Work Text:
"Was it necessary to bring two suitcases on a three-day trip, peacock?" Veritas asks, dragging his and the gambler's suitcases behind him.
Aventurine turns over shoulder. His pink-blue eyes gleam with mockery through the colored glasses.
"Don't be a buzzkill, doctor Ratio," He chuckles.
"You're insufferable, you know?" He sighes heavily, a slight chuckle flashing across his lips, showing that Veritas isn't serious.
"You too. I'm not sure I can survive three days in the same room with you," He teases. They walk up to the front desk, confirm the reservation and pick up the room key.
The hotel looks shamelessly expensive, just in the taste of the gambler. Carpets of black velvet with patterns of gold thread flowed underfoot. Spiral staircases swirl and stretch upward in smooth curves. Their handrails are forged of dark steel and cold beneath fingers. The hotel is full of guests - a motley crowd of arrivals from various planets - and staff.
Aventurine and Ratio pass several corridors and flights of stairs and turn left.
"Wow, it's beautiful" Aventurine nods his head at the picture on the creamy white wall. The canvas is huge, so he has to stop and lift his head to get a full view. Veritas stops, too, and they look at it in silence for a few minutes.
It seems to the gambler that Veritas is looking at him rather than at the painting.
"The original of this painting is three hundred amber eras, and the planet in it is Vonwacq. It depicts the moment when The demon king is born from the fruit of the Thestang tree...." Ratio says, a slight excitement in his voice, the way he does when he's eager to share knowledge. Aventurine smiles for a moment, seeing the doctor's eyes light up, and nods as a sign that he's listening. Veritas' voice is deep, and usually after a barely perceptible outburst of emotion it quickly becomes monotonous and even the gambler is a pleasure to listen to.
The Doctor continues talking as they walk to their room. The story of Vonwacq weaves through green vines and rustles in the grass, crowns so thick they block out the sun Ratio manages to tell it vividly and unacademically, despite his job as a teacher.
They reach the room just as the story comes to an end. Aventurine opens the door, graciously allowing Ratio to pass through. Light pours in from the panoramic floor-to-ceiling window, flooding the entire room with liquid amber.
They go to their rooms to unpack - the doors, surprisingly, remain half-open. Hearing that someone is around is uncharacteristically pleasant. After about an hour, they sit down on the couch in the common living room to discuss the mission plan. Papers pile up on the coffee table, the same place where Avanturin's laptop stands. They sit so close together that their knees almost touch, the light from the unshaded window curling on the pile of papers like a pesky cat.
Ratio laughs – Aventurine holds back a smile, because it is not an easy task to make a doctor laugh, but he succeeds time after time. The conversation quickly turns from business to friendship, and they sit in each other's company until the evening, though they could have parted long ago.
In the distance, the sky is ablaze like spilled wine, tasting just like sunlight and clouds, like the night's piercing freshness flowing from the open window to the room.
Aventurine is having fun. He feels almost happy, and smile seems to be reflected in his eyes – a rarity. They look at each other – awkward glances and chuckles, and a strange burning in their fingertips and a boiling sensation in their chests.
Veritas doesn't hold back in his emotions – he's like a breath of air amidst Aventurine's masked surroundings, and he himself involuntarily becomes more sincere around him.
Ratio's gaze is the eternal undercurrent of softness and absolute openness, as if he is ready to give the gambler a chance to touch his heart.
It was nearing midnight when they realized that they had to go to bed and regretfully went to their separate rooms. Aventurine smiles - the memories of this evening will keep him warm for a long time. The warmth inside burns a small fire and fuels the thrilling emotion of true happiness - at least for these couple of days. It's as if the oppression of all the problems no longer feels so heavy on his shoulders.
He changes his clothes and a casual glance in the mirror at the crisscrossed scars on his own skin makes him wince. Aventurine remembers again with a blood chilling sensation why he never takes rooms for two. It breaks him, causing him to slide down the wall, his smile fading. Nausea forces his throat to constrict.
He shouldn't go to bed. Scaring Veritas and waking him with his nightmares would be a disgusting prospect. He hadn't slept much in three days, though, and he wouldn't last the next three days without sleep.
A heaviness settles under his ribs like a ball of steel as he does climb onto the bed and lie down. Perhaps because he's tired, he'll sleep through the night without dreams? Aventurine glances at the closed door. Ratio is probably asleep by now. Aventurine scrolls through his phone for another hour, trying to cope with the anxiety and fatigue, but he falls asleep.
***
Aventurine shakes, pressing his back into the headboard and pulling his knees up to his chest. Waking up to his own screaming is disgusting. He hears footsteps outside the door. Ratio walks quietly, but for Aventurine, listening to other people's footsteps has become so habitual over the years that he can recognize him.
Veritas seems stood by the door. Great, Aventurine woke him up. Had he come to say that he is getting a private room for the next two days?
Aventurine blinks frequently, but it still mackles in front of his eyes due to the tears coming up. He's ruining everything again
"How are you feeling?" Veritas decides to go in after all and the genuine concern in his gaze is a knife to the heart.
"It's okay," Aventurine lies, but his choked, half-suffocated voice gives him away. There's nothing normal about him. He's nothing but trouble and trouble and trouble. Veritas shouldn't be so nice to him.
Everything is blurred black around the edges again due to hyperventilation. It's as if a foot has been placed on his chest, and all he has to do is gasp helplessly.
"Gambler, breathe and listen to my voice, okay?" Ratio steps closer and reaches out a hand – the movement is slow and careful as all get-out – but Aventurine still jerks back. Veritas hesitates for a second, a look in the gambler's eyes, and then touches his trembling hand. He strokes the knuckles with his fingers, trying to ground him.
"Sorry," Aventurine's voice trails off into a croak, and he blinks, trying to keep the tears from spilling over, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I... I'm messing up again, I'm..." the words become incoherent – a crushing static noise of panic. His throat constricts, his windpipe feels like it's being squeezed-and it feels so much like his collar that a cold sense of terror rushes through his veins. Everything blurs and blackness licks the edges of his vision.
"Breathe. You can do it, breathe," Ratio holds his hands and the tenderness is so similar to the tenderness with which his sister held him when they recited the prayer that Aventurine's heart bleeds. Veritas breathes exaggeratedly with him, "There you go, you're doing great," He seems to be able to grab some air, but his lungs are still burning from the lack. His chest felt like it was being torn from the inside out by claws.
It's getting better with each breath. Aventurine focuses his gaze on Ratio's concerned face, and the pathetic apology rolls off his tongue again.
"What are you apologizing for, gambler?" Veritas asks softly, still stroking his hands, "there's no way you can control panic attacks and nightmares, so apologizing for having them doesn't make sense".
"But that doesn't change the fact that I turned a nice, comfortable evening into this shit," Aventurine throws, no longer looking Ratio in the face. His head is lowered. The gambler wants to cling his fingernails into his skin, leave red streaks on his neck, sink into his hair, and yank to burn with pain.
Veritas sighs and answers, his voice like delectation – no rushing or tone raising.
"I really enjoyed the evening. And you know why I liked about it?" Ratio leans closer to him, "because I got to spend it with you. Because I like your company, I like talking to you, I like you. And the show of your mental traumas do nothing to change my mind," Ratio says, the heat and conviction in his words and that infinite sincerity again. Veritas lets go of his hands and touches his face gently, throwing strands of hair, his fingers touching the earring weightlessly, "I love you, Aventurine. I will love you no matter what".
Aventurine would like to drown in the copper glow of those eyes, nothing more is needed. Ratio is so close to him that one movement and he can touch his lips. The gambler squints and push forward.
Their kiss is tart - a mixture of honey and sandalwood. Refinement and greed. Touching - gold and blessing on the skin and an attempt to press closer, the embers of affection burning in every movement.
Aventurine pulls toward him, and they fall together on the bed. He rests his head comfortably on Veritas' chest, still sleepy and exhausted from the constant nightmares. Aventurine enjoys the warmth, his palm resting where his heart beats. Ratio strokes the top of his head, looking at the gambler huddled against him from under half-closed eyelids.
They kiss lazily and leisurely a couple more times - slumber rolls in like the ebb and flow of the tides, and dawn is still faintly warm outside the window. They have plenty of time: they will talk in the morning.
And Aventurine will shatter again with shards of doubt and distrust, and Ratio will never tire of repeating how much he loves him. But that will be in the morning. In the morning.