Archive of Our Own ^beta

Most people will only ever stay on one planet their entire life. This means that there are whole populations of people who will never know what it is like to stare into an endless night and have it stare into you, to see a planet or a moon or a star in all of its glory and feel the weight of how insignificant your existence is in comparison, to know that you really are as small as you feel, that it’s not just a metaphor, that it is reality. This is called “the overview effect,” and Aventurine thinks it's funny that it has a name and everything, because how do you put a label on the emotions that run through your person as you cope with what it means to exist? It’s a heavy thing you know, to know that the world is large but not immortal, that it will live to be ancient but it will not live forever. Everything dies. Everyone leaves. Time passes and things will come into being only to be destroyed. Although Nanook would disagree, existence and destruction cannot live without each other, and pain is somehow always added into the mix somewhere in between the cracks and crevices. Perhaps there are other feelings too on the other side of the coin that is pain, but Aventurine does not let himself linger there.

This is why Aventurine tries not to look out the window whenever he travels from planet to planet. He has enough to deal with, heavy thoughts aside.

Most people will only ever stay on one planet their entire life, and so, most people will never realize that they cannot live with themselves, because at the end of it all, it is only yourself that you have when everything else that is familiar flutters its wings and flies away.

Okay, so Aventurine avoids windows and mirrors. It’s a hard thing, to look into your own eyes and hate the thing that looks back at you, but to also hate that anyone would dare to hurt them, because how dare they? Do they not realize that there is a person in there? A scared little person that had given up reaching for a hand that had long since left. So yes, windows and mirrors. They were scarier than people give them credit for.

Thus, leaving Penacony was not a hard decision, it was the how, and the where. The where being ‘to which planet’ and the how being ‘which spaceship will I be on and will I be able to watch the stars from my room? Because if so, I’d rather not. Stars are too distracting, and I have trouble sleeping, you see.’

Aventurine knew one thing however, and that was that he did not want to leave Penacony with the IPC. He knew he would have to wrap up that loose thread at some later date, but that was then, and so, after a lot of imagining many of the worst case scenarios in which he would have to hitchhike with Fools or the Mourning Actors, he instead decided to take an Interstellar Commute Ship, or an ICS. (which yes, was technically owned by the IPC. The irony was not lost on him.) These ships were made as a way of public transport between planets and space stations with no technical affiliation, accepting anyone who can pay the fee. However, a ticket was not on the cheap side, and sometimes it was simply easier to hitch a ride with whoever happened to be leaving rather than pay the IPC fee for easy transport. There was also the factor that these ships made multiple stops due to the amount of passengers they carried, and thus they typically take longer to get from one place to the next compared to Aventurine’s usual transport… but a spaceship is a spaceship, and Aventurine was in no rush to be anywhere in particular.

It was the doctor that suggested it. Ratio had no interest in staying in Penacony, and although he could have traveled back with the IPC, he had a stop to make that the Intelligencia Guild was not interested in funding—some research station with a particular curio he had his eyes on—and so, because they were both tired and done and planning on leaving anyway, Ratio asked Aventurine something along the lines of “have you considered taking an ICS?” to which Aventurine replied “no, of course not,” to which Ratio said “well, considering how desperate you are to hobble off to some desolate planet to lick your wounds, you should seriously consider it.” Aventurine scoffed then asked “well then Doctor, since you know so much, let me ask you: Where would I even go?” to which the doctor replied apathetically “Does it really matter?”

Aventurine of the past had opened his mouth to say ‘ of course it matters ,’ but then he thought about it for longer than a second and realized, wait. No. Nothing matters… does it? It was perhaps not the thing he wanted to think, nor would it be the thought that would save him, but in this moment, mattering would only hold him back, would only cause him to hesitate when he needed to act, and so, though he did so with as much enthusiasm as he could grit through his teeth (it was not much in case your were wondering), he decided to take the doctor up on his offer. They were going through the same motions after all, and going sounded like a more active verb than waiting or hoping. Going meant change, and while change came with its own set of negatives, it was better than living in a nightmare.

Nightmares would come into play later, but that’s neither here nor there.

And so, Aventurine boarded the ICS alongside the doctor, and they left Penacony as a pair.

The ICS was a relatively nice spaceship, nothing extraordinarily luxurious or over the top like Penacony, but it still had that nice, sleek look that the IPC had adopted with its clean lines and corporate aesthetic that made sure the viewer knew this place was comfortable and modern and do you feel important now? Yet it was those in the lobby that reminded Aventurine this was not the IPC. There were all sorts of people all ranging from Pepeshi to Foxians, and Aventurine did not miss the android attempting to lounge on a sofa in the corner, doing its best to look natural. It was almost akin to the Reality Hotel in Penacony, except much more graytoned in the fact that no one was heading anywhere particularly exciting.

“Are you two checking in together?” the concierge of the ICS asked Aventurine and Ratio. He was an older man with the kind of face Aventurine tended to forget.

Before Aventurine could respond, Ratio sighed almost resigned. “Sure. Why not?”

Aventurine opened his mouth to protest, as the extent of their partnership ended the moment they arrived as far as he was concerned, but the look on the doctor’s face stopped him.

Ratio looked back at him with apathetic eyes, the kind that did not care either way what happened, and then he raised an eyebrow at Aventurine, the kind of expression that said Well? Are you really going to make a fuss about this? Be even more predictable, why don’t you. Then Ratio simply shook his head and crossed his arms. “It’s easier this way, is it not? But if you want to pay for your own room, then please , be my guest.”

Aventurine frowned. He had funds, but his tie with the IPC at the moment was loose at best. And the doctor was right about one thing, that being that it was easier to travel in two than on his own. Aventurine realized this in Penacony when he was the only one in the Dream that he felt he could rely on, and how much of a difference it would have made to have anyone there that was not himself. He had Ratio, sure, and the doctor certainly played his part (a little too well in some respects), but when Aventurine had to take that last step, the one that would bring him deep into the darkness that could very well swallow him whole, it was that little hint, that touch of humanity when he thought he could no longer take any of it, that made him remember what it meant to feel and gave himself the strength to pull himself out. Where would he be now if he had not felt a thing? If Ratio or that Galaxy Ranger had ignored him with the passiveness they both liked to pretend they embodied?

Aventurine sighed, and tried to shake his head clear of the thought. It was too much like looking through a window, and they had not even made it through the lobby yet. “Sure,” he replied. “I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Doctor. You should know that by now.”

Ratio looked like he had a lot more to say to that, but decided that being sarcastic for too long was only appropriate when they were not holding up a line. “It’s good to know you have some sense left…” he replied. “... assuming you had any leftover from your debacle back in the Dream.”

“And here I thought you were having a change of heart… that the cold person I had come to know was melting away under the flames of real human emotions. It hurts to know I was wrong.”

Ratio scoffed. “How poetic… and incredibly nonsensical. Does your ridiculousness know no bounds?”

The concierge cleared his throat. “Together then?”

The doctor scoffed and Aventurine smiled.

This was just a wink in time, a thing that would happen and keep on happening until it didn’t anymore, and so it didn’t matter, not really. Still, Aventurine felt the way his feet grounded themselves on the floor and held himself there… and was thankful for gravity, for at least if he knew he belonged anywhere, it was on ground, safe in the pull of the natural laws of the universe.

“Together,” Aventurine said, and he wondered if the doctor felt the word somewhere deep in his stomach. It didn’t matter if it was good or bad, Aventurine simply hoped he felt something.

-

There was a window in their room, and if you looked behind the wardrobe door, a mirror would be hanging there, as innocent as it wanted you to believe it was. There were two beds, each pushed up against opposite walls.

When Aventurine entered the room with the doctor, his eyes drifted towards the window, though it was not as if he had much of a choice. It would most likely be the first thing anyone noticed, as it took up a large piece of the center of the wall facing the door. You could see not just Penacony, but moons and stars as well, and everything felt vast like you wouldn’t be able to believe, because most people will only ever stay on one planet their entire life, so they wouldn’t know. They couldn’t. There was something like bile coming up from Aventurine’s stomach at the sight, and he wasted no time finding the remote for all the electrical switches in the room and immediately blackened the window. It was a classic IPC effect: a window you could project scenes and colors onto, but Aventurine felt no affinity for anything else other than nothingness. Frankly, it was all he could bear to stand.

“I suppose that will be your side then.” Ratio asked without really asking. He did not seem interested either way, only mildly curious, like a program you watched simply because it was on and not because you actually cared. “Is there anything else you happen to be particular about? Or do I get to be surprised when you wake up in the middle of the night screaming?”

“Please . Doctor, I'm incredibly low maintenance.”

Ratio looked Aventurine up and down as if Aventurine’s simple existence was enough to prove him wrong. “You're not fooling anyone. A peacock will always strut. It's in its nature to do so, and thus my expectations won't change simply because the bird himself tells me otherwise.”

Aventurine smiled. “Alright, alright, you caught me… no screen time after nine. I’m a light sleeper, and the light strains my eyes. You understand, don’t you, Doctor?”

Ratio rolled his eyes and shook his head. “If you don’t want to talk about it, then it’s not my place and I won’t bother, but don’t expect me to play along either. I’ve never been one for ignorance, nor blind compliance for that matter.”

Aventurine looked down for a second, then back up again. There was a void somewhere within him, and for a brief moment he considered trying to fill it—or at least considered it as an option—but it felt too vast, too large, and there was too much nothing there to even begin to comprehend it as an entity, so instead of accepting the feeling, Aventurine shook his head. “There’s nothing to talk about, and trust me, I’m an open book.” He smiled. “You do trust me of course.”

The doctor only stared at him, searching. “I trust you about as much as usual, which isn’t something you should be thrilled about.”

Aventurine thought that such an opinion probably made the doctor smart, but that was a given. Trusting Aventurine would have made Ratio’s Intelligentsia Guild status seem a little bit questionable if anything. “We’ve known each other for a while now, Ratio. I don’t see what the fuss is about. Besides, you don’t fuss. You question, and if the answer isn’t something you care to elaborate on then you let it go. It’s why you always leave at the drop of a hat, is it not?”

Ratio narrowed his eyes. “What are you implying?”

“Nothing.” Aventurine smiled, and he tried not to feel sad. “There’s nothing to imply.”

Ratio continued to stare at Aventurine, and he had this look in his eyes like he wanted to open his mouth only to say something sharp, but was holding it in for whatever reason. He did this for a few moments before eventually speaking. “You’re impossibly obtuse. I don’t know why I even bother.”

Aventurine internally agreed with that, mostly because he was not sure why the Doctor even bothered either.

They settled into their room in silence after that before Ratio left first, saying something about looking into the ship’s technology archive. Aventurine watched him leave, and really, he only did it to ignore the window behind him and the intrusive thought telling him that he wanted to look through it and stare.

-

Aventurine does not believe in God. He acknowledges Aeons and their existence, but they are far too human in their tendencies to be in control, too obsessive, and too destructive in their obsession. For all we’ve learned, the creation of humankind is still something we question, and we must live with the knowledge that we will never learn the truth. Erudition and Propagation can dance their dance with their questions and endless seeds of life, and Abundance can prolong it until it becomes so horrible it's hard to look at, but no one knows , and it’s the most horrible thing. How do you stop feeling lonely when the only thing you know for certain is that our creation was for nothing? And if it wasn’t, then how do we stay awake knowing we will all die without ever figuring out what it was all for? The tears and the vomit and the blood. The anxiety like ants on your skin and the monster in your stomach, tearing it from the inside out, greedily digging into your flesh like meat and then chewing. The fear and the knowledge of fear, and that it will never go away. Aventurine does not believe in God, but God why was it so hard to breathe?

Aventurine did not need to peer into Nihility’ hiding ground in order to think like this. He knows death, perhaps more intimately than he knows life, which is why he cannot be left with himself, why he cannot look out a window without being reminded that he is the ant on his skin instead of the body of the person, that he is not the mind connected to the soul. He is the monster in his stomach, tearing at himself from the inside out until he tastes blood on his tongue and in between his teeth.

He was alone. He found himself like this more often than not, but it was achingly familiar and horrifying in the way that being trapped beneath dirt was. Aventurine walked and walked and walked, and then he took a step forward, then back, whipping his head around and around just to see if there was anyone there. He pinched himself and tried to draw blood but the image was too blurry, and right when he was about to scream, he woke up, his body having bolted upright in bed, his skin sweaty, his lungs gasping for air.

Aventurine’s mouth was dry as the breaths came in and out, and he wanted water in that moment more than anything. Then, he remembered Ratio was in the room in the other bed, sleeping. Aventurine turned and saw the Doctor’s back, moving up and down in a slow, steady rhythm. That was how a heart should beat: at a pace a person can keep up with.

At least Aventurine didn’t scream. It was a vain thought amongst all the things plaguing him, but at least it made him feel normal. Aventurine would never live down waking Ratio up in the middle of the night with the side effects of his own nightmares. Once again, Aventurine would be pathetic, and if the doctor was nice to him it was because he felt bad, and really, how pitiful must Aventurine be to make the doctor feel sympathy?

So, Aventurine took a breath in and held it. He counted his fingertips, then exhaled until there was nothing left in his lungs to let go. He did it twice more, then laid himself down to go to sleep. Dreams would be dreams, and truthfully, they did not bother him in the long run. They were startling, yes, and unnerving, absolutely. But what Aventurine hated was not the instant fear nor the terror, but what the fear said about him when he woke up.

So, you’re scared of dying alone? his nightmare asked him. Wow. How original.

Aventurine counted his heartbeats. One. Two. Three. Four. And then, at some point, he fell asleep. He thinks it was on an odd number.

-

Aventurine realized quickly that he and the doctor woke up at different times.

Ratio was an early bird, naturally opening his eyes almost methodically at 8:00 a.m., if not some slight variation of it. He took his baths in the morning, and wasted no time lingering except to read something or other whilst the water soaked him in soap and bubbles. He would then leave their room promptly to go stick his head in the archives or technology department, only to return for a meal if he did not feel like eating in the dining hall. He never glanced to the side. He did not stop to stare out the window. He looked forward and walked, one step at a time in long, confident strides.

Aventurine did not wake up early. He was used to being punctual but with no schedule and no plan, all he felt was some strange cocktail of oblivion and triviality, which was to say he did not feel a thing. He would get up ploddingly, his eyes still drowsy even in the shower, his movements slow, his mind slower as he walked. He would make a vague decision on what to wear, and then order fruit to his room since the ship was no longer serving breakfast. His fault for waking up late. Then, sometimes he would leave their room, and other times he would not. It depended on how much he could stand himself and others.

There was one day when Aventurine used the tip of his finger to trail across the spines of a pile of books the doctor left behind. He had done it simply out of boredom, and before he could think anything of it, caught himself flipping through them one page at a time. He did not read them, or least, not really. He never started in the front, only opening them to whatever page he just so happened to find, scanning the words but not bothering to understand. On the third day of being on the ICS, Aventurine started underlining things just to see if Ratio would notice. He did not—or if he did, he never said anything—and so Aventurine kept doing it, highlighting history books and making pictures out of parabolas. There was also the occasional poetry book, and Aventurine started to doodle in between the margins.

He circled these lines:

I know I can walk through the world,

along the shore or under the trees,

with my mind filled with things

of little importance, in full

self-attendance. A condition I can't really

call being alive.

Is a prayer a gift, or a petition,

or does it matter?

He highlighted “does it matter?” after underlining it, and Aventurine was not thinking of much when he tucked the book under his pillow, only that the days were long and he was alone.

The ICS had made its first stop since Aventurine and the doctor had decided to board. Numerous people gathered by the window to gawk as they approached the nearest planet, pointing and taking pictures like it was their first time seeing one (it was), laughing like it was the most interesting thing to ever happen (debatable). Aventurine had been by the bar, sipping something strong that burned his insides nice and warm. His back was to the window, the seats next to him empty, and his thoughts trying very hard to convince himself that another drink would be fine, and really, it couldn’t hurt now could it?

It was Ratio’s presence that caught him off guard.

“They’re playing Blackjack in the left atrium in case you were wondering…” the doctor said as he came up to Aventurine from behind. “... since you seem bored out of your mind without the prospect of placing a bet.”

Aventurine smiled, and turned on his stool so he was facing the doctor. “Don’t tell me you’re worrying about me now . You don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.”

“You’re the only one here that seems to get the wrong idea.”

Aventurine shrugged, a ‘what-can-you-do? ’ kind of gesture, and wondered what Ratio was even doing . He was always so calm, so ready for every second, and Aventurine always seemed to have the urge to pick at the doctor like a scab until Aventurine peeled the skin back enough to bleed.

The doctor only sighed. “Do you have a plan?”

Aventurine let out a quick breath of amusement. “No.”

“An IPC Stoneheart with no plan? Seems unlikely.”

“I don’t feel as much kinship with the IPC as you might think.”

“I figured as much when you did not hesitate to shatter the Aventurine Stone into pieces simply for the sake of a gamble.” He narrowed his eyes. “Most people are not so quick to gamble away things that mean something to them.”

Aventurine thought about walking straight into IX with the wave of his hand. “Well, I’m not very pious in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Aventurine bit the inside of his cheek. You always notice, don’t you? he thought. Do you never tire of this? Of always noticing? He thought about saying it out loud, but settled for the shake of his head. “Of course you did.”

Aventurine did not believe in God, but he remembered what it was like to do so vividly.

There was a moment when Aventurine was small that he looked into the sky and yelled. He still remembered that moment and how his throat was hoarse afterwards, and it didn’t feel worth it but at least it felt real. Everyone around him assured him that he was lucky, that he was blessed, and that their god would provide. He was young and lacked the knowledge of an adult but he was not stupid. Where then was his god when he needed her most? Where was her divine presence when he was the only one left covered in gritty, red dirt? Maybe she died along with the rest of the population. Maybe she abandoned them for dead once the meteors started to hit. Maybe she never existed. It didn’t matter either way.

There was another moment when Aventurine was not so small, when he looked into his younger self’s eyes and recited their prayer. He smiled then, and it didn't feel worth it but at least it felt real. Aventurine did not feel ingenuine then, but that moment had nothing to do with god or existence or belief and everything to do with himself, and letting the buzzing in his head settle. His small hand flat against Aventurine’s large palm, acceptance trying her best to smooth out the wrinkles in all of Aventurine’s worries and fears. His feelings on Gaiathra Triclops were blurry then—and some things don’t change—but Aventurine did not know if he wanted the full picture to clear up nice and neat or to stay hidden, to stay obscured, because what would he do if he saw the crisp edges of reality and did not like what was there? So then. God would remain a fantasy. He felt less and more lost that way.

Aventurine looked at the doctor, wondering what he would have to do in order to make him feel unsteady in the way that Aventurine himself often felt. Did he ever feel lost? Maybe worried? What did he care about? Did he ever wake up at night gasping for air, fear caught in his throat, his heart pounding like it wanted to escape the cage that was his chest? Aventurine sighed before smiling the kind of practiced smile he knew so well. “Have you ever been in love, Doctor?” he asked.

Ratio practically rolled his eyes. “Is this the kind of question that keeps you up at night?”

“Me? Never. I sleep soundly… Like the dead.”

The doctor narrowed his eyes. “I fail to see how this is connected to anything of relevance.”

“It’s a simple yes or no.”

Ratio scoffed. “You’re asking the wrong person. Go bother a novelist, I hear they congregate by the observatory. They’re drawn to the stars like flies.”

“I’m afraid I’ve never been one for stars. I like the ground much better.”

Aventurine waited for it then, waited for a retort or dramatized question about such a comment, something that would jab him where he was sensitive about his disdain for the astrological. 

However, Ratio only sighed. “That would make two of us then.”

Aventurine opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it quickly before he could think much about it. He was not sure what to say, and he had too much going off in his head, something like the sound of gunshots and black nights. Ratio was in front of him… and why was he in front of him again? What were they doing, and was it a good thing? Why did Aventurine have to be good anyway, why couldn’t he just be real? Did the doctor avoid windows as well, or did he just like things to be steady? A ground beneath his feet and gravity doing the only thing it knew how to do.

Aventurine wanted to feel gravity, or better yet, to be pulled by another person, for someone to grab him hard by the shoulders and dig their fingers into his skin if only so he could feel something. He wondered if Ratio would do that for him, if he could stand him enough to stay for longer than a second just so Aventurine could know what it felt like to gamble once more. There was something violent about vulnerability, but Aventurine could not be bothered to think much more about it without dipping into the things he has tried so hard to avoid.

Ratio stared back at him with something even more guarded. “I must say, I don’t trust that look you’re wearing.”

Aventurine played innocent. “What look?”

“That one. Whatever you're thinking up there, I promise you, it’s not as important as being wise.”

Aventurine smiled. “Doctor, I’ve never been wise.”

Ratio sighed, and held his head as if a particularly strong headache were about to take place. “Trust me, I’m fully aware.”

Aventurine thought about saying something insane then, something particularly crazy since they’ve already established that Aventurine was anything but stable. He thought about asking the doctor to eat dinner with him, or even show him around the inner crevices of the ICS that Aventurine has yet to see. He thought about asking about love again, because that would be the thing to do it, wouldn’t it? Ratio would abandon him quickly, like a question he was no longer interested in solving, and then Aventurine would not have to wonder any longer than he already had. It was tempting, like looking over the edge of a cliff, and as much as Aventurine wanted to jump he also was too scared to take the plunge. Drifting was easier, you see.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Aventurine said instead.

Ratio only shook his head before leaving, like he couldn’t believe it, or like Aventurine was impossible to understand.

Aventurine did not think he was so complicated however. He was very simple, and so, he ordered another drink as he continued to ignore the view of the approaching planet and the overview of it all.

-

It was night, and the building was empty, each footstep echoing slow and important as if to taunt the senses. Aventurine felt on edge as he walked, knowing there was someone waiting for him but not knowing who. He felt fragmented, like a part of himself was still stuck in another part of a story yet he was also here, in the dark, listening for footsteps that were not his. There were none of course.

He walked for what felt like hours but also a few seconds at the same time. The building was ancient, old, and there was mold coloring the walls that were probably supposed to be white. The silence made everything worse, everything more tense, because things were never supposed to be completely silent. Even a forest will creak and whistle and buzz with the low murmur of the bugs or birds or a babbling creek, but Aventurine heard nothing, not even the rustle of the wind.

Kakavasha was sitting by the water (Aventurine did not stop to think about why there was water in the building), looking at his reflection unabashedly, touching it with his tiny fingers to make the surface of the water ripple. He turned when Aventurine approached. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Aventurine’s heart churned at the sight of those big, bright eyes. Something about him always hurt when he saw Kakavasha. “What do you mean?”

“You’re scared.”

Aventurine smiled, because he could not remember the last time he wasn’t scared. “Maybe.”

Kakavasha looked like he was trying to think of something, his eyebrows furrowing together on that boyish face of his. “I die… don’t I?” he asked innocently.

Something quick and painful went through Aventurine’s body, a phantom feeling clutching at his insides as he closed his eyes and tried to breathe. When he opened them, Kakavasha was gone, and Aventurine was alone.

The building around him was gone, and the space around him expanded. He was surrounded by darkness, the kind that never ended, and Aventurine could not make out where the space started and stopped, nor did he even want to look. He did not want to walk because the ground beneath his feet made no sense, and he could not trust it. He could not trust a thing.

It should not be like this. Aventurine should not be afraid of this , but he was, and he thought he had stopped being scared when he finally learned how to survive, when he finally decided that he could come back from the dead instead of allowing it to entomb him, that there was something good waiting for him at the end of it all. He thought he could finally be at peace when he touched Kakavasha’s hand and said their prayer, but the truth was that Aventurine did not know how to feel at peace for longer than a few moments. You do not get to be okay when your entire life all you have been waiting for was the moment you finally lost everything—it didn’t matter if it was good or bad, at least it would have been over.

Aventurine took a step, and then another, and then one more and suddenly, he was falling. He did not fall for very long before he abruptly woke up.

His shot open and he gasped, his breathing heavy as if he had just ran a mile… or two.

It was morning, he knew that much. The windows naturally lightened as time ticked onwards, the spaceship’s built in technology mimicking the morning light cycle in its windows to help its residents wake up and go to bed at regular intervals. You still could not see anything outside, Aventurine made sure of that.

The doctor walked in shortly afterwards, dressed for the day and smelling faintly of bread. He had most likely just come from a meal.

He frowned at Aventurine who was still in bed and stared at him judgmentally. “Have you considered an alarm?” he asked.

Aventurine scoffed dismissively, trying to clear his head of the nightmarish image of his own young eyes looking back at him, asking if he died. “Why would I need one of those?” he replied. “There isn’t an IPC meeting I was supposed to attend, was there?”

The doctor crossed his arms, unimpressed. “People aren’t nocturnal, not by nature.”

“Well, what if I like it when it's dark?”

“I don’t believe that for a second. The dark…” Ratio started then stopped, hesitating on his next words. “... doesn’t suit you.”

Aventurine swallowed, and he cannot remember when his throat had dried up but it was a desert in there. He could not dwell on what the doctor meant by such a thing, or his head would never quiet, he’s sure… so he smiled instead, and tried to feel normal. “But it’s so comfortable.”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is familiar.”

“Ah, I forgot,” Aventurine started, grinning something sour. “You know everything, don’t you?”

“No. Of course not… Only an idiot would claim such a thing.” Ratio shook his head, looking to the side like he needed to in order to sort through his thoughts, as if he could not look at Aventurine and also be rational at the same time. Oh, how funny that would be. Eventually, after presumably making a decision, he turned his body to exit. “I’ll leave you be then,” he said, and then he left.

Aventurine’s breath caught when the door closed behind the doctor, and he hated his own body’s reaction, how in that moment, all he wanted to do was yell and scream and beg for anything but that, because Aventurine knows what it’s like for people to leave him be . He’s been to more places than you can count on one hand, and most people will only ever stay on one planet their entire life but Aventurine has been on many and every time in every version, he’s alone. The question was always: How do you stop feeling lonely? And: How do we stay awake knowing we will all die without ever figuring out what it was all for? And: God why was it so hard to breathe?

For Aventurine, Ratio was not the answer to these questions, but he thought that maybe, just maybe, it would have been nice to have someone actually ask them to, someone to turn to when he woke up with a scream in his throat, gasping for air and a thing to grab onto when he felt like the nothingness was swallowing him whole.

-

The next day when Aventurine woke up late, it was lunchtime, and there was food on the coffee table. Someone had left it there for him, and there was really only one person that could be “someone.” There was no note, and Aventurine wondered what he would have done if there had been one there in the doctor’s handwriting. Would he have kept it like he had the first, or was breakfast truly so important that he needed a keepsake?

Aventurine thought about crying looking at the plate so carefully selected for him. It made him feel hollow, and it was as if each passing second he continued to breathe unraveled him into less and less of a complete thing, and he did not know what happened when there was nothing left of himself for fate to play with. Maybe he would just disappear… pop into non-existence like a wink, and as seductive as that was, Aventurine had this selfish desire to know what it felt like to actually start living instead of simply being alive. Rotting into the bed until he was nothing left but sweat and skin did not feel right, and neither did going to sleep knowing he would face some sick combination of his anxieties and fears in the dreamscape he had already long since escaped. Then there was the doctor and his narrow eyes and… strange generosity. Where did his niceties stop? And when did they become genuine? Was it the note? Or the ship? Maybe it was breakfast, or if Aventurine really wanted to dig, maybe it was before that, long ago when they first met and Ratio eyed him suspiciously with a revolver against Aventurine’s chest.

Ah, and there were the tears. They were hot on Aventurine’s face and they fell kindly, like rain that could not decide if it wanted to drizzle or hide. He wanted everything to stop, time and motion and the events playing out before him if only so he could catch his breath and let himself remember who he was supposed to be, because that was both easier and harder than trying to go through the motions and pretend he was normal. His head was too loud, and his emotions were too confusing to even begin to make out any of the familiar colors he thought he knew. And then Aventurine remembered that nothing mattered, and he was alone, and that if he looked out the window, he still would not be able to handle the weight of being alive in our meaningless, little universe.

-

Aventurine found Ratio in the ship’s archives. The doctor often hung out there during the day, unable to pry himself away from reading up on the things he did not know, constantly in his own head. Maybe he was trapped there too. Aventurine knew it would be horrible to wish that upon another person but he did so anyway, unable to help himself and his desire to not be the only person with their feet barely touching the ground.

Aventurine walked up to the doctor, and before he could second guess himself he spoke. “You left me food,” he said.

Ratio only looked at him for a moment unsurprised, his hands in the middle of shifting through digital data from the data bank. It was the briefest glance, almost effortless, though everything the doctor did appeared that way. Ratio frowned before turning back to the words in front of him. “Most people usually start with ‘hello,’ or even ‘good morning.’ Tell me Gambler, have you considered giving it an attempt?”

“Well, I guess I’m different from most people. I thought we had established that.”

Ratio scoffed. “Oh, do be serious.”

“Then seriously.”

The doctor turned to Aventurine then, his body fully facing the other like his attention in and of itself was a challenge. “You’re clearly incapable of taking care of yourself… I thought we had established that.”

“You’re acting out of character, Doctor. These aren’t our roles.”

“We’re not in a show.”

“Aren’t we?”

Ratio paused, narrowing his eyes. “I promise you’re the only person on this ship that thinks so.”

Aventurine took a step back. His chest hurt, right where his heart was supposedly beating. “I’m afraid I don’t know how to do anything else,” he said eventually, looking down at the pattern on the floor. 

Aventurine had many habits that he had picked up over the years of trying to stay alive and climb up from the dirt whilst he did so… and with the way the doctor was looking at him, each and every one of them were itching for him to execute them one at a time. Gamble, lie, perform, and then most importantly: stake the thing you’re most terrified of losing on top of it all. Besides, you never really thought you deserved to keep it, did you? Losing everything was simply a matter of time.

Aventurine was sick of himself, but also, he had no idea who he really was. So, he smiled at the doctor, his best performance smile, the one that brought allies and each and every one of his ‘friends .’ “Will you have dinner with me?” he asked.

Ratio’s eyebrows furrowed. He rarely looked confused or caught off guard, but somehow he looked both at the same time in a way that would only make sense on him. “Pardon?” he asked.

Aventurine’s grin grew. “It’s a simple yes or no.”

That caused Ratio’s expression to shift even further, his frown deepening, and Aventurine knew immediately that the doctor did not trust a single thing coming out of Aventurine’s mouth. Eventually, Ratio must have come to a conclusion at the end of all that thinking, as he crossed his arms like he had solved an equation and had gotten an answer he did not like. “You’re doing it again,” he said.

Aventurine tilted his head innocently. “Doing what?”

“That look,” Ratio replied, and he seemed almost tired. “It reminds me of someone who thinks that jumping off a cliff is a completely reasonable idea.”

Aventurine scoffed. “I don’t have a look like that.”

“You do… So whatever you’re doing, whatever you’re really thinking, the answer is no .”

That caused Aventurine to laugh, and it felt sad despite everything. “You don’t have a clue what I’m really thinking.”

“I have an idea.” Ratio shook his head. “If you’re going to ask something of me, then I’d prefer it not be your version of plunging straight into the deep end, some grandiose method of crazed risk taking. Ask something of me when it’s because you want it.”

Aventurine looked away. He thought he might start crying again out of simple frustration, but the tears never came. Perhaps he ran out somewhere between the Nihility’s End and breakfast. Instead, all he felt was how sick he was of it all. “Why can’t you just let me make a poor decision?” he asked jokingly, but he sounded tired… which kind of ruined the mood.

Ratio only sighed, and it was too genuine for the current moment, but he did so anyway, because he was free. He was not held back by himself. Maybe he was not stuck in his own head after all. “You’ve already made plenty of those, Gambler,” he replied. “You have nothing to prove.”

Aventurine laughed, but it was because his life had to be a joke and not because anything was particularly funny. “You’re no fun,” he told the doctor.

Ratio rolled his eyes. “... Your priorities continue to astound me.”

Aventurine wanted to ask why the doctor was still here, why he was in front of him and continued to be in front of him, why he had not left yet even though it felt like he should have by now… but the time for departure had long passed and Aventurine did not know what you did during this part, because leaving always happened. It was staying he was not used to.

Aventurine took a moment to feel his breath fill his lungs, his heart doing its best to beat 24/7 like it was the most casual thing. He tried to let go of those habits. They clung to him still, but he tried nonetheless. “Why don’t you like the stars?” he asked the doctor.

Ratio looked at him, and his eyes lingered on Aventurine, searching, maybe wondering. He looked away. “I believe things are already perfectly interesting on the ground.”

Aventurine laughed, and something about it felt real… or as real as someone like him could get. “I suppose that’s one way to look at it.”

-

Most people will only ever stay on one planet their entire life. Aventurine thought that would be him. That was supposed to be him, in the version of the universe where his family lived, where he grew old enough to know his father, and he did not need to live through life-altering events that had him questioning whether or not God really existed. In this version, he never found out he was lucky because he did not need to. He would never be put in a situation in which the world was so terrible and bloodthirsty that simply being alive was considered a miracle. He would stay on one planet his entire life and be thankful for it, because a home is worth so much more than seeing a world that was not yours. Everyone took it for granted, having a place to belong that is, to be able to grow your roots into the ground and cry tears on familiar soil, to learn the topography so intimately it was like your feet shaped themselves to match the grass beneath your sole, to die there, to be buried there, to be able to choose if you ended in ashes or rotted whole in a box. That choice had never been granted to the likes of Aventurine or the rest of those on Sigonia. They always died in ashes. Always died in rot.

That was the thing he was walking in: all rotted bodies, men, women, and children, though it was hard to tell one from the other. The decay was too strong. There were hundreds of planets in the sky, too many actually. The sight was uncanny, and Aventurine wanted to look away but he could not, because if he looked down he would see his family, and his neighbors, and all the people he’s ever betrayed to stay alive. There was his master by his foot, and oh. There was Kakavasha, his neon eyes dulled as he lay dead on the ground, his body limp like a puppet, his mouth leaking blood as dark as oil.

Aventurine took a step back and fell into the dead’s arms, and the next time he blinked he was back facing Nihility once more, the deepness overtaking everything, not letting a single thing room to breathe. The sight was horrible yet nostalgic, and Aventurine knew he was sick in the head because a part of him had been waiting for this, to see the worst thing he could think of so he could finally swim in it and be done. Yet, maybe he was still a child, because the fear that engulfed him was so intense, so shocking, so gut wrenching, that just the sight of that place woke him up in a quick motion. He kicked the blankets off himself and stood up, the dream still haunting him in the present.

It was Ratio that turned the lights on.

Aventurine stood still as he stared at the room and blinked, and he remembered his life wasn’t over yet . He was on an ICS with the doctor, and they had chatted late last night about the stars. It was stupid and did no one any good but why did Aventurine have to be good anyway? Why couldn’t he just be real?

Aventurine remembered that Ratio had just seen his entire freak out, and when his eyes met the doctor’s, Aventurine looked away immediately. Shame washed over him, because after everything he had been through, after all the talk and bravado and especially the part where he came back from the dead, he was still afraid to die alone. He was still scared, and he hated that about himself more than anything else.

“Sorry,” Aventurine said after many moments of silence. He had said it with mostly breath, mostly to hide how broken he felt but he was not sure it really did the trick.

The doctor scoffed like he could not believe what he just heard. “I refuse to believe that you just apologized.” He shook his head exasperatedly before looking at Aventurine with those eyes of his, those ones that read and picked apart and saw all the things with or without your consent.

Aventurine had gotten a lot of comments about his own eyes in the past but he thought that the doctor’s were the pair that stood out. It was the intelligence. That was it. And maybe something else, something about the degrees and angles of them that had Aventurine unable to look without forgetting to breathe.

Ratio was observing Aventurine, assessing him like he was stones on a scale that would not quite tip over one way or the other. Then, the doctor took a step forward so they were standing closer, less than a foot apart.

Aventurine did not look up. Ratio’s eyes were two windows and Aventurine did not like looking in those.

The doctor sighed, and he sounded tired. “This is the part where you ask.” He said it quietly, his voice low, careful, like Aventurine was a rabbit that might be scared away.

Aventurine did not look up. He knew whatever expression Ratio was wearing would break their reality, and they could no longer pretend, even if the doctor had insisted that they were not in a show, Aventurine knew a part of them were… and if Aventurine looked up, that show would end, and there would only be truth left. What was the truth supposed to feel like? Aventurine thought it probably felt a little looking into a mirror. Aventurine let out a quick laugh through a single breath from nose. “I think you’re killing me,” he told the doctor.

Ratio scoffed. “That’s a little dramatic, even for you.”

Aventurine looked up, mostly because he forgot he was not supposed to do that (or maybe that thought was a lie, and Aventurine just could not admit to himself that he wanted to drown in the doctor’s all-seeing eyes until there was nothing left in his lungs to keep his heart beating, that his emotions were so intense he was scared of them, and Aventurine was supposed to be used to performing but the mask he had always worn was starting to hurt). Aventurine did not think he wanted much, but in that moment, there was a sob dwelling in the base of his throat because he could not even sleep without somehow ruining that too, and that feeling burned as he held it there, trying to keep it down. The sensation was so severe he grabbed the doctor’s arm haphazardly if only to feel like he was holding on to something.

Ratio did not pull away. It was like he expected it.

Aventurine swallowed and he hoped, and he thought about all the questions that really did keep him up at night. “How do you stop feeling lonely?” he asked out loud, his voice so raw and genuine he almost did not recognize it himself.

The doctor’s eyes widened subtly, because most of his expressions were subtle. Perhaps it was not the question he expected, or perhaps the way it was said was startling in and of itself, but either way, the surprise did not last long, and his eyes, though always narrow, softened. “You reach out,” he answered.

Aventurine’s grip tightened. “How do you do that?”

The doctor let the silence settle, and it was not a hesitant action. It was like he knew Aventurine needed a little bit of quiet, because everything going on in his head was too loud. Then gently, he took Aventurine’s other hand, only holding his fingers. It was so soft, all of it. “Like this,” he said, though it was more like a whisper. Ratio used his thumb to rub the top of Aventurine’s fingers, feeling the joints where they bent.

The sensation of someone holding his hand made Aventurine feel dizzy, and maybe he was still dreaming… but he couldn’t be because it felt too real. Was this good? Or real? Were they separate things, or was it possible for them to be the same thing?

Aventurine swallowed and before he could think much about what he was doing, found himself resting his forehead against the doctor’s. He did not remember doing such a thing, but it was like all of his energy had left his body and touching Ratio skin to skin was the only thing holding him up. He took a breath in and held it. He counted his fingertips, then exhaled until there was nothing left in his lungs to let go. He did it twice more, and Ratio held him up with his skin all the while.

“You’re hand,” the doctor started. “... It’s shaking.”

Aventurine looked down and saw that Ratio was right. “It does that sometimes,” he replied, trying to make a joke but sounding too tired to be anything but serious.

Ratio was doing that thing again, the one with this thumb and the top of Aventurine’s fingers, and it felt like that simple motion turned the world upside down, yet maybe the world was always upside down and now it was right side up. That would explain why everything felt dizzy but also correct.

Aventurine looked up so he was looking into the two windows that were the doctor’s eyes, then he looked down at the doctor’s lips. He thought about cliffs and plunges you can’t undo and moved closer.

Ratio put his hand in front of Aventurine’s mouth, stopping the kiss. “Another time,” he said, though there was the subtlest of smiles there. “Perhaps when your hand stops shaking.”

Aventurine frowned against Ratio’s palm, but he knew the doctor was probably right. Damn him for always being right.

Aventurine’s expression made the doctor smile this weird smile, like he found something endearing about all this, and then carefully, oh so carefully, he leaned in and pressed his lips against Aventurine’s temple… and then the world was rightside up again.

Aventurine looked into those two windows. There was a faint blush on Ratio’s ears and it made all the difference. “What was that?” Aventurine asked, slightly dazed.

Ratio looked back. “A promise.”

“For what?”

“For later.”

Aventurine smiled, and suddenly he felt lighter and less like the version of himself that he could not stand. Closeness was a drug, because how were you supposed to go back once you got a taste of it once? “Don’t…” Aventurine started but stopped. The words felt clumsy coming out of his mouth, but this felt like the kind of moment when it was okay to ask. “... Don’t leave.”

Aventurine waited. He waited for the doctor to pull away and deny him. It was the only thing Aventurine saw happening. In every version Aventurine was alone.

But Ratio did not. He brought Aventurine’s hand up to his mouth and kissed the top of his fingers. “That goes without saying,” he whispered against his skin.

Later, Aventurine would sleep with the doctor’s arms around him, Ratio’s larger body against his smaller one, and he would feel safe, and present, and he would still have a nightmare at the end of it all, but finally, there would be someone there other than himself to remind him that in reality, he was no longer falling.

-

It takes a long time to wake up sometimes. He felt the doctor’s arms holding him by the waist as the faux sunlight started to permeate the room, filling it up with that morning dimness. Ratio mumbled something into his skin, but it was too early for Aventurine, so he did not quite catch it. Then, the doctor kissed his cheek before getting out of bed, and Aventurine fell back into the unconscious.

When he woke up the second time, Ratio was gone, though he had left breakfast once again, and Aventurine did not need a note or an explanation this time. Slowly, the night before was catching up to him in waves of memories, and he missed the doctor’s arms immediately, missed how it felt to be held by another person, how even if there was nothing happening and he was not falling into unknown depths, Aventurine knew he would have someone to catch him. He ached, and though he was used to aching, this one felt more palpable.

However, all that aching did not change the fact that Aventurine was still not a morning person, and thus he took his time getting ready, allowing spaces for his mind and soul to catch up to everything that had ever happened.  He remembered there was a book under his pillow, and once again, he flipped through it as he ate. He underlined these lines:

I have refused to live

locked in the orderly house of

     reasons and proofs.

The world I live in and believe in

is wider than that. And anyway,

     what’s wrong with Maybe?

And then this line at the bottom:

only if there are angels in your head will you

     ever, possibly, see one.

He closed the book once he felt his heart settle, and then left to go find the doctor.

Ratio was once again the ship’s archives. Its data was mostly digital, but the library itself was impressive for a spaceship, the tomes taking rows and rows of shelves throughout the room.

Aventurine walked through the maze of shelves until he found the doctor, who was in the middle of flipping through a book, checking its contents.

“Is it later now?” Aventurine asked.

Ratio turned to meet Aventurine’s own window eyes. “How impatient...” he replied, closing the book and putting it back on the shelf.

Aventurine smiled. “Guilty,” he admitted. It was not a hard thing to admit, since if he was anything, it was criminal. And it was funny, because even after everything, after all the hesitant touches and temple kisses and promises for more later, a part of Aventurine was still surprised that Ratio had not left. There he was, looking at Aventurine, expecting, and Aventurine knew this was not a dream because none of his dreams were good. Aventurine let out an amused breath. “You’re still here,” he said.

Ratio raised an eyebrow, like that was the last thing he had expected to come out of Aventurine’s mouth. “Guilty,” he replied flatly. “You know, reality isn’t always so horrible.”

“It’s hard to tell sometimes.”

The doctor sighed. “That it is.”

The archives were quiet, like they were holding their breath, and Aventurine looked at Ratio even though there was something violent about vulnerability. Just the act of looking after a night of promises felt more intimate than anything else they could have been doing, because now the doctor has seen the worst of it, and he still had not left. In every version Aventurine was alone… except for this one at this moment.

Ratio took Aventurine’s hand in his, because that was what the moment was for, what all the time ticking into the future had been leading up to, so the doctor could use his thumbs to discover the new ways in which those fingers would fit against his own.

Aventurine wanted to say ‘ when you do that I think that it might be okay to be the ant on the skin instead of the body of the person, ’ something about how maybe the monster in his stomach, tearing at himself from the inside out was just another version of himself, one where he was too afraid to love something because the thought of it slipping through his fingers hurt more than dying, but he still was afraid to die because it was such an uncertain thing. Dying only happened to other people, never yourself. But everyone dies. Everything dies. Everything was made to eventually burn out and disappear and Aventurine does not believe in God but he thinks he knows that. But sometimes, there were moments when Aventurine’s head quieted down until all the images in there were fuzzy, and it was in moments like these when Ratio touched Aventurine’s fingers like he was trying to remember how his skin felt. Even when the doctor had touched him for the first time back in their room it was like that, like he was trying to recall their other life, the other version in which they did this and maybe in that version, Aventurine was not alone.

In the end, Aventurine did not say any of those things. He looked at the doctor and into his window eyes and craved. “My hands aren’t shaking,” he pointed out.

Ratio looked like he could have smiled if he were a more expressive person, but the amusement was there if you cared enough to look. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Guilty.”

Ratio took Aventurine’s hand in his and kissed his knuckles. His mouth lingered there, and those windows looked back at him and they were both easy and hard to look into, easy because Aventurine finally felt seen, and hard because Aventurine dared to hope. Then, like a carefully crafted dance, a thing so precise and deliberate it was graceful, Ratio used his other hand to carefully cup the side of Aventurine’s face, letting his fingers trail there slowly, his thumb tilting his head upwards so there was no mistaking what was about to happen.

Aventurine closed his eyes but was still surprised when he felt Ratio kiss him. The surprise was there because he always thought whatever situation was between the two of them was a thing that would always get close but never puncture. They would always be like atoms in Aventurine’s head, filled with electrons that push things away no matter how close you get. On the molecular level, in an atomic sense, you can never truly touch anything, not really. But you can get close, as close as humanly possible until the thing impales you, and that right there was real connection. Ratio had not impaled him. He was kissing him. Perhaps the sensations were similar. Were they separate things, or was it possible for them to be the same thing?

The kiss was a chaste thing, like neither one of them knew whether or not to push it farther, and when they parted, they looked at each other once before leaning in once more.

The doctor was holding Aventurine’s face still, and his thumb was caressing Aventurine’s jaw slowly, gently, like he was still waiting even now.

Aventurine used his hands to feel where Ratio was, to make sure he was really standing there, his fingers touching all the little details of what made the doctor who he was: his strong arms, the clothes on his back, where his pulse throbbed on the side of his neck, beating one moment at a time. It was how a heart should beat: at a pace a person can keep up with.

Aventurine’s breath caught as his mouth opened up and warmth flooded inside. He tugged Ratio closer and in turn, the doctor pressed against Aventurine until he was back against one of the shelves in the archives. It was not the most comfortable position with the spines of the books pressing into him, digging into his shoulders and his hips, but Aventurine let a small sound as the kiss deepened, his entire body hot, and he pulled the doctor closer because of all the things going on in his head that was the loudest.

Ratio licked the roof of Aventurine’s mouth, coaxing another noise that had Aventurine’s neck feel warm with an intense flush. The doctor’s kiss traveled down Aventurine’s face and to the sides of his jaw, and he mumbled words into his skin. “You were surprised I was still here…” he whispered, the words themselves physical and real.

Aventurine tried to breathe but his voice felt strange against his own throat with Ratio’s mouth against his neck. “I…” Aventurine swallowed the whine that was threatening to come up as the doctor kissed his skin. “... I expect people to leave…” Who would stay after all?

Ratio kissed Aventurine’s cheek tenderly, so effortlessly it was like they had done it many times before, and he held Aventurine’s face close. “When you left… It was I who was surprised to see you.”

Aventurine’s stomach burned as he smiled helplessly. “Were you worried about me, Doctor?”

Ratio pulled away to catch Aventurine’s eye. “Someone had to be.” He quieted, as if to think, his eyes looking elsewhere for only a moment. “You told me once I had played my part too well.”

Aventurine remembered Penacony then when he did not wish to, remembering Ratio’s cold tone and believable betrayal all wrapped up in this display of disinterest because they could never be sure when they were being watched. After a while, the line between reality and dream started to fade. The irony of that made Aventurine smile sadly. “You did,” he replied.

“You believed them? The lies?”

Aventurine’s sad smile grew. “Every one.”

Ratio’s expression shifted then, and the doctor rarely wore surprise but wore it he did. It was a small shift, but Aventurine had been paying attention, and he could tell that something about his own answer had created another shift. “Do you still believe them?” Ratio asked.

“Sometimes. It’s a hard thing to turn off.”

Ratio looked away for a moment, his window eyes drifting down so Aventurine could no longer see his reflection there anymore. “... I apologize.”

Aventurine raised an eyebrow, his smile shifting from sad to something more neutral. “For the lies?” he asked. “You had to tell them.”

“Then I apologize that I had to tell them, and that you had to be the one to bear them.”

When was the last time someone had apologized to him? Aventurine tried to think but he could not remember, and it was scary how he never realized how badly he needed to hear one until it had occurred when he least expected it. He never wanted an apology. He wanted to burn everything to the ground because he could not have his family, wanted to rise up high enough so that no one could ever step on him again, and he wanted to keep winning and winning until he forgot what it was like to lose. Aventurine was used to being used, and he had almost convinced himself that he did not mind being thought of in that way, because at least then he would be worth something, at least he would be useful.

How much was an apology worth? Nothing? Or Everything?

Aventurine leaned closer. “Kiss me again.”

Ratio looked at Aventurine’s lips, and Aventurine knew they were thinking the same thing.

The next time the doctor leaned in, Aventurine was not surprised, at least not as much as the first time.

-

“How do we stay awake knowing we will all die without ever figuring out what it was all for?”

The doctor kissed Aventurine’s jaw. “You do it diligently, with care, and even if you don’t know by the end of it, a life is always a significant thing. You only get one after all.”

-

“You’ve been writing in my books,” Ratio said to Aventurine as he sat on the couch, book in hand.

It was late, and they were in their room, waiting for the window to realize it was nighttime and finally dim the lights down into darkness. Aventurine knew he could turn this effect off and simply have the window blacked out if he so desired, but there was something about the light that made him hold off a little longer, something about having the option open that made more sense in the ever flowing river that was his thoughts.

Aventurine was sitting next to the doctor, and he played with the remote in his hand, fidgeting with the idea of pressing the buttons until it revealed what was really on the other side of the window. “I have,” he admitted to the doctor. “Did you like the picture I drew on page 536 of The Nine-Worded Formulae ? Personally, I think it was a great addition.”

The doctor sighed, as if being reminded of such a thing aged him. “The Genius Society would pop a blood vessel if they knew Aiden’s graphs and equations were being turned into inappropriate hand gestures.”

“Well, it’s a good thing they’re not here then, isn’t it?”

Ratio narrowed his eyes at that comment.

Aventurine smiled back.

The doctor only rolled his eyes in response, like he could not be bothered to continue that conversation. “I suppose in the end you can do whatever you want with such things. The money to replace them will go back into the IPC in the end, won’t it?”

“And on and on the cycle goes,” Aventurine said, and he thought about what would happen when he left this metal tin can of a place and was forced to face whatever was next for him. As nice as it was, and as much of a help it had been in assisting Aventurine’s perpetual crisis as a living being, he would have to get off the ICS eventually, and too much had changed for things to go back to normal. He was not the same Aventurine that had arrived on Penacony. Maybe dying did that to a person. “You said you were visiting Herta Space Station for something you left,” Aventurine started. “Where will you go once you’ve gotten it?”

Ratio closed the book he was holding. He looked at Aventurine carefully, like was trying to discern exactly what the other had meant by that. Eventually, Ratio complied. “Where will you go once you’ve found a destination?”

Aventurine frowned. “That’s not an answer.”

“Humor me then.”

Aventurine pressed his mouth together, and tried to think about the life he had always wanted. He could not imagine it, mostly because he did not know what exactly a life was supposed to look like. Once upon a time, he had wanted his family back, but fate did not allow it, so if he could not have someone to love him then he could at least make sure he was free… But only money bought that, so he pursued it like he had nothing to lose, and once he gained that, well, the emptiness inside him only continued to simmer rather than dim. Only his pockets ever filled themselves up heavy, and never his heart. However, the show was over and he was the only one still trying to remember what it was like to stop pretending. Now, Aventurine knew what it felt like to have someone there to catch you, what it meant for someone to look at you and see a thing they want to stand next to. When had anyone ever looked at him like that? Like he was something worth keeping? Worth loving? Even if it was only for a single moment, that moment when you meet another person’s eyes and the vulnerability was so intense it felt violent, because there was something violent about vulnerability. So now, Aventurine had to really sit and think… What exactly did he want?

“I don’t know,” Aventurine said, and his own eyes widened when he said it, as if he had never expected himself to admit such a thing until the words were out of his mouth. He was not used to the sensation, because every single time he walked into a room he was ready for the next step, always prepared for how he would face the next thing trying to mow him down. Now, how was he supposed to be okay with uncertainty?

And anyway,

     what’s wrong with Maybe?

Ratio was not as surprised by such an answer, and not nearly as much Aventurine had been. “Perhaps it’s a good thing,” the doctor stated. “Not knowing means you have infinite possibilities ahead of you. It’s simple math.”

Aventurine, though still not fully himself, grinned at such an answer. “You make it sound so easy.”

The doctor shook his head. “ Simple does not always equate to easy . Some of the world’s unsolvable equations are based on rather simple math. The answer, however, is unattainable.”

Aventurine raised an eyebrow. “Is this supposed to be making me feel better?”

Ratio was silent for a moment, looking at Aventurine with those window eyes. Did the doctor know? Did he know how intense that gaze was? “That will depend on you,” Ratio said. “Perspective is a valuable tool. Whether or not you use it will unfortunately have to be your decision.”

“Unfortunately?”

“Forgive me… You don’t have the best track record.”

Aventurine grinned at the doctor’s hesitance. “Are you worried about me, Doctor?”

Ratio’s eyebrows furrowed, almost as if he were suppressing some other expression he did not want shown. “Well, someone has to be.”

Aventurine swallowed, and he tried to attach the reality of the doctor with the idea he had of him in his mind. In another version, Ratio dreaded him, disliked being around him, worked with him only because he must and not because of anything he wanted. In this version, Aventurine pined for connection in the back of his own head, the voice small but incredibly desperate, however no one ever heeds the voices of the small, and so that voice could only continue to cry drowned in its own isolation. In this version, Aventurine was—

Ratio flicked Aventurine on the head lightly.

It didn’t hurt, but Aventurine made a face regardless. It was the principle of the thing. “What was that for?” he asked.

“You’re ruminating,” Ratio responded, saying that word like it was an inconvenient stain. “Nothing good ever comes when you do that.”

Aventurine narrowed his eyes. “You must think you’re incredibly smart right now.”

“Right now ?”

“But I’ll have you know I was in the middle of having a very important breakthrough internally… And now we’ll never know.”

Ratio only rolled his eyes. “Why settle only for the internal? Why not strive for something real?”

Aventurine opened his mouth to retort, but could not muster up a response. He wondered if he never needed Penacony to be trapped in a dream, if maybe he had trapped himself there all along, never daring to expect anything better for himself, not allowing reality to kill his hope because they could not kill something he did not have. He would not be disappointed. He could not be, because he had to be strong instead. His dreams were never good. It’s why he was always fooled by them, because reality never gave him the chance to breathe.

However, what if he could strive instead of settle? Maybe in this hypothetical other version, maybe, just maybe, it was possible for this life to be both good and real. And what an idea that would be.

only if there are angels in your head will you

     ever, possibly, see one.

Aventurine inched closer so their legs were touching, and he felt both solid and right side up. “Are you ever going to kiss me or am I going to have to ask… again .”

Ratio’s neck flushed pink all the way to the tips of his ears, and Aventurine wondered if the doctor could feel it against his skin, wondered how far that emotion went, and if it was possible for Aventurine to scoop it up or drink it whole, just so he could feel more instead of less, so he could remember his own heart beating against his chest and how his lungs felt when they filled with air.

The doctor looked at him with one of those looks, like maybe he was thinking something similar but was trying not to show too much, lest his feelings leak everywhere, leaving Aventurine to clean up the mess.

How could Aventurine say in the most normal way possible that he would not mind such a thing?

“Do I have to say please?” Aventurine added.

Ratio shook his head and leaned closer. “You don’t have to ask.”

Aventurine caught the doctor’s mouth against his own, and he wondered if he would ever get used to it, if it would ever stop surprising him, and if there would be a day when he stopped wondering when he would finally, truely be alone.

Ratio slipped his tongue into Aventurine’s mouth, and Aventurine stopped thinking about all the sad things and tried to recall their other life, the other version in which they did this and maybe in that version, Aventurine was not alone.

-

“God why was it so hard to breathe?” Aventurine asked, the moments from dusk to dawn never kind to him.

Ratio found Aventurine’s fingers and held them as he laid next to him. “You’re scared. It’s the most normal thing, to be scared.”

-

They were finally approaching Herta Space Station: the doctor’s intended destination. Just like every other time, those who had only ever stayed on one planet their entire life took out their devices and snapped pictures out the windows as they approached, pointing in awe at the sight of a place that they had never known until now. The realization of the expansiveness of the universe was impressive to them, and to know that you really are as small as you feel was a comfort instead of a worry. Aventurine did not understand such things, nor did he think he would ever be the type of person that took pictures through windows, but he digressed, and thought instead of small comforts. Blankets. Warm drinks. Textbook doodles. Ratio’s hand against his own. And so, maybe the universe was larger than comprehension, and maybe the weight of such knowledge was too much for a single person to carry, let alone figure out, but Aventurine never claimed to be the type of person with all the answers, so why should he be the one burdened with unanswerable questions?

He would always be of course, that was just part of the deal that was living : to be hunted down by all the things that made us uncomfortable, to learn that most people cannot live with themselves, let alone Aventurine himself, but he might as well try instead of resist, because at the end of it all, it is only yourself that you have when everything else that is familiar flutters its wings and flies away. It was the most normal thing to be scared.

Aventurine was about to walk back to his room, as he was not particularly interested in the space station, when he locked eyes with the doctor.

Ratio approached him like a magnet, like they were always supposed to walk towards each other because that is how it was written into the laws of the world.

Aventurine studied him as he walked, and he wondered if this was the end of the story, or if it was possible for the end to actually turn into a beginning. He smiled as Ratio stood next to him. They were only silent for a moment before Aventurine spoke. “I think I’ll be heading back to the IPC,” he started. “There are some things there I would like to wrap up. I can’t leave them on read forever, as much as I’d like to.”

Ratio looked back at him for many seconds, like he was trying to pick apart the truth of Aventurine’s expression and what he really felt. “And then what?” he asked.

Aventurine shrugged. “Who knows? I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

“No plan?”

“No plan,” he confirmed. “It feels less heavy somehow.”

“I imagine it does.” Ratio looked down for a moment then back up again, his arms crossed seriously. “Are you really okay with that?”

Aventurine took a peek out the window before sighing. “No, but I think I will be… one day perhaps. You were the one that said reality wasn’t always so horrible. I suppose this is me choosing to trust you.”

Ratio’s eyes widened suddenly in that small way of his. His mouth parted oh so slightly. It was for the briefest of moments, and Aventurine thought he might not have caught that movement if he had not been paying attention.

Aventurine did not know what to make of that expression, but he smiled regardless. “Don’t get cold feet now… you could seriously hurt someone’s feelings, Doctor.”

Ratio’s expression returned back into something more familiar as he narrowed his eyes. “I have no intentions to do any such thing. How you manage to think like that is beyond me.” He scoffed before looking back at Aventurine with something… softer. It reminded Aventurine of that night when the doctor turned the lights back on. Ratio looked down, then back up again. “You are… not a place I plan on leaving anytime soon.”

Aventurine, still not quite used to the feeling of being caught, wondered if it was normal for a person to always know what to say to make your stomach feel like it was on fire. Burning was supposed to be unpleasant but why then did it feel so agreeable? Aventurine looked away. “You can’t just say things like that… It’s unfair.”

Ratio looked like he might smile, like he was tip-toeing the line that would finally show the thing he did not want to leak everywhere, the thing that Aventurine would not mind cleaning up. “I’m afraid this is simply a thing you must grow used to,” he said.

“I don’t know… I can be quite stubborn.”

“Trust me… I’m aware,” Ratio replied with a sigh, as if he was revisiting some particularly unpleasant memories.

Aventurine smiled, and it was not a smile he had ever practiced, so it felt slightly strange on his own face, but he did not bury it down or let it scare him away. Instead, he tried to lean into the feeling, because those feelings, though not particularly unique, tend not to last, so he knew he could not let the opportunity leave him so easily. He took a hold of the doctor’s hand and pulled him away, back to their room with their window to the universe and all the unanswered questions that could ever learn to haunt, and he thought about how he liked the way their fingers felt together.

What if he could strive instead of settle?

Maybe in this hypothetical other version… where Aventurine was not alone… he could learn to live with himself… to have a person to turn to when the lights are off… so he could ask about all the things that kept him up at night.

Later, when they were alone, Aventurine would pull Ratio close in a rare moment of agency. He would look into those window eyes, which were much more compelling than the stars or the view of any galaxy, and he would get used to the way that unpracticed smile felt against his own skin.

Ratio would look down at Aventurine’s lips and catch them with his own, and Aventurine knew it was a promise for later, and that he would not have to question what it meant to stay, he would only have to do it and let everything else follow in turn.