all the human could say to that, in all sudden earnestness, before making a swift turn in around the vehicle. Barely.. The demon barely processed what befell his ears until Ratio settled inside, riding shotgun on the passenger's seat. Deliberate was his choice to be situated right next to him.

Laying a cough on the verdant-green sleeve of wrist as to mask the lack of a reaction, Aventurine then places his knuckles atop the wheel. Something around the backseat gets dusted off on there, in the rearview mirror where Aventurine adjusts. Their eyes lock but they don't speak anything of it, a thing that drives the latter crazy. 

Yet he still said nothing of it, much as the other person in the car did. What was done by the demon instead was to watch as Ratio fastened his seatbelt, allowing his back to eventually lay down against a softer, stronger support. Head hung up in a way where he'd stare at the ceiling of the car for a few moments thereafter sparing a glance at his driver within the corner of his eye.

Said driver comes to immediately look away, turn his attention to the wheel where it should be. In which his foot presses down the medal, the engine had already started before Ratio could say anything about it. 

Aventurine prays to any god out there that his face isn't seen, because for once in his life, he has no scripted excuse as to why a color of pink splays across it. He feels far too lightheaded to explain anyways.

Quiet. Too quiet was the ride back home, though that's a pattern to be expected—it's not as if Ratio suddenly despises any form of talk right here and then, as much it may seem like that way in how he's completely devoid of words, let alone focus with the way his eyes drift off towards the cascading scenes outside the window. 

To where the playful, luminescent hues of the following lamp posts would lead them across the night, where they'd disperse in a crowd of vehicles in varying colors, sizes and shapes, the destination is determined and the sight remains still. In its absolute omnipotence, the charcoal-bested sky vastly intersects with the whittling, pure whiteness of the stars, and the overlapping city lights tinted oftentimes in slight orange. 

It's quite a beautifully, fascinating glimpse to behold, is probably what Ratio had thought within the few glances Aventurine spares him occasionally. That expression, one of peace and contentment, left so much to be interpreted and scrutinized.

It would not take long until a crack of fireworks hissed within the very dead of this night, and Ratio would come to witness the sparks fly from where he's at. Behind a small window, shrouded by the darkness of it all, with the exception there being the luster from inside the vehicle. 

"Look," The demon hums, "It looks like some are already starting to light up fireworks, and it's like, what, one week away from the New Years?"

Ratio huffs, voice almost hoarse. "Approximately ten days left before the New Years. That is two weeks away."

"And when's that homecoming prom going to be at, again?" 

"In three days, but the registration is closed and the preparations are already done moreover. Even if you persuaded me to come and enjoy myself, it's already too late. We have already stretched that point of time.." He speaks in a bygone demeanor, "And now, it's just another lost opportunity."

"Huh, how unfortunate." Aventurine slightly tips and adjusts the side-view mirror, roughly as his eyes are saved best elsewhere directly towards the road ahead. "So how did your defense take that long?"

"Simple. When we did draws, the numerous variables and chances in play.. had me draw to being the very last to present."

"The last?" The demon sounds to be induced by a wink of hilarity, You know, I would laugh and all, but even that is too pitiful for you."

"I am aware. And earlier I even thought of it as a blessing, for it would give me such ample time to finish writing my notecards." A beat, before he inevitably deadpans, "I had it finished 10 minutes after."

"You know, I already said this before, but wouldn't it be better if it was assigned and done in separate days for each?" 

"There just wasn't that much time in the month of December. After all, the planned schedule had been disrupted by a lot of suspensions." A brief interjection of silence enters the space between them, "And besides.. I chose to present anyways, even when there was another option for me not to."

"Hmmm?" Pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose, Aventurine averts his eyes intently to Ratio's side before retreating his attention to the road ahead. "What do you mean by that?"

"Weeks ago, the draft of my thesis has been finished earlier than others and I was sure to finish the presentation within less than a day. The professor offered that I can have my defense be done earlier than the rest, for he said that.. if it were me, the panelists would gladly take another spot in their schedule to see me."

"Hm, that's far more convenient actually. You'd not only get to be flattered for your genius, but even have a break early; a time to enjoy the upcoming season." 

"But I didn't take it." He sounds softer than usual. It's not bothersome though. It feels nice actually to be layered with a veil of honesty, albeit that betraying some sort of boundary. 

And he likes that. A lot more than he should, because it ends up being Ratio that breaks it for a change. "So why didn't you?"

Ratio doesn't look at him over his shoulder. Hardly, as a matter of fact, for his eyes stayed glue to the rolling silhouettes from outside their car.

".. Ver?" 

The answer came, just in a fleecy variation of a voice that prides itself in being profoundly loud and passionate. "I heard."

"And so, your verdict?"

"I want to abstain."

"Abstain? From my question?" The demon muses, smile curling once again like it never is capable of leaving. Doesn't it. "Or from the dance itself?" 

A yawn escapes his lips, "Why not both." 

Another laugh, "I do not think that's quite fair. Ratio, I mean, come on.. you're the only one with me, you're the one I'm asking here."

"And," He doesn't ask with a hint of suspicion, curiosity rather. "Why do you ask?"

"Just trying to make conversation." Aventurine fetches him a stare, within an instant, their eyes are entrapped with each other once again. Ferocity is always a layer, at one point or another, in how his eyes regard Ratio. That same sort of ferocity is tamed, domesticated, and unbecoming. "Now you could just ignore me and take a nap while we're still not there. But if you'd like to tell me, I'm all ears."

The body of Ratio stiffens, "I'm not sure if you'd understand, is the point of my thought process here" 

"You are so right, so why not help me understand anyways? It's not as if I haven't listened to you before." 

Distant murmurs of the night, as well as a plethora of vibrations in various engines, is all that they could hear. Is that all there is to it is? Whatever the case, upon close inspection of his features, he finds Ratio's eyes averting to a distance despite them having no issue having such long-drawn eye counts from before and when.

Drawn out sigh is all he can get in return, a cue of how oblivious he is to the thoughts fermenting in his head. It's then that Aventurine acknowledges that he thinks too much about Ratio. Even when it's not exactly about him, a half of it is always about him, hasn't it? Just as their lives have been intertwined, it feels whatever he had previously is strained into a distant afterthought of a recollection. 

A part of Aventurine wonders what his entire existence would have been became like, had he not been asked for a favor. 

Stayed sane, perhaps? Ha, no, whatever is in his head—already festered even beforehand, long before he could have met Ratio. One of their fundamental differences comes from the humble fact that Aventurine died not just once, but twice. Ratio has not. He lives, and is most certainly living right about now. 

"I feared standing out too much," he murmurs.

Aventurine blinks, "What?"

"From my batchmates, I mean." Ratio speaks closely with a hum, spoken with intrigue like this is a unique sort of symptom rather than an outright concern of what this says about him, or the state of his well-being. For once, evaluation is unlikely, and by that, Aventurine knows that to be a bigger leap than it seems. "There's this depth of me that's aware about the idea that though inevitably, I will switch schools. Places. To wherever my journey as a scholar takes me, but there is always one consistent factor in whatever I will go to."

".. And that," his voice sombers in a way that surprises Aventurine as it never came to this level of emotional resignation. Countless were the times he heard Ratio at his most private, but that tone never quite came to down to this. "Compared to the rest of everyone, I'd always be different." 

The demon has long since turned his gaze completely on the innate vulnerability that came with Ratio's body and form, wheel be damned as his fingers absentmindedly reached for autopilot to be turned on, back turned only within his vision, while the human proceeded onwards with the skygazing from below.

"Though I've always known that.. my pursuit will be solitary no matter, there was.. this part of me that still wanted to be with the others while they present. Call it a contradicting aspect of human nature if you will perhaps, or maybe I was just afraid they might think of me as too different. Far above them, which I am used with."

".. I see." Even the voice of the demon himself soaked itself in the hushed tones they shared, "You think there's a gap between you and them."

"Exactly! Like.. that, exactly. I will be frank when I say that I partially wanted to impart my investment into teaching and education, is to close that gap further. But until then, I'm.. somewhat of an alien to them."

Something clicks in his head, but in just a second, Aventurine finds himself uncertain in whether to bring that up or not. "Ever tried getting closer to them?" 

"I.. have, well. Once from before. But," Ratio clears his throat, having his arms crossed on top of each in his strong arms, "Admittedly. It has been difficult."

"How difficult?" 

 "Very difficult. I often don't get what they say most of the time, so it feels like there's this disconnect of communication around me that I don't particularly enjoy." 

"Hm.. is.. that why you chose to not go to prom?"

Ratio stills. But he doesn’t correct him, he doesn't say anything at all actually. Aventurine knows that to be a yes, but he prods further, this time not especially for his sake. But for Ratio, as he knew that within their long future, this would fester into something of a regret. As much as he could, for as best as he can, one remaining selfless thought that he had is that the human should be spared from it, the dread and all. 

"It's meant to be a big night for you as well, Ratio. Much as it is for everyone else."

"I am aware. I wanted to, but," his fingers come to caress his own personal side of an arm, "Hearing how it will be like, my presence doesn't seem needed. If anything, it will just be—awkward, being there I suppose." 

".. But if you could," At a fair distance they both were, albeit Aventurine's eyes felt looming as it did. "Would you attend prom night?"

A great weight oozes his eyes to be half-lidded as it were, as everything all is in one place. Drowsiness has gotten the better of him.. as it should be if Aventurine wants to make it all right again. "If I could," Ratio yawns, letting the last thing he sees for a while—the stars smiling at him when nobody else was there. "I would."

Flickers, motioned in a way that fireflies would in the grandiose mist of the dark. It echoes, those fluorescent lights hung up on fine strings from the ceiling above. 

If how blood met its drier counterpart were the walls, engraved in delectable mosaics, and if black marble were the floors to the aforementioned ceiling—then it'd only subsist in the cotton-like fiber of Ratio's dreams. But they now exist in a reality where dreams itch to be recognized as a part of it, where everything is reality and actual hell is more preferable. 

Hell. Dreams. How did Ratio even know those exist? The surrealness of it all expands onto him without notice, meanwhile his body (or maybe a figure of flesh that had the intended set purpose of emulating his—wait, where did that thought surmising of paranoia came into mind?) stilled in that velvet-plush chair. In front of him a table, of an elongated length, dressed in the white cloth that cleans the back of these utensils; plates, and the bottoms of these extravagant flower vases; these glass-chiseled cups of wine.

Even the cuisine has a divine aroma to it, but that’s not important right now. 

In spite of the coursing shock, Ratio tries to taste the wine from inside as means of grounding. It feels to be real, tastes to be real—but where could he be? Enlarged eyes roam around to the nooks and crannies of the room which in hindsight, seems to be made like a banquet hall of some sort, interiors designed as such to suggest the idea henceforth.

Might just be confirmation bias, but no matter how much times Ratio tries to ruminate that thought in his head, over and over, he fails and finds himself thoroughly chewed up by the sudden impact of everything around him—where even his exhaustion from before is beyond him, thinned out like crust, and now he's here. In somewhere that feels all too familiar and strange.

"Ver! There you are!"

A familiar nickname snaps him awake to the present moment. Ratio doesn't bother to move or exert his stupefied limbs from armrest of the chair itself, but as to thrash and find any source of familiarity to ground himself from this scape of a reality, he tries to look around as to where the source of that voice could be. Legs terribly shaken, arms where the armrests still linger, as if strapped when he's not even bounded. 

"Ver.." Again, that familiar voice coos. Ratio finds it to be comforting rather than derisive. "Did I unsettle you too far, and too much? Ah.. a shame, this was meant to be a lovely, albeit thrown together at last minute sort of surprise. My bad, I'm really sorry. I should have warned you first."

At this state, not even the steps approaching the back of his chair's frame could be registered. Suddenly, a hand from behind reached out to him—indefinitely, fully resembling Aventurine's, additionally in a larger size than how it typically is, golden plating around his nails. 

Reluctant was the human scholar, to firstly hold onto something that seems to be a part of Aventurine, concerning was it that not a single trace of his human-like skin could be found at sight. Replaced entirely by what's reminiscent relatively of the color in the sky he saw just ago, with the exception of stars; it's all devoid of anything but black.

In the end—it was curiosity and interest that had him reach out for that hand into both of his palms, the very same that garnered his attention to the being right behind him within that bygone moment in time where things were simpler, and he had only just met him through the same doorway his sister brought him in.

In comparison, Ratio's was smaller. It served to remind Aventurine of how fragile he might be, especially when swapped into a dreamland of his own making. 

".. Sometimes even I often forget that you're.." His voice trails off, he'd rather it end at just that, lest he startles Ratio any further than he already did. Benign was how Aventurine's voice gradually formed into, his thumb rubs circles within that enclosed palm. Quietly, the human observed the outer details in the frills surpassing those cuffs. The first thought that came to mind was how.. gaudy it all looked. 

"There, there. I'm right here, aren’t I, Ratio? This all may seem quite surprising, but believe me when you are still going to remain in good condition. For as long as I'm here nearby, of course. And I always will be," he croons, truly unbecoming, but it makes Ratio fall deeply entranced than humanely possible, "I'll be here."

Thousand thoughts streamed across his head, this should be an issue for one that's been able to parse together thoughts one by one, sorting it in deliberation and precision of how a doctor would sort out the guts by the tip of his scalpel. Yet he finds himself only able to fire a few that's easier to muster than others. "Aventurine.. Where could you be? Behind me, yes?" The human braved to ask, no matter how feeble that voice turned. "If possible.. could I see you?"

The larger hand clasps his wrist with its fingers, steady and assuring even in the rarest instance that Aventurine denies him of anything that Ratio could ever want. "Ah, uh.. Well, I'm perfectly capable of showing myself. It's just that—" he settles with bare words, "Let's not ruin the illusion, hm?"

He doesn't know what that means anyhow, even so it barely helped in nagging concern eating away at his thoughts, although it encouraged him to look further into the scene of the room and squint to see for what it truly is. ".. An illusion? Is that what this place is? What even is it—and what happened? Did we die somehow?"

Deadpanning, Aventurine said, straight-laced as much as he sounds wry and sardonic. His grin would be too, if Ratio ever catches a glimpse of him, which he doesn't in all his desiderium. "Why yes, Ver. We both totally got into a car crash and died."

A scoff, admittedly Ratio felt strangely better after hearing such a thing, but of course, he wouldn't say that as to enable an infuriating quality. "Unbelievable!"  He pinches that hand ever so slightly, "Don't jest around at a time like this, you damned gambler."

At that, the demon merely laughed as if he was told an irony that twisted his ears as soon as it came. "Sorry, sorry, but we didn't die. That would make for a very anti-climatic story now, wouldn't it. But thankfully this isn't a work of fiction we're living in. To answer where we are first and foremost, we are in your dreams, Ver."

"My dreams.." Muttering under his breath, Ratio stretches his neck to look up, always faster to catch on. "So is this supposed illusion meant to be this setting?" 

"Bingo, right as always, Ratio!" Aventurine's voice chimes, other hand not at all resisting to pinch in Ratio's cheek despite how that inflamed him. "This illusion I put up was meant to be for you. The reality of it is that we went home, safe and sound. Thereafter, I put you to bed without even having to wake you up. Must have been that tired, were you? But as a demon that once only was capable of existing and devouring the lofty ambitions of Man, it was easy to manipulate this world into something fancy."

His chest had been rising up and down to pace with his breathing, it eventually slows down its prior rapidness. "That rules out all my other assumptions then, but I see and I understand.. except for one part," there's no reason for him to sound tentative but he sounds like it anyways, "What did you do all of this for?"

".. Isn't it obvious?" A smile can be heard in his voice, he can’t see whether it's sincere or not—no, Ratio trusts it to be genuine, for as much as Aventurine is capable of. "To give you a celebration you wouldn't forget, as long as you do me one a favor. I don't make exchanges this lightly, after all—but believe it be, this deal that I'm offering is a generous one. One in your best interest, if I may add."

Ratio's eyes flutter, "And what could you possibly ask me that you already don't have?"

"Simple," The demon held a dramatic pause, "Ratio, you are the one thing that I haven't already have. Why don't we change that then, to make it so that you can be mine."

The heart thumped before Ratio could even realize the pulsation came inside his very own ribcage, he forgets to breath, he forgets that he even is human. Yet something of the upmost importance rang to him within the midst of that talk about a transaction. "Be.. yours?" 

A pause—and suddenly, that voice doesn't sound as confident anymore as it did in the beginning of this conversation. "Yes," But Aventurine sounds to be the same as he did whenever he's withholding a card, a bargaining chip that might just tip things in his favor, when he's close to the succession of his winnings, and on a gamble that decides the fate of his destiny, and everything else around him. "Be mine so that you'd never be alone again, for as long as I live.  I will be able to provide all that you can want and enjoy. Money, love, and so much more that you can think of, I still have a reserve of power left, you know. Whatever you wish, I'll accomplish it for our eternity."

Ratio looks as if the cogs in his head has turned on, caged by many, many contemplations, but he still registers it all, and says it back in bated breaths as he points out the one thing that he's capable of mustering. Almost did it touch upon uncharted territory, a base that feels all too personal than knowing one's own raw nudity. "That," he gazes up in awe. To the ground, his eyes averts. "That sounds like marriage."

".. It can be," A gambler resides best in poker-faces, and in their ability to withhold all that he can. Oddly rigid was how Ratio could describe the taste of that voice, then the next—scrutinizing. Now Aventurine's trying the best he could to be deliberate as to not ruin a perfect score, or reveal much of his inner thoughts.  "Do you want that?"

 ".. Aventurine," The human speaks up, sounding as if he made up his mind. "Can I see you?"

The demon jolts, "Ver, my lovely Ver.. Trust me, you do not need to."

"Why? Are you.. forgive me for being intrusive, I do not mean to offend, but are you perhaps so worried that I might have second thoughts about this?" 

".. No, not that, really. You are the last person to be judgmental," He quickly rebuffs, "A part of it comes from caring really about the grand illusion I worked so hard for you. For my form.. My true form as a demon, and not the human shell you'd typically see me loitering around in. It doesn't quite fit the aesthetic I set up here, no, the way I see it."

"Must you care that deeply about appearances? That does not matter," Ratio demanded, "I want to see you, right now, please, while we speak of this."

.. And see, he gradually did. That hand may have removed itself, but it eventually came to turn the chair around so that Ratio could face what he had truly asked for. A creature that was truly larger than the human really, in terms of size and everything else, golden accents accompanied everything else besides the fluffy, white fur wrapped around his neck. That high-heeled boots of mismatched colors, blue and green to be exact. 

Signature blonde hair barely concealed by an extravagantly designed mask, an even more absurdly fabulous dark-colored hat; colored from inside as well, ornamented with a feather. Though admittedly monstrous when it came to form, Ratio couldn't help himself—in reaction to all of this, he crossed his legs and folded his arms, dismayed, "Must your garish sense of style have to carry over here as well?" 

Taken aback, all Aventurine could do was.. laugh, so laugh he did, voice dripping in fondness—uttermost affection that tickles Ratio's face a certain way of red, "And must you be a serious critic in what I wear all the time, Ratio? Not bothered at all by what you find?" 

"Not at all.." Ratio reaches his hand, and the demon quiets down eventually by the time his human palms to inspect the stomach, "I find it more fascinating actually.."

That masked face only stares down, teasing. "So much so that you get touchy apparently. If that's the case, then maybe I'll be like this more often."

"N—" He slapped his hand away, face fully flustered and with the urge to be swallowed up by the ground so that he may never come back, but instead be buried down beneath the bowels of the Earth where nobody could ever perceive him. "I didn't mean to be, I was curious! My apologies!" 

Aventurine laughed again, attempting to soothe him by the shoulder. "I know, I know.. relax, it's fine. If it's you, I'd be perfectly fine, actually. But Ver, about my offer. It still stands, you know. Consider it. Let's not worry your little head so much about it right now however, you only just got out of a presentation after all. This was a banquet party at your behest, and though you have plenty of time to think it through.."

His hand extends, and at first Ratio's confused until Aventurine speaks again, "Let's celebrate first, why don't we have a dance?" 

"Ah—no, wait," Ratio looks up at him urgently, "I may have to inform you that I don't quite know how to dance."

That hand remains regardless of the answer. "That's fine by me. You are quite lucky then.. Back when I was alive, I was quite the dancer."

".. Really?" Interest piqued which settles it all, Ratio comes to reach for his hand and allow himself to be taken up in the air as Aventurine floats up. Surprised at the first time it happens, eventually he presses himself closer to the warmth of the body in front of him. "Tell me all about it. You don't often share of your past."

Aventurine's stare deepens, its intensity chilling. "I don't like to think that often when I can just refer to the present. Where you are. Come," he dips close to his ear, enjoying the gulp he comes to strung out through how his finger glides down his throat to that impeccable chest. "Let's dance first, and then feast about it after. Here's to the imperfect tomorrow—where dreams die, and new ones rise above the grave."

Forever, and ever, until death does them apart.