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Aventurine is an old hand at winning people over with trivial gifts and trinkets. It's a way of survival by now—safety in numbers never hurt anyone—and when the doctor transfers to their headquarters for the first time, something deep in his gut tells him that he needs to make a good first impression.
Veritas, however, is unamused by Aventurine's usual tactic of bringing flowers for their first encounter. He recoils when Aventurine sets the bouquet upon his desk, jerking his hands away as if he'd just been offered an open flame. "What is this?" he hisses, shuffling his papers and setting them safely upon his lap.
"They're for you," Aventurine says. He nudges them closer. Veritas scoots his chair away. "Is there an issue?"
"Get those things off of my desk," Veritas says. "They're in the way."
Aventurine complies. Veritas heaves a sigh as soon as he does, looking visibly more at ease, and Aventurine can't help but ask, "Do you have some kind of vendetta against flowers, Doctor?"
"They serve no purpose in the workplace."
It's puzzling, because usually even the most jaded of personalities can muster up enough common courtesy to accept his gift politely. Veritas has dismissed him, brazenly and without apology—it would ordinarily be offending, but all it does is pique Aventurine's interest. "Are you this rude to everyone?" he asks, pulling a seat over to sit next to Veritas.
"I am," Veritas says. Then, after a pause, "Who are you?"
"Aventurine."
"I've heard of you."
They fall silent after that. The bouquet starts to slip from Aventurine's arms, and Veritas reaches out to catch it before it falls. Wordlessly, he places it on his desk, balanced precariously and drooping off of the corner.
"So you do have a heart in there."
Veritas shoves a pen into Aventurine's chest and says, "If you're going to sit here, at least get some work done."
Aventurine takes the pen. He stares at Veritas, then at the flowers, fat golden blossoms fighting for space in their wrinkled tissue confines. Eventually, he asks, "You wouldn't mind if I came back, would you?"
"There's no stopping some people," Veritas says quietly, as if to himself. He lowers his head further and flips a page without sparing Aventurine a glance.
"Is that a yes?"
"You're people," Veritas says. "So, do whatever you want. It's not like I have any say in what you decide to do."
It's far from a denial. Aventurine glimpses that brief ray of hope for a split second and clutches it tight before it slides away again. "What's your favorite food?" he asks, leaning forward into Veritas's space.
"Whatever's cheapest," Veritas tells him.
Aventurine buys the most expensive item on the menu at the nearest bakery, a beautifully decorated cake that shines silver and white even under the reddest of sunrises. It sits delicately in a flimsy cardboard box, wobbling with every step, and Aventurine is painstakingly careful as he parades the pastry back to the headquarters and into the elevator.
Veritas is the only person Aventurine sees on his way through the office. Aventurine spots him first because of his hair, a well-groomed purple dome that stands out starkly in the dim gray light. "Doctor," Aventurine calls. Veritas lifts his head. "Have you been here all night?"
"I have," Veritas says. He turns around but doesn't move to greet Aventurine, only watching motionlessly as Aventurine comes closer. "What do you need?"
"I thought I'd get here early and leave you a surprise, but you've ruined it by being here already," Aventurine says.
Veritas studies the box in Aventurine's hands with thinly veiled suspicion. He sweeps the various packets on his desk away, clearing a space for him to set it down. "I'll compensate you," he says.
"No need," Aventurine says. Triumphantly, he places the cake in front of Veritas. "Feast your eyes upon this masterpiece!"
Veritas stares at the gift, frozen with raised hands as if handling a startled cat. He finally reaches out and pries the lid free, releasing the cake and all its glory to the open air. When he gets no verbal response, Aventurine drops a plastic fork and knife into Veritas's gaping, upturned palm.
"What a waste," Veritas says.
"Don't sell yourself short, Doctor," Aventurine says sweetly. "You deserve it for your hard work."
"No, I mean..." Veritas shuts the lid and presses the utensils back into Aventurine's hand. "It's a waste of money, a waste of effort, and a waste of good ingredients that could contribute to something much less gaudy."
"Come on—"
"And your performance was a total waste of my time," Veritas says curtly. "Take your cake back."
And here Aventurine had thought he might impress Veritas with his dedication to gift giving and willingness to pay a pretty penny for it. Even Topaz fell for his foolproof "extravagantly overpriced and slightly trivial offering plus consequent guilt trip" ploy! "You're merciless, Ratio," Aventurine sighs. "I put so much thought into this gift, too. It just breaks my heart to see you dismissing it so easily."
"You're full of shit," Veritas says. Aventurine doesn't miss the second glance he casts at the box.
"Just try a little bit," Aventurine wheedles.
Veritas clicks his tongue. He shifts his weight from side to side, then backward as he reclines in his chair. He closes his eyes for a few long moments; when he opens them again, they lock right onto Aventurine's, sharp and violently auburn in the glaring early sunlight. "If you get me a coffee, I'll have a bite," he says.
Conveniently, Aventurine had brought along coffee for himself. He's ordinarily selfish, but the game he's playing with Veritas right now is far too intriguing, so he hands the can over without a second thought. Veritas wrinkles his nose when he sees it, likely out of disdain for the overt flamboyance of the design on the aluminum—it's endearing, really, how he gets offended at the most trivial of things.
Still, Veritas doesn't complain as he cracks the can open and takes a long drink. It's then that Aventurine notices just how dark the circles under his eyes are. "What's your problem?" he asks.
Veritas lowers the can and meets Aventurine's gaze with a cutting glare. "What?" he snaps.
"Why do you work so much? Don't you have any fun in life?"
"There's no fun to be had," Veritas says. "I gain plenty of satisfaction from the pursuit of knowledge."
Aventurine rolls his eyes. He shoves the cake box back into Veritas's space.
The raspy scrape of cardboard is deafeningly loud in the yawning, empty office. Veritas dips the points of the fork into the frosting for half a second before he retracts it, bringing with it a meager lump of the pastry. After a moment's hesitation, he sticks the fork into his mouth.
"Good, right?" Aventurine says.
Veritas licks his lips. The hand holding the fork twitches slightly, almost imperceptibly. "It's awful," he mutters.
"You're a terrible liar." And then Aventurine adds, "Let's go to the bakery together next time."
"Waste of time," Veritas says. He turns his head away, avoiding Aventurine's pointed attempt at eye contact. "Let's get to work."
Aventurine takes a seat. Veritas digs the fork into the cake for another heaping bite.
"You told me we were going to the library to do research," Veritas says, teeth chattering, one frigid hand jammed intrusively into Aventurine's jacket pocket.
It's a horridly cold night. The poor doctor is gloveless; he's dressed smartly but not for warmth, which is admittedly the fault of Aventurine's misinformation. They're in queue for Aventurine's favorite restaurant, tailing the line that stretches out through the door and around the block. Terrible oversight on his part, he admits. It's a weekend evening, and he hadn't made a reservation. He just couldn't help inviting Veritas out on a whim, seeing him all sad and miserable and hunched over at his desk while the sun's light faded.
"It's the only thing I could think of that would get you out of your office," Aventurine says gleefully. He feels Veritas's hand clench into a fist against his own. "Hey, now that you're here, why don't you enjoy yourself?"
Veritas's skin has long since gone red from the biting wind, but Aventurine likes to pretend he's blushing. It gives the sight of Veritas scowling at him just a little more flavor. "I'm going to go back," Veritas says.
Aventurine feels Veritas's hand slipping out of his pocket and grabs it tight before he can draw away. "Spend some time with me," Aventurine says. "Just pretend I'm one of your clients. You're obligated to make me happy."
Veritas goes silent. At a particularly fierce gust of wind, he huddles reluctantly closer, and Aventurine coaxes Veritas's other hand into his own free pocket. As they come face to face, Veritas's fingers twitch against Aventurine's; his voice is strained as he asks, "Are you trying to seduce me?"
Aventurine isn't easily startled, but Veritas's question is so simply preposterous that he can't help but chuckle. "You're joking," he says.
"You're holding my hands," Veritas points out.
"Well, you allowed me to hold them."
"I'm cold."
"So, I'm not trying to seduce you," Aventurine says, thoroughly amused. "I'm just keeping you warm."
They inch awkwardly sideways, chasing their spot in the line with infinitesimal steps. Aventurine peeks around the crowd of people ahead of them and laments the distance that stretches between the two of them and the restaurant's door. He finds himself looking back at Veritas—somber-eyed, tight-lipped—and is struck by the uncontrollable urge to poke the bear.
"Were you hoping I was?"
"Hoping you were what?" Veritas asks absentmindedly, staring longingly at the library across the busy street.
"Seducing you."
Aventurine's pockets are empty in the blink of an eye. "Absolutely not," Veritas hisses. "You—you're so—"
"I'm so?" Aventurine says.
"Infuriating," Veritas says. "I cannot stand people like you."
Aventurine smiles. He reaches for Veritas's hand again and says, "What, people who flirt with you?"
He's gone a little too far with his teasing, apparently, because Veritas really does step out of line this time. "I don't have time for this," he says curtly. "You're not even here to make connections—you're just wasting my time with your games."
"Is that all your relationships are? Business connections?" Aventurine complains. "There's more to life than networking, you know."
"I don't know how you expect me to believe that you're only here to be my friend."
"And I can't convince you, it seems," Aventurine says, shrugging.
Veritas is still so regal even now, windswept, unkempt, frowning a crease into his forehead. The line continues moving, but Aventurine stays where he is, buffeted by the people that rush to take his spot. "Keep your place in line. Aren't you going to dinner?" Veritas asks, his voice a little softer, more apologetic.
"There's no point if you're not coming," Aventurine says.
Too honest, maybe. He wonders why Veritas has such a jarringly gentle expression on his face. He wonders what he looks like right now. There must be something worth keeping in what Veritas sees, because he eventually tells Aventurine, "If we go somewhere else, I'll keep you company for the night."
Aventurine laughs. "Am I that pitiful?" he asks.
"You are," Veritas says. "And I'd like to get on your good side."
"I thought the same thing about you when we first met."
He still looks vaguely unhappy, but at least he lets Aventurine take his hand again. His fingertips are freezing. For a moment, Aventurine considers the two of them, shoulder to shoulder like this, hiding warmth between their palms—this might, might just cross that line that divides business and pleasure.
Veritas tugs him along with loose fingers and says, "This is a zero out of ten, as far as first dates go."
One of the desks at the office is permanently adorned with little flowerpots and palm-sized boxes stacked to eye level in staggering pastel piles. Veritas hasn't bothered to clear them out yet for some reason. Aventurine wonders if he's leaving them there to send a message to him somehow—look at how much money you're wasting or I don't care about your trinkets or maybe, if he's hopeful, something closer to give me more.
Today Aventurine adds another present to one of the many stacks that line his desk. Veritas sighs as he does. "When are you going to be finished with this nonsense?" he says.
"What's wrong? No appreciation for everything I've given you?"
Veritas takes the newest box by the bow, pinching the ribbon between his thumb and index finger. He makes a show of opening it slowly, laying first the bow and then the lid aside across his paperwork, until he uncovers a glossy set of chocolates fit snugly between folds of tissue. "I've already gotten about ten of these," he says. "And regifting would be...improper, so I have no use for them."
Aventurine says, "Eat them."
"I don't know what kind of appetite you think I have," Veritas responds, somewhat crossly. He repackages the chocolates and returns back to his papers.
Aventurine laughs, mostly out of habit. "I'll see you later," he says. He turns to walk away and is immediately stalled by a firm tug on his sleeve. "What is it?"
"I've got to ask you something."
"I thought you didn't like spending time with me, Doctor," Aventurine teases. "Change of heart?"
"It's not that," Veritas says. He didn't deny it, Aventurine notes with delight. "I'm just wondering—do you do this for all of your new colleagues?"
Of course I do—the reply hangs right there, gated behind clenched teeth, but he can't let it out. It wouldn't be exactly true, after all, because presents are still routine, but never this many for a single person. It leads him to wonder as he stares down at Veritas, neat and proper with an air of permanent disdain that lessens faintly when their eyes meet. Why do I do so much for him?
"I'm waiting," Veritas says dryly.
"I'm just a big fan, that's all," Aventurine says. "Is that believable enough?"
"Nothing that comes out of your mouth is," Veritas says. He lets go of Aventurine's sleeve. "Go on. I don't think there's a point in asking you anything."
Aventurine takes a step back. He feels curiously uncertain as he watches Veritas return to poring over his paperwork. "I mean it," he insists.
Without looking up, Veritas says, "Tell me what you like about me, then."
It's early enough that they're alone and Aventurine feels safe enough to say, "You're quite easy on the eyes, you know."
Veritas laughs. It's the first time Aventurine's seen anything more than a polite smile on his face. "I'm quite convinced by now that you're trying to court me," he says. "Whatever it is, tone down the presents. I'm running out of space for them."
That's certainly not how Aventurine expected Veritas to interpret his efforts. He considers it; it's plausible, and it's true that Aventurine is unusually fond of Veritas. He thinks about what exactly has led him to open his wallet so easily—a handsome face, or maybe something a little less tangible, reminiscent of that chilling night they spent together.
Either way, Aventurine is still left holding Veritas's unanswered remark, so he deflects easily: "What's got you in such a good mood today, Ratio?"
"You, maybe," Veritas says. "Is that what you wanted me to say?"
So he does know how to flirt, Aventurine thinks.
Aventurine listens to Veritas; he holds a rare inexplicable respect for whatever Veritas says, and he can only obey, no matter how much he itches to drop another ridiculously patterned parcel onto his desk.
This also means that Aventurine's out of excuses for visiting Veritas in the mornings. It's a shame, and Aventurine laments not being able to see Veritas's pretty face before he begins his work for the day, but part of him is curious about what Veritas will do if left alone for a change. There's the chance that he's wholly disappointed and that Veritas never seeks him out, and they're doomed never to cross paths again, or there's the chance that he'll chase after Aventurine for a change—
Like now, as Aventurine finds Veritas intruding at his desk, waiting with arms crossed. It's a lot easier than he expected. "Missing me so soon?" Aventurine says. He prods Veritas aside and takes a seat. "I've got work to do, so make it quick."
"No, you don't," Veritas says. "I've already looked through your paperwork."
"Invasion of privacy," Aventurine says. He grins up at Veritas and is met with an unimpressed glare.
"You should have gotten here earlier, then. I've been waiting."
Aventurine leans back in his chair and pulls out his phone. Veritas stands by awkwardly, tapping his foot. People begin to file in, weaving wordlessly to their own spaces in the office. Someone hurries past and drops a thick stack of papers in front of him—even then, Aventurine stays put. There's nothing between those pages that he cares enough about, anyway, and he's far happier watching Veritas in mild discomfort, trying and failing to start a conversation.
"You don't look very busy to me," Veritas finally says.
"Well, you already disproved that point, so I didn't think there was any point in pretending," Aventurine replies. He kicks his feet up on his desk.
Veritas clicks his tongue. There's something satisfying about watching him stew in silence like this. Aventurine studies him over the top of his phone, unable to keep from smiling. "You're being difficult on purpose," Veritas says.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Aventurine says. He raises his screen further, cutting off any possible eye contact.
Aventurine's not exactly sure what he expected from Veritas's showing up—a lecture, maybe, or an offering in kind for everything Aventurine's given him. He's taken aback when Veritas rounds the desk and sticks a check in his face. "Back up," he says hastily, lowering his phone. Veritas complies, still brandishing the check. There's a ridiculous sum of money scrawled across it. "What are you bribing me for, Ratio?"
"It's not a bribe," Veritas mutters. "I'm paying you back."
"For?"
"Your useless presents," Veritas says. "I don't need them, so I'm paying you back."
Aventurine takes the check. "What did you wait so long for?" he asks.
"I was debating whether or not I liked you enough to go through the effort of counting up all the price tags," Veritas says bluntly. "You're lucky I decided in your favor."
"Aha," Aventurine says. He leans forward, and Veritas takes a step back. "You like me?"
"Somewhat," Veritas sighs.
Aventurine fingers the edge of the paper. If it was anyone else, he'd take it in a heartbeat, but he's still gripped by the urge to impress Veritas in some way, any way; he finds himself saying, "I can't take this. Those gifts were for you to keep."
"I won't take the check back, either," Veritas says stubbornly. "We're even now."
Aventurine stands. He paces closer to Veritas until he's got him backed against the wall, and then he says, "Is that all you want? For us to be even?"
"That's not what this is about," Veritas says heatedly. "It's just—it's not right for you to keep giving me things while uncompensated, it creates an imbalanced relationship—"
"Relationship," Aventurine interjects. "What do you want out of this relationship between us, then?"
Veritas purses his lips. He presses backward until his heels touch the wall. Aventurine inches ever closer, until Veritas shoves a hand into his face with a groan. "I don't think you realize how irritating it is for me to have so many unpaid debts," Veritas says. "And that surprises me, considering you gamble."
"Trust me, I know," Aventurine says gleefully. It's the best tactic, after all, to get people guilty and obligated to do him favors. He's disappointed but unsurprised at Veritas paying him back like this, even if it's blunt. It was fun while it lasted, but games with people like Veritas can't last forever, he supposes. "I guess you don't want to be stuck under all those favors you'd owe me, huh?"
"Not really," Veritas says. His hand still lingers against Aventurine's face, not pushing now as much as simply holding him in place. "I just thought that we could put this whole gift-giving thing behind us and spend some time together, unburdened by your ulterior motives."
It's the touch of bare fingers against his cheek that surprises him most, or maybe it's the way Veritas looks at him, cool but clear of any kind of contempt. Maybe it's his request—spend time together, sweetly innocent and so very juvenile for someone like him. Aventurine is unable to hide his smile, and he holds Veritas's hand in place when it begins to fall away.
"Are you asking me out on a date, Doctor?"