Archive of Our Own ^beta

• Purple Lilac

Oh, awareness is not beyond him.. when it all comes to people's admiration in him. He knows very much, to a concerning degree even, having possessed certain knowledge that he shouldn’t have acquired, or learned about at all.. Which may be a bit of a bold claim, to have that sentiment come from someone who believes in the justness of education as one would to an Aeon. 

Just so happened that those clues present itself in the many adoring faces he has to see throughout the following days. Of just how many want him, of how many want a part of him—be it just the smooth flick of his hand, that luster or the rhythm of his voice arranged in a rotund poise, though a quick glance is all that he can personally afford. 

Yet must it always be Dr. Veritas Ratio himself daring to behold the responsibility of rejecting as politely as he may, and as honestly as he could emit. 

A special flavor of indulgence for him would be to disprove any expectations imposed down the prospects of his name, so gladly too even he must say.. Moreover, there's nothing remotely fulfilling, or good whatsoever, about turning down a continuous stream of love confessions after one another. 

Awkwardness mustn't precede him completely, yet he feels this way all the time whenever it happens, up to the tip of his ears where it'd flush—and he'd internally pray to burn right then and there. Against his own will, it just became something that he’d rather not dabble in far too often. Constant were the tides, so along the way, bound to hit rocks in the midst of his otherwise steady routine.

His only wish is that it doesn't happen often. Then it happens far too often, where now secure spots and safe areas came to be of mundane concern. Here in his office he had the assumption that no such thing would occur, it hasn't thus far until one researcher braved to break the record.

“Forgive yourself, but I am just not..” Veritas holds his tongue, the cause of that split second pause being how he catches sight of those glistening eyes. Momentarily, he tries to dissect his words firsthand as much as he wants the ground to swallow him whole. “.. into you.”  

A smile laced in patience; an extension of his good will, hands clasped while he thinks it through once more. “As much as it’s flattering to hear how you feel that way about me.. I just do not hold such mutual regard—but what I mean is that,” The stammering does not help but what can he do besides push on, try to search and dig deep for more words? “I still respect you. I just don't see you.. in.. that sense.”

Ratio is not one for insincere niceties or stints of politeness when it is unnecessary; eloquent and precise frankness aligns best with his nature, however being devoid of empathy? A bold accusation, especially when there exists a trace of mellowness in his demeanor, in how he carries himself while studying the other's features. “And might I add, it is within my well-esteemed calculations and deliberations that I do not think we’d be at all—compatible as partners, as we are in partnering for research.”

He always wished that it would end right after his reply. Right then and there. In situations like this, there was that longing for that tranquility; the long standing quiet. Pregnant breath of vanilla, heavy atop the pages one flops, even down to its mild vestiges..

“B.. but—” 

And it just never always does!

Careful was their way of speaking like they've begun to tread each and every word, likely blinded by the fallacy that doing so would lessen the chances of the most unfavorable outcome. Similarly, this is just like pulling teeth except they do not bother on loosening. “I-I.. assumed that we were getting along quite well, and I thought.. maybe there’s something more for us just past being research partners.” 

Ratio did his best stifling that sigh retreating to once again that sense of forbearance despite its thinning presence. Stubbornness is truly a virtue as it is a vice—no is a simple two letter, a one syllable word. Not all understand however, there's instances of when it gets from one ear to the next, they loop it back to mean yes. Even when that hasn't even left his own mouth! 

Before Ratio could start, they look at him—and this time, it speaks to him just how those eyes reflect.. evoke something within him. Something within him that stirs the heart, but doesn't move his stance all the same. 

“I want to be something more than that.” 

Veritas’s brows surprisingly soften much like the slight edge of the hitch in his breath, so compressed that it might as well be unheard of. Within his neck, something sprouts, and at the time—he thought of it to be the flourishing sensation of rising conflict, spoken in the tune of his heart.

Wavering for what seemed to be no reason at all, he cannot excuse himself; reluctance sways too much delicacy on matters that require direction. Hearing out (and turning down) confessions have long since been a part of his routine, and since then—the learned doctor came with the knack of parsing together distinctively sound responses to a variety of suitors, all of which mean the same and sound the same. 

No, no, no, no, no—he would say, and with that, they all would be turned away, left to turn on their heel and walk with a broken heart that only Ratio wishes they'd be pardoned for. Heartbreak is a fatal illness in the same sense as how idiocy is proficient in its lethality to mind numbness and brain degradation, however idiocy can be improved upon.

Heartbreak in particular is a crime that the divine laws of the cosmic forces punish for—as in the twisted nature of Finality, everyone is conjoined to someone's soul since birth as how one would be attuned to the song of one's soul. 

Even though mundane lives are to be transient with only mere moments happening as crucial proof of their existence, recorded in the ice embedded within Fuli’s ethereal being— soulmates are forever, or so that is what's always said in hymns.. even though no one, not even in the books stacked between the private libraries of the Intelligentsia Guild, know how it is when you found “the one.” Let alone know who even is “the one” for you.

For better or for worse, as his mother would say when sparing details of such vibrant tales. Machinations of something greater.. that up to this day, he'd never understand.

A humble blessing, they call it. Stellaron Hunters agreed, for who are some of Finality's most loyal followers but them—but Ratio comes to see it as unjust and unfair as the diseases he'd study upon, as how is it any different? It weaves the tapestry of fate without consideration for the unfortunate, for the weak and desolate. Do their lives matter less because they did not encapsulate the perfect, inherent romanticism expected of them? 

And here he thought people are beloved because of their unpredictability, yet the world expects them to be predicted. How curious, and yet.. he looks down, and he can’t help the nose twitch. Counseling services are suited for potential heartbreak, however much like how a surgeon familiarizes their grip with not just the handle of their scalpel but the tip as well, he could try and soften the impact. Even though he isn’t an exact professional, an empathetic part of him speaks that he still must try.

But something in Ratio flinches at the sight of that bouquet he was just offered. A pleading, sunken pair of eyes aside, something in his nerves pound a crying delight. 

Even though he shouldn’t at all, and how he knows is a mystery even to him.

Before him were a set of flowers, eagerly introducing itself and its uniquely harlequin features. The snowy hues of roses with pink on top, the grape-like colors of sages twirled across sweet gardenias. Two contradicting thoughts arise in his head.. They all look so lovely. They all look so sickening—and why did such an accursed thought like that come into his head? Guilty, Ratio bites his lip since he recognizes briefly the amount of time and expenses it must have taken to prepare all of this by hand, the courage to deliver it on time too.

And yet. The variables don’t seem to align here, something is off and he can’t help to think about nauseating bile despite the colors greeting him warmly.

Unperturbed he looks from the outside of it all. Like Veritas unintendedly gave their words one last chance, at its most critical moment nonetheless to try and dissect the infected out, though in the span of this very moment, everything else deafens long enough for him to notice.. and wonder, is there something stuck in my throat? Like that thought matters more than actually saving.

“.. Dr. Ratio?”

The aforementioned doctor flicks his eyes, waking up from whatever dazed stupor he was put into, almost embarrassed by it. In a valiant effort to garner back a sense of poise, he swiftly answers, “I’m terribly sorry, I do not mean to offend.” it slightly hurts to speak right now, for reasons he can’t quite explain, “but.. my feelings still remain the same.”

I hope for another man, he didn’t add because duty of a doctor aside, he feels inexplicably benignant when they have said that they truly desired for something more than the average basis of their relationship.

“I think you should take some time to ‘catch fresh air,’ as they might say.” Ratio closes his eyes, awaiting for a full fledged breath that never came, instead he feels the nerves of his throat stagger much to his internally hidden surprise. “Rest assured this doesn’t change how I respect you as a research partner. I just do not think we can work well together in this context.”

He prays for a pause, and finally, it comes albeit dejectedly and with much hesitation. Distantly, he hears muttered apologies within murmurs, due to them speaking under their breath. Nothing pleases him more than to hear an “I understand” alongside a “thank you for your honesty” following a beat. 

“Could I still give you the flowers?” They ask, and it catches Ratio off-guard. Anyhow, he nods.

“I don’t suppose why not.”

“Thank you,” there came a rueful smile, “for hearing me out even though we may never.”

Indefinitely, there’s no may. He does not know them too well personally, but he knows enough to understand that they do not really deserve a man like him. Whose ribs have already been torn from the inside out. To make way for a heart that never beats, only once for one special exception, and to have that pulsation be in a way that drives the uttermost madness up the brain. 

Afterwards, there came a tread of footsteps and the sound of a door closing right after, a sound that Ratio didn’t come to hear. Mainly, his thoughts turn to revolve around the fragrance those flowers carry. Bouquet in hand, he graces each with a soft-hearted glance. Its vibrancy emits a tantalizing sensation. 

Though he doesn’t know what’s so tantalizing about it; the nausea or just the genuity of the heart itself expressed through nature’s fleeced strokes. 

Merlot-red dips atop the petals of those sweet gardenias, from beneath the surface is wet in the crimson blood dyed across. Tainting whichever it trails towards, streaming towards the very bottom, tarnishing the digits of his silken hands as well the patterned wrapping paper—even the jute twine can’t be saved, neither can the baby blue satin ribbon. 

To the end, it drips, and it falls all too quietly from his bordering lips. A mouthful of blood gushes out, persistent in its rampant need to consume the entirety of his gums, to drown out any ounce of air—to subjugate, to conquer, to never let Ratio escape the taste of metal as every bit of his mouth might as well be to the brim of it. 

He does not scream. Flowers come through his mouth, some of its thorns slither the gums carelessly as its protrusion does not regard him a second worthy of consideration, and he still cannot find himself to scream. 

To scream while it all flows through, he absolutely cannot. Tears prick his eyes while Ratio dreaded for the worst out of a situation spiraling out of control so rapidly—

Hacking what felt to be just a never-ending strain of coughing, his rasped wheezing was just a mere aftertaste of the agonizing tickle down his throat. His arms reach the nearby desk for support; however perhaps the grip leaned more into a push of force unintended than anything.

He stumbles to the ground right after the desk is shoved off to the side, sheets of notes and papers—some essentials like pens. He can see them fall and clatter to the air, some float before slowly descending, and some weren't so lucky in how and where they landed—as even some of the test papers ended up soaked. 

He can't check for himself if it's actually test papers or something else, but whatever the case, any remainder of thought is cut off by a shrill of uncomfortable sensations. 

Indescribable pain courses beneath, restlessly pounding his stomach, or intestines or even — lungs? It feels like it is, with the way he sees the tips of his fingers turn purple. Oddly enough, he feels calm about that fact, a symptom of delirium in fact? 

Still, it’s a medical doctor’s tendency to implore details regarding vitals, to detect where it all must have come from. His senses don't catch, rather it recoils explosively. His form closely lurching above his bouquet, he feels his senses driven weakened. 

Only one detail he manages to catch, and is that his body is going limp. Blurry, it’s hard to see in such misty eyes but — he recognizes those gardenias.

No, those are his gardenias. The ones he spat out.

His shapes and colors. They are with wryness. The ivory hue stares at him even as his body crashes and sprawls onto the cold floor, knowing though even if he had a chance of conscience left, he didn't know if he would have screamed for help. 

Maybe he did, maybe he actually tried, but there may have been a part of him that kept quiet, that found comfort in these flowers. That he made, and how he knew feels even stranger than the sudden burst of petals on a sunny, fine day.

The world spins, the world calls for his name by the door of his office, the world still pierces through his vision like he had gone suddenly blind and mad—

And Aeons, what a sick man he is.. to find such consolation in the very things killing him from beneath his skin. Even when his dear gambler towered over him in a panic, there's a part of Ratio that relished in the taste from inside his mouth within those dwindling moments of consciousness.

•    White Peony

Aventurine had not let him go since upon his visit, he caught sight of the doctor's body. On the floor, undignified and sullied for even his hair strands had mixed with in the same pool of blood those flowers resided in. 

Firstly ruled it out to be an attempt of murder, after all the timing felt convenient. Aventurine witnessed someone else leave, and he so badly needed someone to blame for, until then even past the point that Ratio's airways recovered from the time spent plucking out those petals, he still had that sporadic cough burning anew.

Hasn't fully departed from his mind were those last seconds he had, so special in fact that days upon days have yet to erode this peculiar feeling. It has been embedded in his dreams too. The longer it remains, the more certain that Ratio feels to be suffocated by it within due time. But it is still a relief all the same, a relief that he cannot understand.

Relegating the bed as the sick is a position that Ratio never would have thought to take for all the years he lived. Illness hardly graced his being for as long as he kept mandating his own body to the best of hygiene and dieting plans—naturally, it is the juxtaposition of fate demanding that remarkable achievement to be tossed away like nothing. 

In how he categorizes his own tendencies is that he deems himself not too far off from a hypochondriac, pursuit-wise he’s no less susceptible to monomania. Current circumstances however made it so that discomfort followed every inch of breath Ratio took, whereas harassed by palpations picking at his very own pores.

Admittedly, it is capable of whittling away bit by bit, by his observations. From time to time, as if to ease his torment, the gambler performs that motion with his hands; fingers spread apart and spray atop his strands. A personal favorite of his—being somewhere around the area between his bangs and scalp. 

He'd caress in and out, gentle ministrations with slight diligence that Ratio needs, as he'd not want to risk hurting him. Not even the croak etched inside his throat could ruin it, let alone stop him from craning his neck further, harder as to let himself lean into the touch.

Alas he will not admit any of these—not even those seconds where in that croak would hold his breath in tight, far longer than necessary.. he'd stay quiet hoping to not alarm Aventurine at all.

These days often consist of moments where he'd be seconds away from falling off to the deep end. Strikingly enough, those mindful tunes hum it all as if the thought of dropping into a casualty to a disease beyond his comprehension, any day and any time.. does not disturb him. 

Thanks to the shivers which are there to remind him, clawing up his nerves to help him recall that this struggle between life and death should not be unfamiliar to a doctor like him. 

Yet—it doesn't disturb him at all.

Awakening from what felt to be a long hour of rumination, Ratio's eyes finally depart from the ceiling. One blink gone, two blinks gone, and then the next, he spies with his eye three catcakes close to the legs of their bed. Staring back, two eyes in separate pairs merely returned that startled gaze he had, as if they were not the ones that arose surprise by their existence.

They revert back to a curious but tentative appearance, like just one small step (forgive the sudden bout of anthropomorphization in his inner monologue—the correct term to describe it would be that they’re wobbling) towards the length of his legs would disturb their dearest “mama” awake. 

Beckoning them with just the slight wave of his hand, a twinkle in his eye remarking to their uttermost joy as one by one—they all beamed. No longer did the concern press them as it did earlier, alternatively they'd press themselves against the fat of his body.. and then rumble in fits of purring, eliciting a soft giggle from the doctor himself. 

Oh, he immediately gets it. It's their lovely way of comforting. He barely resisted a smile whatsoever, as they were the closest things he had to having dear, sweet children—the catcake triplets, all of them. Instantly, his smile sweetens as much as it saddens, it saddens him deeply to see how much of his affliction has shaken their little “family”—by just how creases came too naturally to their soft bodies.

Aventurine is no exception as though he walked in quite precisely, teasing smile on his lips that never fails to make Ratio feel caught—upon the shifting of his gaze to those slight eyebags underneath those eyes he grew to adore so much.. ensuing a swell of sympathy. 

Subsequent to him dealing with grueling work in and out of his executive trade within the IPC Strategic Investment Department, for what must have been a monotonous routine has been riddled by the stress Ratio’s condition suddenly downpoured upon. 

He bears that feeling close to his chest, quietly, overall. Unaware, his dear gambler approaches him closely, paired with an attentive search of eyes when he scans him all over. Going as far as to bend on his knees, Aventurine takes it all as long as the distance between them is shut for the sake of their emotional intimacy. Forearm over mattress, a weight dips in, and it feels to be less heavier than how Ratio is as a burden. It hurts to acknowledge such, but it feels necessary as much as it cuts a gape on the lower stretch of his neck. 

“Doctor—” and with how Aventurine smiles at him like that, it seems he caught the irony of it all. Doctor, yet he’s the one off-colour, donning a pale and sickly complexion. Ratio does not hide that sigh. “And so as it seems, you have worried us all sick, no?”

Tentatively, Ratio closes his jaw. From the corner of his eye would be the gambler, actuating that gaze to follow the stretch of the gambler's arm.. three catcakes looking at him as if their father held the stars himself, a harmonious coo comes out of him giving each and every one a slow rub on their heads.

Something befalls atop his head too, causing his eyes to enlarge and him to perk a brow towards Aventurine who was in the midst of those motions. Ratio finds an odd look on his face, whereas in place would typically reside that trademark smirk—a semblance of his handsome visage, a flare of charisma that spins the room. 

He can already see it. The formation of that smile—the one so smug, the one that he had become so accustomed with; that smug smile he’s so infuriatingly fond of and all the more.

Much to his deep dismay, none of it can be found in sight. Instead, Aventurine makes a countenance so indiscernible that it's a frightening reminder how removed he can be from how he truly feels on a whim.

Just like that, where even one wrinkle is proof, a testament to an unspoken sentiment that fails to escape the confines of that regular facade. Lines in between text, all the same—in different circumstances, the doctor would have loved to unravel and relish in meticulously picking apart the minutiae; everything about Aventurine fascinates him.

Aventurine's expression molds into one of concern however. Ratio worried him. The vines bloomed to the meat of his lungs, desiring his attention though it’s apparent to no one but him. None of it matters much compared to that tingling feeling in his chest, let alone that selfish heap of want, provoked by the scant of his humanity.

Aventurine cares about him. For even if it means worry—for Aventurine to look as if he cared more deeply than he let on. it is more than enough. It should have been more than enough. 

But it never gets to be enough, doesn’t it? 

Before his thoughts deepen its chasm as a form to morph through, as to swallow the doctor's head whole—

Aventurine speaks, and he speaks with a smile that appears as his teeth are glum; full of it. A sight like that sieves any thought further down its festering growth; words like that make up to be the death of the heart. His breath ceased for a bit before he even knew it. “You are beautiful, Ratio.”

And he musters it with such affection, it might as well be heavy on the tip of his tongue and it wouldn’t utter into existence a different outcome. As either way, Ratio feels alive.

Under the stoneheart's watchful, calculating gaze, more contemplations have yet to be unveiled through the windows containing the fiber of his soul. Placid, bottomless, empty. Escapes the limits of what Ratio knows about him. 

One thing’s for certain however.. Aventurine still thinks he is beautiful. Ratio's disheveled hair and duck-patterned silken lavender purple pajamas doesn't deter that view (if anything, it greatly enhances the opinion that Dr. Veritas Ratio is adorable.)

He cares a lot, a tiny voice in his head said, in eager repetitions. Even though Ratio has comprehended this fact in his head numerous times, it never quite makes the next time any less shocking news than it always ends up being. It never makes the pulsations any less louder either, if anything it’s seamless, it’s endless, and it’s unfathomable. Just how Aventurine is to him.

“Thank you.” is all that he managed to utter. Oftentimes there is guilt to be had about how his gratitude feels to be done in finite amounts regarding the fuzzy tizzies Aventurine puts him through. Oftentimes Ratio wishes he was better at this sort of thing.

In spite of that, he sees the gambler grin as if it was enough—as if Veritas was enough for Aventurine to savor. 

For a while, all Aventurine did was simply observe him. Not over the shoulder, no—by his side, content was the gambler who watched how that big chest rises up and down. Display that he's breathing, display that he's alive and well . Gladly, he’ll take whatever he can get as a sign that Ratio might just live another day.

Silence was vacant, fault being perhaps due to a certain doctor growing too comfortable with physical touch. (In his defense, the former makes him used to it.) 

A “competent conversationalist” (in the gambler’s words, not his) like Aventurine was bound to seize it, fill it all up like water where it’s needed. “How have you been feeling?” When he asked, it was too soft for Ratio’s liking. He has never heard him like that before—the pinpricks of regret and shame can hardly compare to the amount he needs.

Yet he carries on with a slight huff, turning his head to another distance, “As better as I can possibly be in this state, coughing blood…. petals, corollas and whatnot.” Aventurine’s smile tightens—but Ratio continues, speaking as though he doesn’t have an audible lump in his voice. “On the other hand, I am fairing well even without glasses.”

He hears a chuckle, one that tuck away the mild headaches off the sides of his mind. To which vocal rumble, Ratio appreciates immensely, as he lowers hiimself back to the cold sides of his pillow. “Need me to get you your contacts?”

“That won’t be necessary,” he yawns, “nowadays I tend to sleep by.. reading occasionally to prevent any dullation of the mind, after all—even in troublesome times, I should adhere to my needs of mental stimulation. Even when sick, I can’t risk myself becoming an idiot.” 

“I doubt you of all people would turn to idiocy, doc,” A brush of his face, a stroke of gentleness that even the gambler isn’t aware he’s capable of effusing, however Ratio knows it too well to be Aventurine’s carefully placed knuckles. Based by the callouses, the lines and scars that Ratio grew acquainted with. 

“On one hand, I may have to agree. It isn’t like you to be this physically inactive. Nothing conceptually wrong with rest days, it’s just that..” 

His voice trails off, prompting Ratio to open one eye by the time something shifts. Before he can inquire as to what that is, Aventurine straightens up his neck and asks, smiling in between lips as per usual. “Why don’t I help you with your afternoon bath?” 

Bath? While Ratio has been ensuring to the best of his capabilities that he’d still maintain proper hygiene even when sick, there’s a lot to be had on Aventurine’s plate. Too much in fact that he simply cannot keep filling in, no matter how indulgent.

Shaking his head, albeit slowly, he replies. “That won’t be necessary.”

The stoneheart steadily blinks at him, “Why not? You love those kinds of things, don’t you? Didn’t you say that not only does it help your impeccable body….” He trails his finger down his shoulderblade and then up to his neck for emphasis, touch grating on his nerves more than it actually helps. 

Aventurine tilts his head, for once looking almost genuine in his feign of innocence, but Ratio will admit that him being curious is perhaps the most modest he’s seen of him. “But it helps you calm down a notch too?”

“I didn’t say impeccable,” Ratio makes sure to correct, raising both brows as he stares up at a damned gambler who is so pleased with himself, as he is so awfully full of himself. Oblivious to this exact train of thought in Ratio’s head, Aventurine simply smiles. 

The former groans. “But very well.. Yes, it does, but you.. around the afternoon as well..” His own gaze drifts towards the patterned walls, deliberate caution layered beneath his voice, as if for once Veritas Ratio is afraid to assume the best of him.. when typical of his demeanor, he doesn’t tend to shy away from this tendency. 

“You should be headed to your study, aren’t I right?”

All he gets in return is pearly whites, beaming in resolution and it oozes the fuel that Ratio’s heart doesn't need right now.

“I can make time for you, Ratio. Believe me, I insist.” 

Any further protests long since died in his throat before it can sprout, for the doctor to not even have the slightest chance of what will unfold next. When Aventurine swiftly took him into his arms, he knew that the argument has ended here; there’s not enough for simple reasoning.

“If you say so,” Reluctant was Ratio, whose resignation only evoked the gambler’s ability to hum so carefree while walking forth. Faintly were the bounces of the catcakes who must never give up on their own surveillance of their dear “mama”, so they trail along—he lets them, as who is he to refuse his sweets?

For a moment, he allows himself to feel weak. Light-headed over the gambler’s shoulder, though it all feels very wrong. Foreign for him to truly play the role of the sick, when he’s always the one tending to others. 

Aha could laugh at this twisted irony and he wouldn’t judge, as it made perfect sense as to why he does so. Just because Aha gained a bit of common sense now though, it really just means the world has truly gone upside down.  

Aventurine is no exception. As it is also just as foreign for him too to even act in this particular way that entangles butterflies across his stomach, though this is an occurrence that’s been ever so common in their daily routine. Curse you, gambler, Ratio thinks in the depths of his mind. But he doesn’t mean it. The thought comes over by his head a thousand times by now, especially whenever the gambler ensues a moment of purposeful madness that prescribes the doctor’s head with strings of migraines that go on for days—but he never meant it.

In that case, he supposes out of them both, he’s probably the madder one.

Realization came to him drastically late, as it was too long of a time until blood-mixed saliva pool around his gums. He coughs hard—and it only worsens the second a hand brushes over his back, an innocuous effort to try and pacify its impact. While it still can’t settle, he feels those fingertips press hard, like it’s truly attempting to appease his lungs into sparing an ounce of mercy. 

It does not give in. It’s relentless, all relentless even once he’s been brought down and put inside the tub—curling form, trembling arms, catching a brief glimpse of the catcakes’ widened, panicked eyes on the other side—by the time his vision returns and washes away the black spots calling to him from all sides of his vision. 

The red stain on that casted polymer white, the petalous dull purples—.. belladonnas more like. A newborn making of his own wheezing cough; it mocks him and his lack of breath.

“Ver? Ver! ” 

A part of him awakens from the sound of the sheer, sincere panic stricken into Aventurine’s face, thus on cue Ratio looks up. Albeit slowly, albeit with less urgency despite his state. 

“I’m fine,” He mouths, voice hoarse and teeth bloodied. A cough wrangles him out before he could manage a few more sharp inhales. He looks down—his beloved tub is so dirty now.

“I’m sorry,” his condition is to be blamed for such an unruly, awful mess. “I am so sorry.” 

Within him, surging through was a bundle more, he the most grotesque flower shop ever, paired with a hunched back. Though he can’t see Aventurine’s face right now, he knew a part of him was partial to disgust at such an tedious sight. 

White noise settling in as by the time the gambler reaches his hand to smoothen one side of his face. Ratio dares find comfort in it, even though he mustn’t. 

He did, and it felt the most horrible thing to have in the world. 

“It’s okay…. hey, don't shed any tears on me just now too, doc. I'd like for you to hold on for a while, Ver. I'll clean this up—I'll fetch you some towels too. I'll even slice some orange slices, and of course, that cup of tea you like. Yeah, yeah.. just,” He stops himself from babbling onwards in lieu of just shooting a grin. “Hang in there, doc.”

Woebegone yet with the intention to conciliate in whatever he can do. Appreciated as it may be, the reassurance won't stop him enduring the throbbing in the pit of his throat. Still, all because of that, Ratio tries very hard.

Say what you like, dear gambler, I know you’re scared. He doesn't voice this out however, awkward neck craning withstanding. Even as sensations and senses return, numbness doesn’t abide coldly by this torment. So he can’t help but spare only just an exhausted glance at Aventurine's way. 

Corner of his eye. Tip of his ear. A cacophony of all he didn’t wish to happen, whimpering and sobbing—all from the catcakes, who were then gently beckoned out of the room by their own “papa.” Done in the kind of reluctance a rock would have when kicked off to the steep of the lake but the doctor’s head barely registers their departure in lieu of his head toiling in doubt.

He wonders if everything will actually be okay.

To somewhere around the back of his head, drifting were those bygone memories, a past of where each and every one of his previous patients have wondered the very same thing.

Remains as it is that he doesn't know the answer, even up to this day where he's older, wiser, and knows it by the arch of his cheekbones that he’s fatally ill with something that’s bound to kill him slowly, softly. 

With the only propensity he has left in him, is to hope hopelessly that everything might be okay. 

• Love Lies Bleeding

Arms crossed, Aventurine had asked. “What kind of doctor are you?” 

Concern came on Ratio once he saw that smile tighten Aventurine’s lips far and deep enough that it might just tear and rip into those lovely dimples he admires so much. Compared to that not-so-inconspiciuous glare piercing through the thickening pressure, who this unfortunate physician just happens to be subjected under, not too far and deep enough however.  

In other circumstances, it'd be a look casted towards any other subordinate daring to challenge his authority, so despite them not being a lackey or grunt climbing in the corporate ladder as the stoneheart, that look solidifies. “Come on, not even a hint of an idea as to what’s happening?”

Cordially, the physician has to be—even when clear as a sunless day that the shudders and shivers got the best of her nerves when stared down, point blank to her toes. “I’m sorry, sir, but.. this is exceptionally rare. And I mean it,” she bites her lip, hoping for a different response each time her hands trace over Ratio’s sunken lips, “I.. have never seen anything like this before.”

Tsk, Ratio hears such a click on Aventurine’s tongue as it felt to be an unacceptable answer given the professor’s current state. A distinguished feature within the underbelly of an exceptionally composed man, being that of distress which emerges in fits of grimaces as the gambler could not simply accept such an excuse. No matter how reasonable—a rare occurrence to come by, as the gambler rarely lets any lingering tension affect him to the highest extent of creating a dent on an otherwise well-crafted poker face. 

“He doesn’t mean anything by it. We’re all quite tired, aren’t we?” The moment something in Ratio's features pleads to Aventurine, his eyes in particular within that quick flick towards his direction, like clockwork—the gambler's face softens upon notice. It’s not like the doctor to do such a thing. 

The physician smiles bittersweetly. She does so while as beginning to tuck her equipment inside the warm confines of her bag. “You look tired too, doctor.” Hands in the midst, now changing as to dove it all back in, searching for something.. “The best I can prescribe you as of now is this latest version of our painkiller compound, though obviously I might have to run back to our mandated pharmacy for more.. pristine variations. Nothing but the best for you, of course.” 

She says that last part like she’s murmuring something recited to her. Ratio didn’t bother to ask who specified that one detail to her, the answer is close by. Therefore he can conclude that asking would be pointless.

By the second she holds out a contained array of combined pills, Ratio accepts it albeit in exchange of scrutiny. “It’s all oral, but it can be crushed and mixed with water for easier consumption. Of course, it’s medicine so.. it will obviously leave a bitter aftertaste, but it’s been tested and proven to work. It’ll lessen the irritation on your esophagus.” 

The physician fiddles with her gloved fingers nervously—if it didn’t hurt to speak, he would have told her to exert more confidence during conferences with patients. That way, she would have faith in herself as much as the people in her care would have on her. Again, the weight on his shoulders the entire day of going in and out of appointments.. had him weary, and he didn’t also feel like being accused of telling others how to do their jobs again anyways. 

Settling aside on a nod, Ratio advertently raised an eyebrow once throwing in a look at Aventurine’s part.. meaning only one thing. In turn, the gambler would then roll his eyes and direct his gaze back at the physician, tight-lipped smile coming to place as rapidly as it disappears by the time he’s done talking.

“Oh don’t you worry now, the results of this consultation doesn’t have to be in my report to Sugi.” Aventurine’s eyes have this habit of crinkling in spite of his lips never coming to a fair reach. Such a pleasant tone doesn’t suit the otherwise catty demeanor he takes when engaging with others. “A dull result, but that’s just to be expected of your brilliant manager, right?” 

Neither did the physician want to partake in his petty squabbles with the aforementioned executive, or want him fixatedly watch like a hawk while examining the doctor. Her eyes stray off to a distance, as her lips too mimicked the use of tight lips upon smile. “Right.” 

Ratio huffs, deciding not to push for more. Good enough. The current space may occupy too much regret on his part, but there isn’t enough room for whatever scenario may occur if he didn’t cast Aventurine to fringe a little bit of leniency onto that poor physician. 

Yes, it may be a fundamental part of their jobs to know— however Ratio is a professionally trained and licensed doctor as well. Since skimming paragraphs in Illness Encyclopedia to inductively reading Rare Diseases Vol. 555, he hadn’t found a single trace of an answer either, rendering all those nights he spent.. fruitless. Wasting all whichever remaining stamina he had from the grueling fatigue weighing his body down, bit by bit, day by day. 

Weariness, every bit of it also, ebbs away—as if it were nothing all along—as soon as the gambler joins him on the couch. Once again, a weight dips in, deflation of the velvety plush beneath them due to the recent addition of a presence that sickens his body as much as it craves for his comfort. 

Two contradictory feelings indeed, where Ratio knows way too little to be able to properly deduct if it's just a symptom—or another complicated thing that oughta be pushed to the back of his head, next to all the thoughts he wishes he never had.

So it’s another reason why he justifies him not being able to fight away Aventurine's hand worming its way over to his—And he so graciously justifies, flare of symptoms be damned whenever the gambler even goes near him. 

Gracious justification says that there's just something alluring about the textures of his palms, on sporadic moments where it’s not covered in the gloves the gambler tends to frequent. Besides he needs this, as much as the gambler needs it as well.. so as to not bring this moment to ruin, Ratio tries to swallow back the florets tingling on the pit of his throat. 

This poor physician looks between them—and blinks. One time, now made into twice.

Ratio pretends not to see that, in favor of feeling the stoneheart's hand. He also tries to ignore the smug look stretched across Aventurine's face; it was not his intention to play with the ridiculous trifles of jealousy the gambler tends to be consumed by on an unreasonable whim. 

Anyhow, by a short-lived sigh and the firm squeeze of hand to be another thing he won’t come to acknowledge ever so, Ratio avert his eyes back to the physician nearby. Apologetic expression and all, which spoke of a feeling he knew too well—a younger variation of himself had used to think the same. That as doctors, what they must is to forgo the woes of their patient completely for as long as they strip it with clarity and caution. 

The lesson here is that it’s not always the case. A part of a doctor’s responsibility is to understand they can’t save everyone. Even if it means potentially he cannot be saved either. 

“—and I can assure you that it’s all going to be okay, Dr. Ratio.” Ratio blinks; they look to him as if expecting an answer. When did they start talking? No matter, the best he can do is raise his brows as the crinkles underneath his eyes soften.. all she did was elaborate furthermore, as if asked to do so indirectly. 

“You have him with you, above all.” Ratio blinks again, so perhaps she just needs to clarify things a bit more further. “I mean, you have him.. Your soulmate, right?” 

What? 

If it were possible, flowers would pour out of his mouth in just how long his jaw slackens and hangs, however the inside of his mouth dries instead.

“No, that’s,” He starts, clearing his throat only to stammer. "That's..."

Urgently, Ratio directs his eyes back to Aventurine, and Aeons know why that matters now—but when it came to dealing the world in measures, he estimates so much significance in the stoneheart’s words; in the stoneheart’s voice; in the stoneheart’s clever way of thinking; in his.. everything. As for all that’s worth, he and his subtle gestures of caring meant everything to Ratio more than he can ever admit.

Aventurine speaks, and Ratio tastes it, like it’s word of law, “Oh, no, no no. We aren't soulmates, actually.” He doesn’t let go of the doctor’s hand though, tightening despite what he says. 

He says it like he's reading off a script, a trait that fails to pass by once Ratio’s mind turns blank. “The two of us are well… just colleagues working in perfect tandem.” 

Inquisitively, the physician looks at Ratio. To verify, all he did was nod. A simple act that had him take dregs of roses snarling up his neck, seething, burning so painfully in the back of his throat.. and he bore it all with an awkwardly demure smile. So that he wouldn’t dig his nails deep onto the armrest. 

“Yes,” he clears his throat once more, in a voice too quiet for his ears. “that’s right.”

After a brief delay, the physician did a double take, and from there, her eyes comically enlarged. “Oh my stars, I'm so sorry—I didn't know! We—I just assumed by the way you two acted on the live television programs.. that maybe, um..” 

“It’s alright,” Ratio feels his side warmed by Aventurine’s laugh, as well as the ghost of his stare. “You'd be surprised to know how used we both are to such assumptions. ” 

He’s right. How does this make it any different?

A soft murmur, “I.. am not surprised actually.” 

“Mhm, yes. That’s right.” is all the doctor could utter to that.

Ratio's mind wanders off as they converse. Hand on hand; the only impressions worth tasting in his mind over and over, as both means of grounding and detaching himself from reality as much as possible—to his own little world where if television was reality. 

The flowers beg to be let out. He doesn’t note anything of it, rather he swallows. For that is all that he allows himself to do, and all that he can have.  

• Bittersweet Nightshade

In theory, want is nothing entirely foreign to Veritas. At six years in, to be bestowed the part of being a vital nerve within the Genius Society's circulation.. the perfect culmination for all that he's worked for. At seventeen, he finds his worth to be further apart from his dreams—and his dreams to be further away from the dawning reality that'd come as he woke from the long-standing slumber.

In retrospect, he wondered. At around his late twenties and counting, the thought drifts in his mind numerous times whether it is truly a dream of his, or something he was inclined to believe in. Up to this very day, Veritas has yet to figure out the proper answer. Needless to say, he breathes knowledge everywhere he goes, he might as well speak in its tongue and teach others to do the same as well.

At the time he met Aventurine in the corridors under the pretense of an appointed meeting between the Guild and the IPC, Veritas vividly remembers the crepuscular rays that shone above them in reticulation. He remembers even for that singular half-minute where the dust particles illuminated in the midst of the air, evoking this blissful, airy feeling despite the uncertainty.

He remembers the strident trepidation in his heart when a revolver was forced upon his hand, and the click is just right below the index of his finger—that Cheshire cat-like smile while presenting to him a fate wholly in his hands. How could he ever forget? 

Day after day, Aventurine would either take him around to meet appointments with one more medical professional than the next. Either that, or examinations from the ones that cared enough to visit, only to leave off the perch. Him still as suffocated as ever. 

Day after day, Ratio would have never thought to entrust Aventurine—of all people–to be the one caring for him. A regular routine was in constant motion within a cycle's duration, firstly easing the aches that may bother Ratio in his wake. Secondly is only then he takes priority in caring for other matters such as chores and work, before it all loops back to the first. 

Day after day, in the nights where Ratio would let him in his bed–he'd beg for Aventurine to reconsider based on personal experience. Whenever the provider cares too much, it never ends well when infested with looming heartbreak. No matter what, the gambler never takes that advice; he takes every other advice of his, but never this. 

He instead whispered to the tip of his ear, arms in harmonic recline while their bodies rested underneath the weighted blankets, that to hell with the world and the stars, and every conceivable thing imaginable. “I can't afford to lose you,” he had said almost sedatedly, face barely reacting to his own pair of eyes weeping his sentiments for him. The stream of tears within such blank features still haunt the fiber of Ratio's dreams, “I already lost so.. Much.”

And how could Ratio have done that to him? 

In one particular day, a reading session took him far. Early in the afternoon as Aventurine leaves for work yet again, he reaches for a book selected and delivered from inside the lucrative novelties of the Intelligentsia Guild’s private libraries; the penthouse is hushed by the lack of a certain doctor cleaning about. Therefore noiseless asides the occasional creaks emitted by the floorboards whenever the three catcakes would check on him. 

In one particular day, a reading session took him far. It starts with Hanahaki Disease, and ends in him hearing the sound of his heart plummet. 

How could he have done this to him?

Flower-induced coughing, problematic implications due to it being blooming within the respiratory system, rasped voice and difficulty breathing blood-splatter episodes, likely chance of rupture in the esophagus thanks to thorns, clogged airways, strong, immense pain, mood swings—all of what happened to him and more.             

Through gritted teeth, he spoke of nothing. He even fails to realize how much sweat his skin glistens with.

[Incomplete information] Happens likely when a person falls in love with someone that isn’t their soulmate, therefore the threads of fate registers it as unrequited love. When one-sided love isn’t met, the person is prolonged with the inevitable destiny of dying to the flowers within. 

How could he have done this to him?

Neither does he realize that he has made a tear on the page, right where his finger lies. 

How could he have done this to himself?

Recommendation: surgical removal of the roots has been proven and testified as a great solution, patients have been shown to have a significant improvement in their health and well-being..

Albeit there are also reports to testify that by removing the roots, entirely, so will the person’s romantic feelings as well. Thus abolishing any chances of contracting it again in the nearby future.

… One might say that this must have been the worst juncture in his longevity of milestones upon milestones; At an age too young for him to die, the world frets; the world dreads for the worst to come out from this trifle. Dr. Veritas Ratio, a longstanding marvel of truth, a banishing spark before the impact of his name finishes its imprint?

In Ratio's personal opinion, this is far from his worst moment however, far from it. His only regret is that neither Aventurine and the catcakes should be here to witness it. 

• Bluebells

“Ratio—dinner’s here,” Aventurine enters the fray of his room, holding a tray on both hands. Shell-white walls look upon the noise.. while still were the golden-padded patterns and linings from around the lower corners. The lights barely flickered upon arrival, yet Ratio strained his eyes to squint. 

Maroon-coated gaze, etiolated as Ratio had been—more or less, the doctor looks up at Aventurine with expectation. That is, while the side of his neck had grown numb by the lack of physical exertion, the pillow softens the tilt at the very least. 

“I figured the food back in the kitchen wouldn't appear too appetizing for you, so you can see that I made some arrangements to fit to your liking..” he announces with glee, “while, of course, I did keep in mind to make it digestible enough for your—current state…” 

Downwards was where that slight glance was thrown at, a flash of tentative despondency, before a flare of wit ignites that smirk once he looks back up. “You're welcome, by the way.” 

Surprisingly, a feeble smile laced the doctor’s dry lips. “Thank you.” 

Causing the gambler’s eyes a rare lasting minute of glimmer. It's crystal clear as day that he's trying to lighten up the pervading milieu; the shape they're in, and the kind of plight they dug themselves into. And it worked so well, that even Aventurine is caught off guard by it. Music to his ears indeed, and in any other circumstance, smugness would overcome him.

Instead, he mumbles. “O.. Of course.”

Another morose mien graces his features. As in any other circumstance too, the mere sight of his doctor would have set the stoneheart’s day to rise upon dawn’s horizon. Brighten the rest of his dead heart to the uttermost content. 

Likely, it would have even made his heart skip a beat too like if he were some giddy high schooler, than the strategist that he is to sear the flesh from the likes of businessmen. Until it’s tender, until it’s warm, and enough for Aventurine to gnaw apart with his teeth. Even when paired with a cute smile however, he finds it hard to enjoy the state Ratio’s currently in.

After a subtle shake of the head, the gambler comes by closely to assemble the overbed table atop Ratio’s lap. He feels the doctor’s gaze loom, ignited by the same flicker of curiosity he fell for. 

A fine scent lured back his attention as soon as Aventurine slides in the tray presented before him. “Soft omelet with ride pudding and,” he holds his finger up for emphasis, serving him as if he were a butler always at his reach. “corn-carrot stew, just the way you like it.” 

Snapping the fingers of his left hand in brief motion, then tucking it to behind for a sense of dramatics, he exclaims. “Bon appetit.”

Ratio, who had been acting like a dead fish for these past few days—playfully rolled his eyes. He croaked out, rasp rough on the throat. “Thank you again.” 

“Two thank yous in a row? My, my, what did I do to deserve this?” Amusement interwoven into the depths of his face, he’d profess in the midst of raising his chin ever so slightly up high. “And why couldn’t you be more appreciative like this more often? You know, being a nice pair of goody-two-shoes actually fits you.” 

“Ha, I say I'm too nice enough to you as it is. To provide more of that would bear the equivalency of handing myself for you on a figurative silver platter.” 

“You say that—” Aventurine leans forward, “like it's a bad thing.”

“Knowing the ideas you tend to have whenever I’m, at the bare minimum, lenient, you damned gambler,” Succinct and curt as always and ever, Ratio then presents a sharp, narrowed eye look jerked across. “I'd say yes, it is a bad thing. Besides, who says you prefer easy?” 

“You’re right, no one.” A laugh so melodious it tickles the lump in the doctor’s throat, he braces pursing his lips. Aventurine merely tips his head, “Alright, alright, eat up now, doc.” 

Ratio did not need to be told twice, but he fetches back the remark he had in mind.. in favor of eating more quietly. Though nowadays on the condition of frailty, his table mannerisms stay as it always was—a finesse resembling a frame of a princess on her way to diligent ingestion, the work of utensils composed in great artistry. 

“Well?” He swears he heard the gambler hold his breath in, prodding Ratio to meticulously put both his spoon, fork, and well-necessary serving knife aside. 

“.. Not bad.” A beat of silence, “Five points.”

That audible whine should not have been hilarious as it sounded. “That's it?”

“That's it.” It also should not have been harder as it was for Ratio.. to suppress a bit of titter. In his personal defense, he couldn't help it—how can he deny himself the tang of amusement in regards to how a person like Aventurine of the stratagems sunken his lips into a pout?

“Hmp,” Panache follows the way the gambler turns his head and huffs, it did not help his case whatsoever. Rather, it strengthened Ratio’s. “You have a cruel sense of humor, doc.”

“It's dry, more like.” The chuckle he had was not, scrapy in all the wrong ways. “You just can’t understand it, nor my way of thinking.”

“Really?” Aventurine leans forward. Again. “Try me.”

Forgive him then, for impulse would be the greatest excuse. If not for the fact that it’s been something boiled and brewed over past where it’s due, then he would have said that it’s made in mind for their sake as well. But it just isn’t theirs either, it’s for his too. 

Those were his feelings after all, his foolish, outlandish, selfish feelings—that make up the dichotomy of what he is. If he were to live but return to a life where he cannot love Aventurine all the same, then what difference does it truly make?

".. Then,” In bated breath, he seizes the opportunity and starts—”would you think it was a joke then, if I were to tell you right now that.. I’ve.. adored you?” 

Aventurine freezes. 

“That I’ve, uhm.. ah,” Ratio’s stare remains on the side of his plate, finding the sides of where he is to be far too intense.. to even look at, or examine. His knuckles rest atop the table, fingers awaiting to be allowed its stretch as they badly are with the need to fiddle and fidget with the utensils nearby. 

“I’ve.. always thought so.. highly of you. So highly that, I, well..” He clicks his lips together, trying to ease off that tongue-tied dragging it down. “Found myself to be capable of thinking—of just imagining lifetimes where we’d be together. That is.. in a.. ah, romantic sense.”

“Because you…” This confession isn’t exactly what he had wished to word or practice, moreover a part of him wants to throw his head back in frustration. 

So it surprises him.. that suddenly, it feels easy to speak. “You’ve.. all I could ever want, asides from—of course, rudimentary and ingenious education system shared and passed at completely free access amongst other people of various backgrounds alike, including the flourishment of humanitarian welfare and pursuits, and the complete eradication of idiocy—but.. I, ah.. well, see, I digress. I have wanted you. Badly, as a matter of fact.”

.. Was that too blunt? Too much, per say? Oh, must he have said the last part—must have it sound too desperate? Ratio can’t really tell. Prior to this, romance movies were all that he could use for references. The effort was needed; lest the time comes where he departs quicker than anyone would have anticipated, a confession would comfort Aventurine with the thought that he always loves him.

They are not soulmates and might never be.. Admittedly, a part of him has always been afraid that he'd tie Aventurine down. To become unwanted, unbearable, and that alike, before dragging him down to reach the line of the gambler's own happy ending. 

That's the thing about those romance films—if he must say, one more thing to note was that Ratio did not deserve a happy ending at all. Especially after all he done. But he'll learn to be content by an ending he can have on his own terms.

Aventurine grabs his left cheek by a soft, delicate motion of his hand, which makes it so that it's Ratio's turn to be stunned–like he was a deer upon a flash of headlights, unflinching was his stare; simultaneous were the palpations he was cursed with, a major relief all the same in a strikingly similar sense to white-fleeced waves washed ashore.

Then that relief is snatched off within one flick upwards of the pinkie below his chin, Ratio directly stares into the vapid, jeweled beauty that was Aventurine's eyes. 

A part of Ratio continues nonetheless, voice dropping in frequency and volume almost, while his heart drummed louder to his ears—he just realized that when it came to his ears and cheeks, it scorched red.

“Ah—but, what I mean is that,” instinct tells him to turn his head slightly off to the left, however Aventurine's grip kept his face in place. Furthermore, Ratio's cheeks redden a dusty, cherry pink. “That, that.. ah, for you, yes, I always harbored such feelings. Such thoughts that no man would have for their colleague, rather for the subject of their.. well, my aforementioned feelings. Uh.”

Swallowing back an inaudible gulp, which came the pleasant surprise that the flowers barely struggled with, still the doctor retreated to directing his gaze at anywhere but him . “I-I digress. Yet.. again. You must understand that, that I.. have for a while.”

“For a while, hm?”

“.. Yes.” 

“Do you now?” 

He rapidly blinks, “I-I do.”

“Ah ah,” Aventurine tutted. “You haven't said the words yet.” 

Does everything have to be a stretch when it comes to this man?! But.. supposedly, that is fair. He knows the words Aventurine is looking for.. it's been dancing around his tongue after all. What he needs—is encouragement.

“Could I.. kiss you?”

That had taken Aventurine by surprise—albeit the entirety of his face would soon melt, as he found it adorable that Ratio had asked for consent. “Go ahead.”

“I.. love you.” He says, before pressing his own lips against his, interrupting himself any further from what he can tell him. There's so much he wants to tell him, but he cannot, for words are truly too simple of an expression. For even after everything, there was still cowardice to be had within his heart.

But when they kiss, in between themselves is where he found the taste of cherries to be too addicting of a sensation. So he had pressed harder, harder for him to forget, harder for him to let Aventurine know without a single doubt that he always liked him—deeper for him to recognize the grasp of death whittling away..

.. as the weight in his throat lightens and eases.

• Honeysuckles

Ratio could not believe it himself, nor did the other doctors they consulted in the past did, once updated and well-informed. They all said it was a miracle, a stroke of luck even. Difficult was it for Aventurine to stay quiet about it too, as it's possibly the first time he saw the gambler be so.. happy, and it to be so.. sincerely as well. 

The range of expressions the stoneheart had to adorn was truly—nothing compared to how he had been, flaunting those dimples like never before by the constant stretch of his lips, unbosoming a loose, vibrant grin. Giving the doctor a taste of what it would be like.. to feel butterflies and its warmth, in the absence of flowers.

Mere glimpses of a smile like that—pieced together an excruciatingly dawning realization for him. Albeit soulmates may be sewn in the etch of their beings—it is not for Aeons to decide who he can love, and who he will end up with. The fallacy was that it ruled their culture, and in turn, their information as well. 

He cannot lie. Mysteries surrounding what's more of the Hanahaki Disease had mystified him to the fullest extent, that had reckoned a stir in him as soon as his body began its recovery from the after-effects.

A part of him had contemplated keeping a journal perhaps for the time being—as right after, one of the things he sought to do was satiate his urge to correct misinformation. 

However the rest of his mind turns blank, as when Aventurine had shown him the way to the couch, claiming along the way that they have tugged the finest silk of clothes he has in this penthouse.. just for this. Before the doctor can even think what this even means, in tow—came along three catcakes huddled up against each other, side by side all to sing. 

“Miauuuuuu,” Get well soon, mama!

“Miauuuuuuuuu…” Get well soon! 

“Miauuuuuuuuuuuuuu!” Mamaaaaaaaaaa!

Aventurine raises a brow, leaning back on his seat. “So you mean to tell me, that you could actually understand them this entire time?” He may spare words now, but later he'd stumble back to thin lips, seeing as Ratio's eyes were stricken with tears. 

As any man would do, Aventurine leans close  to his side, even going as far to drape his arm all around his neck. Ratio would look at him, still misty-eyed, but his face would too match the affection across his dear gambler's face. They both pretended to ignore the grimace on their children's faces. 

If no one else, the sweet touches and kisses his destiny inflicted upon him—is more than enough to teach the doctor that he's deserving of all this. That he's merely enough, as everything else is, across the starry abyss.