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The incident with Acheron should have been the end of it.

A shattered cornerstone. A giant gash marking the meeting between the metaphysical and physical. A chaotic ensemble of higher-ups that would have to foot the bill. Aventurine hadn’t thought he’d still be here. Frankly, he’d expected that by now, he’d have skipped off into the sunset, his only consequences being a slap on the wrist and the looming threat of being sent off to his execution via a democratic vote from his colleagues. Either that, or be already dead by now.

He was met with neither. Instead, his punishment came in the form of still being stuck on this big hunk of rock called Penacony, forced to stew in the results of his actions while, well, yes, his colleagues debated executing him or not via democratic vote.

He hadn’t returned to the grounds of the incident since its happening. The photo (un)kindly sent by the Trailblazer had been enough – that and Ratio’s description of the damage. And oh, Ratio.

Aventurine could only conclude that it was because of him that he had so much as bothered to leave his hotel room. Ratio, with his smudged eyeliner and shaky demands to eat something and truly awful attempts to seem calm as he lugged Aventurine out of the shimmering bathtub. Actors were, of course, in their essence, well-loved liars, and liars recognized each other. Especially when they had been lying together beforehand.

“I read your note,” he had managed to slur out, both disgusted at how conscious he was and relieved that the pain hadn’t hit him full force yet. Then, he proceeded to stumble and step on Ratio’s foot. He didn’t think Ratio even noticed. “See how well I followed the doctor’s orders?~”

Aventurine did not miss the way Ratio’s fingers trembled over his wet clothes and gripped him a little too hard – harder than he already had been – instead deciding to humour the man’s best try at huffing and rolling his eyes. “Make a habit of it. And keep yourself away from situations that would beget their necessity in the first place.”

“But then there wouldn’t be any reason for you to pepper me with such optimistic words anymore…”

Ratio scowled then, so suddenly and viscerally that Aventurine could hold no doubt in its genuinity, even if he wanted to try.

“Be serious for once in your life, gambler. Are you still not satisfied with your playtime even after having toyed with your life so recklessly?”

“So much time together and yet you still haven’t figured out how I tick! I’m surprised.”

“So am I,” he snapped. Then, quieter, “I still don’t understand how you find such pleasure in flaunting your luck in the face of your mortality.”

“You aided me.”

Ratio swallowed thickly. Despite how desperate he seemed to toss Aventurine onto the couch, tie him up, and be done with it so his troublemaking days would be over, he was gentle when he lowered him down. “So I did.”

Such an acquiescent murmur – unlike the doctor.

Hell, now Aventurine felt bad.

He cleared his throat, mind still swimming but less so than when he had first awakened. He did not mention the fact that Ratio was still clutching his arm, fingers rigid and unmoving. It was low-hanging fruit. Well, that, and the fact that it seemed to toe the line too closely between teasing and cruel. Instead, Aventurine reached up, resting his own hand atop Ratio’s. The leather of his gloves had turned cold now that he was out of the bathtub, and uncomfortably wet.

A shiver, and suddenly Ratio was leaning down and easing Aventurine’s jacket off him. “Isn’t this – Dreamscape sludge supposed to dry quicker compared to regular water?”

“Well, we all know who screwed that up.”

Ratio glanced back to him.

He shrugged. “It’s my theory, at least. The place must be working overtime right now. Probably has a bunch of other issues and whatnot. I think this ‘Dreamscape sludge’ you speak of just turned into regular water when I got out.”

“…Oh.” Ratio gave a delayed nod. “I suppose.”

“Had you not thought of that possibility?”

“No, not yet, considering it hasn’t even been more than ten minutes.”

Aventurine’s eyebrow raised. Really, because if he had managed to come up with the idea that nearly blowing up the Dreamscape would lead to adverse effects, surely Ratio should have.

He never got to the point of opening his mouth to say so however, because as he turned to point it out, that the man with eight PhDs had surely thought up such a conclusion and then some, he faltered.

Ratio still hadn’t moved from his too-close spot next to Aventurine – in fact, Aventurine would argue that he wasn’t even aware of their proximity. His eyes stayed glued on the other’s left shoulder as a finger traced circles on his damp wrist.

He gambled with a lot, but perhaps he wouldn’t gamble with the only lasting partnership he had.

“Thanks for helping me out, doc. Even though the plan was kind of… y’know.”

Something clicked in Ratio’s eyes as he suddenly became keenly aware of their distance (or lack thereof). “Of course.” His fingers loosened and let go, forcing themselves back to his sides as he pretended to scoff. “Is this the end of your scheming? I pray you won’t have anymore reason to go running around so carelessly.”

Aventurine pursed his lips and concluded that for the best, he should be kind – and somewhat honest. “Of course. I’ve had my fun now. You don’t need to worry anymore.” He waited for Ratio to relax his shoulders before he tried to attempt some form of normalcy, then smirked. “Would it look bad on your record if employers found out one of your workplace companions lost their life on a trip with you?”

“Only workplace companion.”

“No need to go trying to make me feel special, doc. I know you’ve got plenty more colleagues than just me.”

Ratio scoffed and crossed his arms. Aventurine prepared for a long scolding about poorly timed jokes, only to be met with a soft mumble instead.

“Yet you’re the only one I can truly call a ‘friend’.”

Aventurine froze – then pretended he hadn’t as he chuckled and slid an arm around Ratio’s shoulder. “What was that? Is the great doctor suggesting that he’s lonely?”

Ratio shot him a look, yet made no move to push him away. “Don’t be absurd. I’m surrounded by too many people to have ever had such a thought.”

.

.

.

Aventurine isn’t sure what dragged him back into the Dreamscape. Boredom, perhaps – outside of said Dreamscape, a majority of the habitable section of Penacony is simply the large hotel that houses the tourists’ unconscious bodies. Outside of drinking yourself into a stupor and watching luggage get carted to and fro, there isn’t much to do. The main appeal of Penacony is the Dreamscape, of course. Why would they bother putting attractions outside of it?

His second reason feels more foolish to confess. Common. The cause behind many travellers’ week-long stays turning into extended holidays.

Aventurine does not want to return to reality.

He himself does not understand why. He doesn’t care for the flashing lights and endless amenities and thrilling entertainment. As an IPC Stoneheart (for now, he winces, thinking back to the debate his higher-ups must certainly be having about him at the moment) he has all of it and more, just the snap of a finger away. Better, even, because it is real. Yet there is something comforting in the sameness of the Dreamscape, the constant night and partying and carelessness, where there is nothing to do but let go.

Pleasurable as is, even Stonehearts must deal with the qualms of day-to-day uncertainties. Stresses. Reminders.

Here, it is often too loud to think. Aventurine finds it a blessing.

He is certain that Ratio must understand with what must be his thirty-something degrees – that and his acceptance of the situation.

In the few moments each day that Aventurine surfaces, Ratio is always in his room. Watching. He doesn’t even so much as leave for food; instead, the hotel staff deliver it.

He looks tired.

Aventurine almost suggests that he should join him, but does not think that it would be taken well. He doesn’t think Ratio likes the Dreamscape very much.

Or at least not the jagged, red gash that darkens the twilight sky further.

And so, Aventurine returns after spouting his usual hollow words to Ratio.

“Wake me if you need anything. Or if my lovely fellow Stonehearts come to a conclusion about me within the next century. …And doctor? If you go out, it would do you good to reapply your eyeliner.”

Despite his arguments suggesting otherwise, Aventurine often finds himself squeezing past the crowds to find a quiet place within the Dreamscape. There are many if you know where to look – either that, or he had been too high off of whatever Sunday had given him to notice anyone but the little boy he had been trailing.

The little boy.

Aventurine’s mind drifts off to him – not for the first time and certainly not for the last. So small and blameless with those bright eyes and cheery smile. Optimistic. Naïve. Everything Aventurine forgot he once was.

The first few times he returned to the Dreamscape he had wondered if the little boy would still be there, then hoped to the goddess above that he wasn’t. An endless night full of drunkards and slot machines is no place for a child. Still, it does not stop Aventurine from wandering through the isolated areas of the city, unsure of what exactly it is he’s looking for.

Perhaps just silence. There is already so much noise in his own world. At least here he can have a break.

He chooses to not think about how foolish it is that he’s spending what could be his final weeks within a dream. He chooses to not think about how foolish Ratio would think it is.

Somehow, Aventurine has grown tired. It had been true, his theory over the Dreamscape’s state. Well, that’s a problem for The Family. With a huff, he glances around the empty plaza. For once, there’s no one around. Must all be shopping or clubbing or something. Maybe there’s a show going on that he hadn’t heard about.

Aventurine doesn’t mind. It means he doesn’t have to go far to find a quiet spot.

…Maybe he doesn’t want to go to a quiet spot. Pausing as he turns the corner of the block, he is certain that he can hear the voice of a child. Muffled and barely there, but a child nonetheless. But it can’t be, no. Not really a child. They weren’t allowed in the Dreamscape, and it certainly can’t be his head conjuring something up again. Probably just a trick of an echo or something.

He follows it. Slowly, and he can’t help the embarrassment that begins to rise. There’s no child, yet here he is blindly searching for one.

Fruitlessly it seems, because after fifteen minutes and still nothing, Aventurine is about to turn right back around and pretend like nothing ever happened. He can make the argument that there’s no one here to watch his fumbling around anyway, but the bite in his chest remains.

There is more than just one voice now. Aventurine knows for certain, but isn’t entirely sure when the transition had occurred. He’s only noticed now. That, and the sharp, distinct ring of a school bell.

This is stupid. He should stop.

It takes him another ten minutes to finally convince himself. By then, he has found himself back in the center of the large plaza, hands stuck in his pockets as he glances around. Well, he found nothing, and now his feet are tired on top of that. A long sigh escapes as he makes his way over to the nearest bench and nearly collapses into it.

…

There’s someone sitting next to him. How long have they been there? Did they see him wander around in circles for half an hour? He hopes not.

A minute goes by. Discreetly, Aventurine glances to his right.

A Pepeshi, Aventurine assumes. Whatever Sunday had sent through his system has long since run its course. Of course, he can’t exactly check for the fluffy little antenna above their head when they are buried nose-deep in a book nearly a third their size. The answer is no, then. They must not have seen. …Still, Aventurine allows himself a subtle glance at the book’s cover.

A white hardcover; gold trim and lettering with a matching bookmark. He doesn’t recognize the alphabet, let alone the words. Something foreign. An academic piece based on the tiny print and the fact that every few lines there seems to be a pair of brackets of sorts for what he figures are citations. Not like he’d know. Aventurine’s experience in the field of academics begins and ends with whatever information Ratio decides to dump on him whenever they have nothing else to talk about.

Speaking of which, if Aventurine squints at the page (subtly of course), he can manage to make out a few numbers. These at least he can recognize. He’s not too surprised. Different alphabets are common; different number systems less so. The diagrams are unfamiliar to him, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Ratio could understand them. Could probably launch into an hour-long lecture about their significance too if he wanted to.

“Have you heard of Fibonacci’s sequence?”

Aventurine’s eyes dart away from the page, pretending to have never even noticed the person next to him. He looks around.

“Yes, I’m talking to you. Do you see anyone else around?”

The voice sounds young, incredibly so. A Pepeshi it must be, confirms Aventurine. He glances to the side, chuckling slightly. “Ah, so you were. My apologies, friend. My mind was somewhere else.”

“Still seems that way to me,” comes a grumble from behind the book. “And I’m not your ‘friend’. I am nothing more than a stranger to you.”

He shuts his eyes and lets out another laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing. My apologies. I’m but a businessman, so I’m not quite used to doing away with the false pleasantries. It tends to come with the job.” When Aventurine returns his gaze to the stranger (not friend), they have lowered their book, instead resting it on their lap as they glare up at the blonde.

And Aventurine freezes.

Because the individual before him does not possess a fluffball on the end of their antenna – in fact, there is no antenna present at all. Instead, Aventurine finds himself being peered at by a regular little boy – if he can call him that. He is filled with a sudden surge of déjà vu, and cannot help but feel that he has been here before, on the receiving end of such a sharp, knowing gaze. And Aventurine realizes with a start as he takes note of the boy’s appearance – the amber eyes, the violet hair, the codex in his hands that fits in perfectly with the whites and blues and golds that he is so familiar with – that he has. Suddenly, it all clicks into place.

Oh.

Oh great Goddess above.

His silence lasts a moment too long, because Ratio(?) is turning away now, his interest having waned. “Never mind. Forget it then, if you don’t care.”

What the hell is he doing here?! The memoria is acting strange, surely, but not this strange! Certainly not this strange.

Aventurine’s panic forces him to push these questions to the side as he quickly protests, attempting to sound as calm and sane as possible, “no, I am! I’m sorry, you- …your book just reminded me of someone I know. That’s all. I truly am interested. There’s no need to leave.”

A scoff. “I wasn’t going to.”

(The look in his eyes says otherwise.)

The corner of Aventurine’s mouth twitches, but desperate to goad the boy into staying, he adds, “my friend – he’s a scholar. He loves math, just like the types in your book. He often speaks of it to me. Do you want to be a mathematician when you grow up?”

“Is this ‘friend’ of yours an actual friend, or merely another stranger that you insist is one?”

Ouch.

“An actual one, thank you very much…”

“Alright.” He seems slightly more interested than he had prior, but that isn’t exactly saying much. “And if you will, refrain from speaking to me like I’m only a child. I assure you – I am more than capable of keeping a conversation at your level. Most of the adults I’ve met are imbeciles, anyway.”

Yup. If there had ever been a doubt in Aventurine’s mind of who this kid would grow up to be, it would have been eradicated completely with that response. He sighs. “Of course. And I wholeheartedly agree. There are many such instances where I’ve had to face an imbecile or two.”

“Awful, isn’t it? No matter what you try to say to them, they just ignore you and carry on, regardless of how much evidence you present.”

Aventurine has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing. He recalls having this exact conversation with Ratio just recently. It seems his passion for educating the masses began early into his infantile years.

“Exactly.” He motions towards the large book sitting on Ratio – the boy’s – lap. It feels bizarre to address him by his name, silly as it sounds. As if tacking a title onto this phenomenon would make it more personal. Aventurine would not want his anomaly around anyone else in this Dreamscape but himself. He wonders if Ratio would feel the same. To some degree, he’s scared of the little thing in front of him.

(Of what it might show him.)

Ratio puts so much effort into making sure people perceive him in a specific way. To possibly sidestep it all seems almost violating.

He looks no older than eight. Nine, if Aventurine were to really push it. What was he like at that age? Nothing like he is now, that much had been clear to him even before he stared at his past self in that park.

Yet regardless, for some inexplicable reason, he continues on.

“Well, stranger, it seems we’re on the same page.” He extends his hand. “You can call me Aventurine.”

Without ever outright asking, he has made what he wants clear. The boy seems to understand this as well, left leg bouncing slightly as he glares in annoyance. A finger traces over the diagram on the page – Aventurine doesn’t think it has ever stopped to begin with. The boy is making it abundantly obvious that anything that is not related to the subject he is so clearly fixated on is a hassle to discuss.

At least he’s aware of stranger danger. Too bad it’s with a stranger he can trust.

“I like to know the names of whoever I’m learning from,” he prompts. “And I’ve never heard of such a sequence of Fi-Fibo…”

“Fibonacci,” the boy corrects quickly. “Fibonacci’s sequence.” Then, a bit quieter, perhaps after determining that Aventurine is safe, or if not safe, at least interesting, “my name is Veritas Ratio.”

The syllables are soft on Veritas’s tongue, gentle and fluid and practiced. And now, with that final confirmation, Aventurine allows himself to truly process what, or rather who, he is looking at.

“That’s a beautiful name,” Aventurine murmurs. He feels Veritas’s small hand reach out and grab his hand in a sufficient shake. He seems so shy now. He was anything but just a moment ago. “Now, Veritas-” he glances at Veritas, searching for a reaction. A correction, an objection – nothing. It seems perfectly natural. Aventurine has always felt it improper to use Ratio’s first name. Surely nothing bad would happen, but – well, everyone else just calls him ‘Ratio.’ “Tell me about Fibonacci’s sequence.”

Veritas pulls his hand away from Aventurine’s. He scoots closer to him, nearly nestling into the man’s side. Endearing, but Aventurine can’t quite figure out why until he picks up the book and sets it down between them. Ah. They’re sharing it now, and suddenly Aventurine feels a warm sensation within his chest that nearly aches.

He’s so small.

Veritas points to the header of the page. “Can you read this?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“That’s okay.” His finger shifts down a line to the paragraph below it. Clearly, he’s pointing to where the information is, yet he does not look at the content once as he raises his head to instead meet Aventurine’s gaze. “Leonardo Bonacci was a man that lived several dozen centuries ago on a planet, Earth, within an isolated star system. He was a mathematician who spent a large majority of his life studying the methods of mathematics throughout various nations. Eventually, his discoveries lead him to his greatest work: Fibonacci’s sequence.” He glances up. “…But you may also know it by a different name: the Golden Ratio.”

Aventurine bites his tongue. Of course the math topic Veritas loves so dearly is the one that matches his name. That’s so-

That’s too cute. Seriously, he feels a headache coming on.

“Yes, now that I think of it, I may have heard it in passing.”

A nod. “It’s created by adding the sum of the last two numbers in the sequence together, starting from zero and one. So: zero, one, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen, twenty-one, thirty-four, and so on.”

“But I thought the Golden Ratio was that lopsided swirl.”

“That’s where the sequence comes into play. If you draw out squares where the side lengths are equal to the number it is supposed to represent – one being one centimeter, two being two- and stack them in a manner where the squares come together to form a large rectangle,” Veritas gestures to the diagram on the page displaying said scenario, “you can…” he lifts the book up higher for Aventurine and traces out a line through the squares, “see the swirl you speak of.”

“Ah…”

“As for the Golden Ratio itself, it is an irrational number that is approximately 1.618.”

“Approximately? Have they not figured it out?”

“Well, if I tried to give you its exact value we’d be here forever.” When Aventurine smiles at that, Veritas raises an eyebrow. “I do not mean that as an expression. The number does not terminate nor repeat. Instead, it is represented by the letter ‘phi’.”

“Pi?”

“No, that’s a different irrational number.” It seems to take great self-control to not launch into a lecture on that number now too. “But the pronunciations are quite similar. Phi. You can find the numerical Golden Ratio by taking a line and dividing it in two such that the whole length divided by the long side is equivalent to the long side divided by the short side. Its exact value is given by adding one to the square root of five, then dividing by two.”

“And there would be an infinite number of digits.”

“After the decimal point, yes.”

“That’s weird. I would have thought if you had an infinite number of things that it would be big.”

Aventurine means it as a joke, but Veritas is more than willing to take it seriously. He lowers the book back onto their laps again to free up his hands and begins to explain. “Despite the fact that you have a never-ending number of digits, it is beyond the decimal point. You have one and an infinite number that is smaller than one. Therefore, it’s still not larger than two, instead, the numbers merely grow in insignificance the further down the line you go.” His gestures seem to represent a number line, and for a little child, he is incredible with articulating his words. Aventurine wonders if those in the IPC that drag on meetings for hours with pointless fluff would be willing to accept lessons from an eight-year-old.

“You’d be a good professor. You’re an engaging speaker – easy to understand as well. Despite me not having a clue about much of any of this stuff, your explanations still make sense.”

Aventurine is surprised when Veritas blushes. “I know. But you seem to be better than much of the other adults I’ve had the misfortune of speaking with.”

“Oh? Well, I’m honoured. How so?”

“You’re actually interacting with me, for one thing. Engaging in the information I’ve given you. That’s rare.”

To be fair, Aventurine does have an upper hand. He’s already chatted with Ratio many times, and is more than aware of what questions to ask to really get him going. But still-

“Not many people listen?”

“Not many people do more than just listen. …Maybe you’re just more well-versed than other adults.”

Aventurine smirks. “Maybe. But can I tell you a secret?”

Childish curiosity wins over as Aventurine leans in, and Veritas cranes his neck upwards. “Yes.”

“I’ve never been to school.”

Veritas’s eyes widen. “Oh… Is that why you were incapable of reading my book?”

“No, I just don’t know the language. I learned to read later.”

“I see… Did you learn math too, then?”

“Not by the same means. Basic, yes. But most of the higher topics I’ve heard of are all from that scholar I was telling you about. …But I suppose he tutored me in plenty other subjects as well.”

“What’s his name? Perhaps I’ve heard of him if he’s published enough.”

Maybe that wouldn’t be the best idea.

“He prefers to keep an anonymous profile, so I can’t really say… But you remind me of him quite a bit.”

“Me? Really? How so?”

“Where should I start… your interests, for one thing. You’re both quite blunt with your words. It’s a nice change compared to the rest of the people I have to deal with, actually.”

“I see…”

“And he’s a real smarty-pants, just like you.”

“There’s no need to be condescending.”

“Whaaat? I’m telling the truth! When I was your age, I was hitting rocks with sticks!”

“Still…”

Aventurine can’t help but laugh when Veritas crosses his arms and huffs. “Anyways… Is the Golden Ratio your favourite… er- ratio? Or math topic?”

Veritas blinks. Puts a hand on his chin. Lets out a hum. He’s thinking so hard that Aventurine almost expects an apple to materialize above him and bounce off his head.

He’s puzzled. Over this of all things.

“I don’t know,” he finally confesses, “no one’s asked me anything like that before.”

“Lucky me getting to be the first, then.”

Veritas nods, but doesn’t reply.

“…Are you… still thinking about it?”

The silence is a resounding yes. Aventurine chuckles. He really is a little kid.

“Don’t take it too seriously. You can change your mind, y’know.”

Still no response.

“Then… how about this: right now, in this very time and place, which one’s your favourite?

Now Veritas seems capable of snapping out of his stupor. “The Golden Ratio,” he answers without a hitch.

That was a bit quicker.

“Why?”

Confusion paints Veritas’s face once more. He sits, mute as his finger traces the diagram again and again and again-

A never-ending spiral.

He makes some attempt at a noise, then shuts his mouth.

Aventurine lowers his voice to a near whisper. “…Veritas?”

“Quiet. I’m thinking.” He shuts his eyes and his free hand tightens into a fist. He doesn’t even seem to be breathing.

And then it’s over.

“It’s everywhere. In shells, flowers, seeds – the sky, the ocean, the land – it’s so common in nature that many people take it for granted despite how incredible it is. It’s the structure and basis of so much and you can’t help but wonder how so many different organisms can all form the same pattern. We as humans use it for countless endeavours as well. Building. Filmmaking. Photography. Painting. It’s so complex yet so simple.”

Aventurine nods. And then goes silent. Suddenly he’s remembering all the times Ratio’s pointed out staircases or plants or pictures with the same formula.

“…Why are you here?”

Aventurine blinks. Isn’t that the question he should be asking?

“I heard voices. And a bell. Is there a school somewhere around here? Is that where you should be right now? …Regardless, I was curious since there didn’t seem to be any activity in this area. So, I followed them, was met with nothing, and decided to take a seat since I was tired. That’s when I met you, friend.”

“Yes, there is one. But it’s a break right now. …And I said not to call me that.”

“We aren’t friends yet? You drive a hard bargain…”

Veritas is glaring again. Quietly. Aventurine notices that faintly, he can still hear the chattering of children from somewhere. No matter which way he turns his head there is nothing to see, nor does the noise get nearer. To be frank, it’s beginning to drive him a little mad.

“I don’t have friends.”

Aventurine looks back to Veritas. The boy is staring straight ahead. His fingers continue their swirls.

“I’m sure you must have someone, right? What about any of the kids over there?”

Nothing.

“Or- a classmate or two? A neighbor?”

Veritas’s free hand once again tightens into a fist. The swirls become faster. Suddenly, there is nothing Aventurine wishes for more in the world than an undo button.

“H-hey, listen, I-”

“I don’t have friends,” he insists, nearly snaps. “They distract. The only thing I’m focused on in my education. You asked earlier what I wanted to be when I quote unquote ‘grew up’. I think it is unnecessarily restraining to be only one thing, but if you must know, I’m going to become a member of the Genius Society.”

Aventurine has to keep himself from wincing at that. Exactly how long did it take Ratio to accept he would never earn Nous’s gaze? Let alone use it as a joke, he adds in his head, thinking back to their discussion while sneaking into the Oak Family’s manor.

“How clever you are. Perhaps we should see about getting you a spot in the Genius Society.”

“Really? I thought you had given up on that.”

“…I was being sarcastic.”

Aventurine’s gaze softens. “But wouldn’t it be nice having people with you to celebrate your achievements?”

“My satisfaction and ability to educate will be more than enough reward.”

He’s adamant. Aventurine at the very least has to give him that. Ratio never seemed too inclined to chat with others at parties anyway, usually retreating as far from all the noise as possible with a scowl on his face and remaining there until Aventurine finished flitting around possible business partners with an untouched glass of wine and shot him a text telling him that it was safe to come out. Maybe he’s just not a people person. Aventurine doubts that’s all. Still, he doesn’t want to push the poor kid when all he wants to talk about is math.

Acquiescent, he ceases his questioning. “Alright.”

The silence returns. Stiffer this time. The noise of the children swells into laughter, then returns to its inaudible volume.

Veritas’s voice is small the next time he speaks, and his words seem to be absent of any eloquence. “Do you have friends?”

“Yes – but not many. I talk to a lot of people, but I’d only call a few of them my friends. …It can get a little lonely sometimes, I must admit.”

“Oh.” He hesitates for a moment. “Aventurine?”

The syllables seem forced. Aventurine notes that this is the first time the boy has called him by his name. “Yes?”

“Is the scholar you’re talking about really one of your friends?”

He lets out a huff of a laugh. “Yes. Before, I called him ‘friend’ a lot just to get a rise out of him. We weren’t really anything more than coworkers. I wasn’t even entirely sure if he liked me or not. But, as time went on, I came to find that he did. …Quite a bit. I had been rather surprised, to be honest.”

“Why?”

“…I’m not the easiest person to get along with.”

“But he likes you regardless?”

“Yeah.”

“Does he simply ignore your difficult characteristics?”

“Not really, no,” Aventurine replies, and finds that now Veritas is the one asking all the questions, “at least I don’t think so. I like to believe he accepts all of me, even the less agreeable bits.”

“Like what?”

It feels strange to rattle off all his issues to an eight-year-old, even if said eight-year-old already knows all of this – twenty years into the future, that is. “You really wanna hear?”

A nod. His eyes are almost pleading – and impossible to say no to.

Maybe just a small list, then. He doesn’t seem to be the type of kid who would take kindly to being told no to something like this. Aventurine blows out a long puff of air. “…Alright. Where should I start… Well, how about the worst?” He gently nudges the boy with a wink. “I’m a gambler. Quite a good one I’d say, but he doesn’t tend to appreciate it. Says that if I’m not careful, it’s all going to catch up one day.”

Veritas wrinkles his nose. “I’d say the same.”

“Yes you would.”

He continues. “I’m reckless and illogical, apparently. And cause a great amount of stress for him. Really, I should be paying for his headache medication. …Hm, what else… Ah, I turn everything into a joke when the situation requires seriousness. And I find it extraordinarily difficult to be genuine with the people I care about.” He claps his hands together. “There’s more, but those are the ones I can think of off the top of my head, and I’d hate to bore you.” He smiles, but Veritas doesn’t return it. Not that he has before. Aventurine thinks the most emotion he’s seen on him so far was when he had been talking about his sequence.

“When you word it like that, it makes you sound awful.”

“Hm, yeah… It does, doesn’t it?”

“But you’re not.”

“Quite the quick conclusion to come to, isn’t it, little scholar? We haven’t even known each other for a day.”

“Perhaps, but…” He trails off. Then starts again. “Why are you here?”

“I told you, haven’t I? To rest my legs.”

“And you have. This isn’t a bus stop, so there’s no need to stay. And you proclaim yourself a businessman. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Sure I do.” Aventurine pats the bench. “Right here.”

“That’s not-…”

Veritas goes quiet for a very long time.

Aventurine lets himself wonder how he got into this situation. This is not similar to his last experience in the slightest. For one thing, he is completely sober. He takes a closer look at Veritas. Ratio always has a commanding aura to him, towering over others as he discusses topics with such fervor that he leaves no doubt in anyone’s minds of his expertise. He debates coolly, and with a sterile distance. And then he is gone, off to complete his next piece of work in another incredibly niche field of study.

Veritas does not seem to exude a single one of these characteristics. He’s small, of course, and while his insights are just as interesting as he would have been at any other life stage, they lack that specific Ratio flair. Certainty, perhaps. Aventurine has not failed to notice how Veritas spent most of his explanations watching for his reactions. And as for the distance – well, physically at least, he has not shifted positions since he scooted into Aventurine to show him the page.

Feeling Veritas’s tiny body leaning against his fills him with that same terrible ache.

And Aventurine finally understands.

Veritas looks so desperate for him to stay.

“I don’t have anywhere to be at all. My work is finished for now. Lucky me, right? I get to stay here and chat with you.” He crosses one leg over the other and leans back.

“Mm…”

“So, Veritas, do you have any hobbies? Other than the obvious.”

“Obvious?”

“Studying.”

“That’s silly. At the end of the day, all hobbies involve learning of some kind.”

“Fine then… Let me rephrase my question: what studying do you like to do that isn’t for school?”

“…I um… I like to sculpt.”

“Sculpt? Like what?”

“Ducks sometimes. And a few busts. I’m not very good yet.”

He supposes he can’t be too surprised with the content. “Do you know how many projects you’ve done?”

“Only a few.”

“I see. I’ve never really had the time to do much art. Is sculpting your favourite?”

A shrug.

“Done any others?”

“Yes.”

“Like what, painting, or…”

“Some.”

It doesn’t take a genius to notice that Veritas’s engagement has quickly slipped. His mind seems occupied, perhaps with math again, and gently, Aventurine glances down at the sidewalk and takes the wheel.

“I myself, despite the obvious, still like to think I have some hobbies other than gambling… For example, I’m a good dancer. That’s an art, right? Dance? Waltz, ballroom… The tango, if I try hard enough… Not that it ever comes in handy. Contrary to popular belief, going undercover does not mean there will be an obligatory scene at a ball where you must dance with lovely lady after lovely lady as you try to get closer to your target across the floor… I wish, though. But, if it were up to me, I’d simply approach whomever I wanted to apprehend and asked them to dance right there. Much more convenient.”

“What are you, a peacock?”

“Some say.”

A scoff. “You don’t make much sense. You always seem to be talking about things within things within things.”

“I thought you’d have fun trying to figure it out.”

“Do you do this with everyone you meet?”

“Essentially.”

“I can’t see how anyone would want to spend time with you,” he mumbles.

Aventurine tries to smile and keeps his eyes on the ground. It’s a child. It’s just a child. Yet he can’t help how the embarrassment curls up his throat. It’s something he wonders a lot himself. “I know. It amazes me every time too. Must be my unmatched charisma making up for it. …Kidding, of course. I’m more professional during business ventures, trust me. There’s a weird amount of etiquette to follow for some reason – half the time it’s not even useful. It’s not for respect’s sake, more so for inflating their egos with more pomp and circumstance so they’ll give you money, you know?” He’s more than aware that he’s carrying the conversation at this point. Is it rude? Is Veritas just tired? If he was bothered by it, Aventurine would have been told so by now. The boy clearly has no qualms about brutal honesty. Still, he chooses to lay off. “Sorry. I started rambling – nothing you care about, I’m sure. Why don’t we-” As he turns to look down at him, the words die on his tongue.

Veritas sits, hunched over on the edge of the bench with his fingers digging into his bare knees. His wavy bangs have fallen into his eyes, and despite his obscured face, Aventurine can clearly make out that his cheeks are wet.

He truly and honestly freezes. And says nothing.

Veritas had been so quiet. And still, now, he makes not a single sound that would give him away.

How long has he been like this?

This did not happen before. Before, the last child shed not a single tear. Before, there was nothing on his face but glee. Before, the only course of action was obvious – make sure he did not leave his sight. Before-

Aventurine doesn’t know how to handle this. He isn’t built for anything like this. He himself had not known comfort until recently, let alone how to do so, and it was always Ratio – Ratio, Ratio, Ratio-

He blinks as the world comes back into focus. His hands are out, ever so slightly, shielding himself from Veritas. For what? What does he need to protect against a crying child?

He still has Ratio’s note in his pocket. Each time he shifts, he can feel it pressing against his thigh. And he comes to the realization that if he does nothing, he will never, ever forgive himself.

Aventurine forces himself to breathe. And steadily, “…Veritas-”

“How can anyone stand to be around you?!”

And he goes mute again.

“You wander around aimlessly, you speak as though you have something to hide, you tell some random child about your issues just because he asked, you’re illogical, it’s- ill-illogical-”

Panic. Panic rears its ugly head yet Aventurine’s only choice is to stamp it out. “Is- is that why you’re crying? I’m sorry, was I being too personal?” He’s an idiot. An idiot for thinking that a younger Ratio and an older Ratio would have the same reactions to everything simply because they’re the same people.

“No!”

“Too close? Is it the noise? Or the lights? Are you cold?” Now he’s just listing things that he knows makes Ratio irate. “Or too hot? I could get you some water-”

He is not graced with a response. Still, Aventurine keeps trying. He has everything in the world. But if he can’t even comfort a child with it, what good is it all for?

“Just tell me what’s wrong and I’ll make it go away.”

“There’s nothing to make go away.”

“Try me.” Aventurine is more than aware that he is trying to bargain with a little kid. He doesn’t stop. “Veritas-”

“There’s nothing to make go away,” he repeats in a wobbly whisper- “you can’t remove absence and replace it with nothingness and expect to change a single thing.”

This feels futile. Children cry for no reason, but this is much too sudden. As the adult, Aventurine can’t help but take the blame.

You can’t cry over nothing. There’s always something, isn’t there? Whether it be as small as one too many errors after a long day, or as large as the synapses in your brain simply refusing to work.

But-

His ears are ringing.

You don’t cry over nothing. No one cries over nothing-

But over nothing in which there should be something.

Aventurine, for all his lack of formal schooling, knows how to put two and two together:

Veritas is lonely.

Veritas is so, so lonely.

Uselessly, Aventurine turns to look at him again, his tiny body trembling against the force of his own sobs. And reaches out. His hands meet Veritas’s shoulders, and the boy doesn’t resist when he is turned to face him. The hesitation lasts only a moment before he is wrapping his arms around him. A moment more, and Aventurine has to bite back a very ungraceful noise of surprise as Veritas’s arms squeeze around his waist. The book, threatening to slip off his lap, is quickly moved to the side before it can hit the ground. The front of his shirt will be soaked by the end of this. He couldn’t care less. His hand finds its way up to the back of Veritas’s head, carding through the soft, dark waves, and he finds himself wondering how his Ratio would cry.

(How his Ratio has been crying.)

“You’ll be okay. I’m right here.” When the little Veritas starts to cough, Aventurine extends a careful hand and tries to turn his head to the side so he won’t choke on his tears, only for him to immediately press his face back into his chest. “Deep breaths now…”

He’s not good with children. Never has been. The idea of having any influence whatsoever over such an innocent creature frightens him if he’s being honest.

And yet, here he is.

By the time that Veritas’s sobs diminish to mere hiccups and sniffs, Aventurine has been holding him for nearly half an hour. Somewhere in the midst of it, he had begun to gently rock the boy from side to side. He finds that the vice grip digging into his body has lessened, and Veritas himself gone limp by the end, slipping into the warm, omniscient arms of a man who knows nothing. If not for the slow fluttering of his eyelashes against Aventurine’s wrist, he would have thought him to be completely asleep. All tuckered out… Aventurine can’t blame him. In fact, he feels a little jealous.

It is another half hour before Veritas finally gains the strength to rise, sniffling again as he wipes his face with his sleeve.

“Come here, dear heart.” Aventurine fishes a handkerchief out of his pocket, gently dabbing at the boy’s eyes, then moving down the rest of his face. With a hand still on Veritas’s back, he presses the cloth to his nose and simply instructs, “blow.” And only after he has smoothened out the wrinkles in Veritas’s clothes and brushed the dark hair out of his eyes, tucking any excess strands behind his ears, does he finally sit back.

“There you are. Do you feel any better now?”

A wordless nod and a pink blush are all that Aventurine is met with. He has to try his hardest not to laugh.

“No reason to be embarrassed, everyone should have a good cry every so often.” (He ignores the hypocrisy in him saying that.) “And you’re a kid. Cry if you feel like it. Expressing your emotions is good for your development. …Uh, probably. If our scholar was here, he’d word it much better.” Still, it still seems to hold some effect. Aventurine picks up the book, placing it back in Veritas’s hands, who welcomes it gratefully. Suddenly, he cannot help but wonder just how long this so called ‘break’ that Veritas described is. This is a dream. Maybe he’s truly lost it and he’s talking to a mere ghost of an idea, but he finds himself asking anyway, “just how long is this break of yours? Surely your classes should have begun again by now.”

“It’s only been a bit.”

“…Sure.” Aventurine eyes the boy again. “…You should talk to them, I think.”

“What?”

“To the children over there.”

Insistent as always, but this time with less strength in his voice, he repeats, “I don’t need-”

“I know,” he lies. “But, do you know what you do need?”

Veritas looks up.

“Connections.” Aventurine gives him a small, knowing smirk, like he’s letting him in on a great big secret just for the two of them. “You can still get by without them with a lot of luck and elbow grease, but it certainly makes it a whole lot easier when you know people. And you needn’t start when you’re an adult. Childhood friends go a long way. Who knows, maybe one of these days one of those folks will hit the jackpot. Become famous. Etcetera. And you know what’ll happen if you form a few close bonds with them? Do a little give and take? You might get a bigger payout than what you were aiming for. Think of it as an investment.” He’s more than aware that framing relationships as business ventures isn’t exactly the greatest way to encourage a child to branch out, but he’s equally aware that this would be the best way to convince him. “Each of those friends will eventually gain connections of their own. And if you play your cards right, you might just be able to get a whole lot of anything from a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy. At least, if I were in your shoes, that’s what I’d do.”

Veritas is skeptical, brow furrowed in suspicion. But he’s listening. It makes sense. “Is that what you did?”

“Ha, no. Didn’t really get the chance to build anything up naturally. I was one of the lucky few. …I’ll say it didn’t happen under the best of circumstances and leave it at that. So? What say you?”

Veritas doesn’t quite answer right away, eyes still on his textbook like if he stares at it for long enough, it’ll give him an answer. Faintly, in the background, the school bell rings again. And he rises.

“I know what you’re doing.” But then he turns. Looks Aventurine in the eye. Lets the grip on his book slacken. “Okay.”

Aventurine’s gaze softens. “I see. Well, that makes you more perceptive than most of the adults I have to deal with.”

And for the first time in their meeting, Veritas smiles. “You’re a very good actor, Aventurine. Though I know that’s not your real name.”

“So clever…”

“Will you tell me it?”

“One day. But, for right now,” Aventurine reaches out and once again tucks a wave of Veritas’s hair behind his ear, “time for you to go back to class. Okay?”

“Okay.” He gives Aventurine an obedient nod then hesitates, before wrapping his arms around him, burying his face in the crook of his neck. “Thank you.”

Aventurine’s hands find their way around him again. He’s not the first to let go. Veritas turns again, takes a few quick strides forward, then slows to a walking pace. He’s nearing the corner. And Aventurine suddenly finds himself standing, breath caught in his throat.

“Veritas!”

The boy looks back.

Aventurine jogs in front of him and kneels down, pulling a gold bobby-pin from his pocket. The same wave, predictably, has already fallen in front of his face once more. Gently, he presses the pin into Veritas’s hair, gives it a quick once-over to make sure it will stay put, and slides his hand down from his hair to his cheek.

“There. That’ll hold it until you get a proper clip. Now be good, alright?”

“Alright.”

His eyes, bright as the sunrise, stay on Aventurine’s own. Then, he gives him another quick hug, and he is gone. Beyond the corner, among the invisible sea of children whose voices swell into a choir and dissipate one by one.

Now, it is truly quiet in the Dreamscape. He remains in that same spot a few minutes more, kneeling on the concrete brick, then rises. The same tug pulling him towards the bathtub is gone. And he opens his eyes.

.

.

.

The hotel room was the same as it was before Aventurine slipped into the water. As he stood and dried himself off, at the very least no longer stumbling, he noted only a few minor changes. A breakfast tray sat on the coffee table – almost finished save for an untouched cup of coffee and a few pieces of fruit in a bowl. He helped himself to a grape and a slice of pineapple before slipping off the soggier articles on his body. A cup of water on the nightstand. The television playing some sort of Clockie cartoon with the volume nearly on mute. And Ratio, asleep on the couch with a knee up and an arm hanging off the edge. Still working at the remnants of the fruit salad, he flicked off the screen and peered down at the man.

After so long babysitting his little version, it took a moment for Aventurine to get used to the present-day Ratio. More muscular. Sharp. More handsome than cute, but still cute nonetheless. He wondered if his cheeks were still squishy. Chewing on a cube of cantaloupe, he decided to find out.

Poke.

Ratio immediately reacted, scrunching up his nose as his eyes slowly fluttered open.

“…Oops. Were you asleep, doc?”

A half-sigh half-grunt. “No, I was just curious about what the back of my eyelids looked like.”

“Ah. Well, carry on then.”

“Is that my fruit bowl you’re eating?”

“You were too busy looking at your eyelids, I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You were happy enough to disturb me by poking me in the face.”

“Wanted to how sound of a sleeper you are. If you’re not gonna try and get anymore shut eye, do you mind scooting over so I can have at least a corner of the couch?”

Ratio only responded with an unimpressed face.

A sigh. “Fine then. Be that way.” Swiftly, Aventurine lifted Ratio’s legs up, slid onto the couch, then lowered them onto his lap. “Now we’re both happy.”

“I- …never mind. Since you’re back, I… suppose I’ll tell you now instead of waiting for them to inform you.”

Aventurine’s perked up. “Oh- wait, they actually came to a decision? You’re serious?”

“Yes. Yesterday, actually.”

“And you didn’t think to wake me?”

Ratio’s face turned sour briefly before returning to his usual resting face. “I was under the impression that you didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Well, I’m here now. What’s the verdict?” His words had grown quicker. Suddenly, where he had once not cared at all, he cared very, very much. “Ratio?”

“You’re staying. Perhaps they thought that killing you off and trying to find a replacement would be too much effort, so you’ve been spared.”

(They both pretended like the relief evident in Ratio’s voice wasn’t obvious.)

“I see. Lucky me, I’ve won again.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a ‘win,’” he scoffed. “You shouldn’t have gotten yourself in such a situation to begin with.”

“Then next time I’ll be more careful, doctor’s orders.”

“The ‘doctor’s orders’ are that there should be no such ‘next time.’ Your life is more than just a poker chip to some people, you know.”

“Some people such as yourself?”

Ratio pulled his legs off Aventurine, crossing his arms tightly as he looked away. “Well, of- of course! How many more times must you make me repeat myself before you’re satisfied?”

“Aww, look who’s all shy now… Fine, I pinky promise to be safer from now on.”

“…”

“Give me your pinky, Ratio.”

“What do you take me for, a child?”

“Pinky! Now! C’mon, humour me just a bit? If you really want me safe and sound, you’ll do it.”

Ratio let out an exasperated huff. Then, he flicked his wrist out, holding up his pinky finger. Aventurine grinned. He interlocked it with his own, then gave it a firm shake.

“There, promise kept. You’ve just assured my longevity, doc. Be a little more cheery.”

“I’m plenty cheery.”

“Sure. You’re plenty cheery then. …So, does this mean I’m finally free from the purgatory known as this hotel room?”

“I suppose so…” Ratio stood up, taking a moment to stretch before extending his hand to Aventurine. “Having a bed again would be nice.”

He took it, pulling himself up. “You didn’t have to stay with me, y’know.”

“Yes, but I wanted to.” Slight hesitation. Then, Ratio added, “in the case that this would be your last few days, I wouldn’t want you to spend them without any accompaniment.”

“Now I feel bad for spending most of it in a bathtub.”

“Don’t. It’s only natural. And there’s not much to do in this corner of reality anyway.”

“If you say so…”

“If you want to leave, we should start packing our things.”

“Putting this on me as if you’re not equally as eager to get out of here, huh?”

“I never said that.” This time, when Ratio turned his head to the side as per usual when flustered, Aventurine paused.

Peeking out from under his laurel hairclip, just barely visible, was a gold bobby-pin.

Surprise flashed across his face, then a smile.

Thank you, malfunctioning memoria.

“Come help me fill the suitcases then, doc. You can help me pick the destination of our flight after…~”