Chapter Text
The restaurant glowed with the sort of quiet wealth that preferred understatement—crystal stems, muted jazz, soft laughter carefully trimmed not to echo.
Ratio sat perfectly composed, every motion deliberate, his white cuffs a study in restraint against the dark tablecloth.
Across from him, Aventurine had long abandoned the menu. His chin rested on one hand, eyes fixed on Ratio with the lazy focus of someone watching art move.
Ratio didn’t notice him, all quiet precision and impossible grace—like a statue admired for centuries, unaware of the eyes upon it.
“Curious establishment,” he murmured, gaze sweeping the room. “Every table tells its own hypothesis about human behavior.”
Aventurine’s lips quirked.
“You come here for behavioral studies, not the steak?”
“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” Ratio replied, eyes glinting faintly behind his glasses. “Take the table to your right—newly infatuated, still performing courtship rituals. The woman hasn’t touched her drink in ten minutes, too nervous to smudge her lipstick. The man, however, is on his third glass. A poor sign of self-control.”
Aventurine chuckled.
“Only you could turn date-night gossip into a research paper.”
Ratio’s attention shifted again, now to another young couple a few tables away. The man leaned forward too far, voice sharp beneath his smile.
“Notice the imbalance,” he murmured. “She’s shrinking into herself. He’s criticising her portion size. ‘You’ll never fit into that dress again,’ I believe he said.”
Aventurine followed his gaze, brow furrowing.
“A pushy player bluffing with a bad hand. Charming.”
“More like predictable.” Ratio reached for his glass, elegant even in disdain. “A man confusing possession for affection.”
Ratio’s eyes softened as they caught another pair farther down the room—an elderly couple sharing a single dessert. No rings, no pomp, just easy laughter and the slow rhythm of familiarity.
“And yet,” he said quietly, “there’s balance at that table. No performance. No demand.”
Aventurine smiled.
“Now that’s a rare sight—two players who know when to fold the ego and stay for the company.”
Ratio turned back to him.
“An unusually poetic observation.”
He grinned wider.
“You’re rubbing off on me, Doc.”
They lingered in a brief lull—Aventurine swirling his wine, Ratio’s profile gleaming in the candlelight.
The faint glow of a phone screen blinked once against the table before fading again; Ratio glanced at it, then away, as if confirming something that hadn’t yet happened.
Then Aventurine broke the silence with a teasing lilt.
“So tell me, Doctor Veritas Ratio—what’s your observation about us? Work colleagues? Partners in crime? Two geniuses sharing one very expensive dinner bill?”
Ratio’s gaze flicked briefly toward the dark screen before returning to his glass.
“Work colleagues, at best. Though I seem to spend more time managing your aftermath than my own research.”
Aventurine laughed, leaning back as if the wine had finally hit.
“You make it sound like I’m a full-time liability.”
Ratio arched a brow, thumb brushing the phone’s edge in idle rhythm.
“Occasionally part-time.”
“Come on,” Aventurine drawled, swirling his glass. “You can’t tell me you don’t enjoy the company. We make a good team.”
Ratio’s eyes lifted, cool and assessing, though part of his attention still seemed tethered elsewhere.
“We work efficiently enough.”
“Efficiently enough,” Aventurine repeated, a small grin pulling at his mouth. “That’s your idea of praise, huh? Guess I’ll take what I can get.”
He leaned forward, tone softening just a fraction.
“But if you ever wanted to—y’know—extend the arrangement outside of mission reports and near-death escapades…”
Ratio’s fingers stilled against the phone. He tilted his head slightly, owl-like, the faintest crease forming between his brows.
“Extend it? You mean… independent collaboration?”
Aventurine blinked, his grin faltering into disbelief.
“…Sure. Let’s call it that.”
Ratio nodded, entirely missing the undercurrent.
“Noted. Though I suspect you’d tire of my supervision rather quickly.”
Aventurine chuckled, though his ears felt hot.
“You might be surprised.”
Ratio’s mouth curved, polite and unreadable, his thumb once more tracing the phone like a man measuring time.
“In any case,” he said, tone mild, “perhaps soon you won’t have to put up with my presence at all.”
The words landed like a card flipped face-down between them—ordinary, final, yet heavier than they should be.
Aventurine blinked.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ratio didn’t answer. His gaze had drifted back toward the young couple—the woman now cornered by the man’s raised voice.
The restaurant’s mood shifted. A chair scraped. The man stood, puffed with alcohol and pride, fumbling something from his pocket.
The pop of a ring box snapped the room’s hum in half.
Aventurine sighed into his glass. “Ah,” he murmured, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. “This is going to be interesting.”
At the corner table, the man dropped to one knee—not gracefully, but like he was following stage directions. His date blinked, startled. He started talking too fast, too loud: We’ve been through so much, it’s time, you owe me that much.
Even from across the room, the word owe landed like a slap.
The woman stood, chair legs shrieking against tile. Her voice shook, but it carried.
“No. I won’t.”
She walked out. He stayed kneeling there, still holding the ring like he wasn’t sure whether to chase her or crawl under the table.
Aventurine exhaled a low whistle.
“Talk about a bad beat.”
Ratio’s tone was measured, but his gaze lingered longer than usual.
“He mistook possession for devotion.”
“That’s one way to lose the pot before the cards hit the table,” Aventurine said, swirling his glass. “People treat love like a sure bet, but it’s always a gamble. You don’t corner someone with the stakes—you invite them to play.”
Ratio watched the half-melted candle between them.
“Marriage, when done right, should be… a conversation that keeps unfolding. Not a demand dressed as a promise.”
“That’s almost poetic, Doctor.” Aventurine grinned, but there was no bite in it. “Careful, you’ll ruin your reputation for cynicism.”
Ratio’s mouth softened slightly.
“I’m not cynical. I just think happiness can’t be coerced into permanence. It has to be renewed, day by day. Otherwise it’s just paperwork and inertia.”
Aventurine leaned back, tilting his chair.
“Paperwork, inertia, and a diamond receipt. Sounds romantic.”
Ratio allowed himself the ghost of a laugh.
“Some might call it certainty. Others… call it settling odds.”
Aventurine lifted his glass in salute.
“Now you’re speaking my language.”
He smiled—small, real, unguarded.
“Guess that’s what a happy ending really is. Not the win. Just… wanting to stay in the game.”
Their food arrived. For a while, the clatter of dishes filled the space where philosophy might have been.
Then, as the noise around them softened, laughter rippled from another table. It was the older couple, silver at the temples, shared dessert with practiced ease—no spectacle, no declarations, just quiet devotion.
Aventurine watched them, tone mellow.
“Guess some experiments just don’t need publishing.”
Ratio followed his gaze.
“They seem content.”
“Yeah. No rings, no declarations. Just two people who decided to stay.”
Ratio’s mouth tilted again, though his attention wavered. His thumb tapped an absent rhythm against the stem of his glass—the kind of fidget he allowed only when his thoughts were already elsewhere.
“Perhaps that’s the most efficient model after all,” he murmured.
“Careful, Doc,” Aventurine said, raising his drink. “Now you’re starting to sound sentimental.”
Ratio almost smiled.
“I’m adapting my hypothesis.”
The words were steady, but his eyes flicked toward the phone resting facedown on the table. It had been silent all evening, yet he looked at it the way one looks at a clock that’s late to chime.
Aventurine caught it.
“You expecting something?”
Ratio shook his head.
“Just a matter I’ve been postponing.”
Before Aventurine could ask, the phone hummed—a deep, polite vibration that felt heavier than it should. Ratio exhaled, as if confirming a prediction.
He answered. “Good evening.” A pause. His voice lowered. “Yes, I understand.”
Aventurine leaned back, half-curious, half-wary, watching Ratio’s expression flatten into composure.
“Yes,” Ratio said again. “I’ll come home after dinner.” His gaze slid toward the untouched dessert, then back to the table’s empty center. “We can review the profiles then.”
Profiles. The word landed like a weight between them.
When Ratio ended the call, he set the phone down gently, fingers lingering on it longer than necessary. The light caught the faint line between his brows—thought, not irritation.
“Apologies,” he said evenly. “A family matter.”
Aventurine leaned back with a grin, aiming for levity.
“Sounds serious. Should I order another round?”
Ratio didn’t bite. His gaze drifted back to the older couple still sharing dessert—their quiet comfort against the murmur of the room. The sight held him longer than it should.
“Gambler,” he says at last, still watching them.
“Yeah?”
Ratio turns his head, expression unreadable.
“What do you look for in a partner?”
The question lands like a curveball, smooth but unexpected. Aventurine nearly chokes on his drink, then masks it with a laugh.
“That’s sudden, Doc. You writing a thesis on romance now?”
Ratio only waits, steady.
“Alright, alright,” Aventurine says, propping his chin on one hand, pretending to think.
“I’d say… someone clever. Precise. Can hold their ground in an argument without trying to draw blood.”
His grin sharpens.
“Someone honest enough to call me out, but kind enough to patch me up after. Rational, a bit rigid maybe, but dependable to a fault.”
He chuckles, flicking condensation off his glass.
“You know, someone like you.”
Ratio blinked, entirely missing the subtext.
“I see. You value consistency and integrity.”
“Among other things,” Aventurine muttered, forcing a smile into place.
He took a long sip of wine to hide the color creeping up his neck. Consistency and integrity, he thought, half-laughing, half-dying inside. Of course that’s what the man heard. You hand him your heart and he runs a character analysis.
Ratio, oblivious, was already adjusting his cuff, calm and immaculate as ever—like some divine statue come to life just to test his patience.
Aventurine leaned back, watching him with helpless amusement.
How can someone that brilliant be this dense? he mused, biting back another grin. Veritas Ratio: genius of the century, zero emotional perception. Absolutely adorable. Absolutely infuriating.
He set his glass down, exhaling through a laugh that sounded too fond to be annoyed.
“You really have no idea, do you?” he murmured under his breath—soft enough that the owl across from him never heard.
Ratio hummed, mistaking it for another quip, and nodded with quiet thoughtfulness.
“Then I hope you meet someone like that.”
It was said so simply—no teasing, no irony, just genuine goodwill—and somehow that made it worse. Aventurine’s smile faltered, the air catching in his chest before he could mask it with another joke.
“Yeah,” he managed, softer now. “Me too.”
For a moment, Ratio’s gaze lingered on him—as if puzzling over a variable he couldn’t quite name—before he checked the time and rose, reaching for his coat.
“Forgive me. I should head home—that call was from my brother.”
Aventurine blinked.
“You have a brother? Hold on, we’re circling back to that. Everything alright?”
“Yes,” Ratio said, slipping back into his usual composure. “He wants me to review a few profiles. Marriage interview candidates.”
Aventurine blinks.
“Marriage—what now?”
Ratio smooths his sleeve, perfectly composed.
“An Omiai—a formal introduction process. He’s been insistent for months, but… I lacked a clear idea of what kind of partner would suit me. Your answer just now gave me a useful reference.”
Aventurine froze mid-sip, the wine hitting wrong. He coughed once, then forced out a laugh — too quick, too bright.
“Glad I could be your, uh, research sample.”
Ratio looked up, eyes steady, sincere.
“Thank you, Aventurine. That was… clarifying.”
The words hit like a coin flipping heads-up when you’d bet everything on tails. Aventurine blinked, searching for a trace of teasing that wasn’t there.
Clarifying, he repeated silently.
For the genius doctor, it was data; for him, it felt like heartbreak wrapped in politeness. He grinned anyway, because that was his armor.
“Right. Happy to be of scientific service, Doc. Always glad to advance the field.”
Ratio nodded, entirely missing the strain beneath the charm. His calm made it worse somehow—so sincere it almost hurt.
And just like that, he leaves.
Aventurine sits there, glass in hand, smile frozen like bad poker face on a losing streak.
“Oh, brilliant,” he mutters under his breath. “I just handed him the blueprint to marry someone else.”
He drops his head into his hands and groans.
“Craaap.”
=========
Outside, the air bites sharper than it should. Aventurine stands under the restaurant’s awning, watching Ratio’s silhouette shrink down the street—straight back, steady steps, coat catching the lamplight.
For one stupid second, he almost calls after him.
What would I even say? Don’t go home and pick your wife out of a brochure? Don’t find someone who fits the checklist I basically wrote for you?
He laughs once, short and humorless.
“Real smooth, Aventurine. Hand the man your heart, then thank him for using it as a compass.”
The memory of the earlier proposal flickers—red-faced man, the word owe, the way the woman ran, trembling but unbroken.
“Guess that’s what happens when you corner someone,” he mutters. “You don’t get devotion, you get escape routes.”
He’s halfway to his car when a shout splits the quiet.
Down the block, the same man from the restaurant staggers after his date—the woman who’d fled mid-proposal. His tie’s hanging loose now, shirt half-untucked, and a shattered bottle neck glints between his fingers.
“Don’t walk away from me!” he yells, words slurred and sharp. “After everything I did for you?”
The woman stumbles back, clutching her purse to her chest.
“You’ve had too much. Please—just go home.”
He laughs, a jagged sound.
“Go home? I paid for this dinner. I drove you here. You think you can just—”
He grabs her wrist. She yanks, panicked, but his grip tightens.
A calm voice slices through the chaos.
“Bad odds, friend.”
Aventurine steps out from the glow of a streetlamp, jacket draped loose, eyes cool behind rose-tinted glasses
“You’ve already lost the hand. Don’t make it worse.”
The drunk squints, sneers.
“Who’re you supposed to be? Her hero?”
Aventurine smiles—slow, sharp, dangerous.
“Let’s call me… the house. And right now, you’re betting against it.”
The man snarls and swings. The bottle never connects. Aventurine twists his arm, disarming him with a motion too fluid to be practiced anger. The glass skitters across the pavement, the man following it a heartbeat later.
“Game over,” Aventurine murmurs, breath steady.
Sirens rise in the distance. A passing couple has already called the police. The woman huddles near the café entrance, shaking. Aventurine crouches a little, tone softening.
“You alright?”
She nods weakly.
“I—I thought he loved me.”
“Guess he just wanted to win,” Aventurine says quietly. “Some people mix the two up.”
The patrol car pulls in. Officers separate them, take statements. When it’s done, the woman gives a trembling smile of thanks before she’s driven home.
Then it’s just Aventurine under the awning again, rain starting to spit from the clouds.
He flips his coin once, twice. Watches it flash in the streetlight.
“Love isn’t about winning,” he murmurs. “But giving up before the first round? That’s no victory either.”
He turns the coin over in his palm, a laugh slipping out—half bitter, half fond.
“Look at me,” he says to the rain. “Folding before the first card’s even dealt.”
The thought curdles fast. Down the street, the officer is guiding the drunk into the back of the patrol car, the man still muttering protests that don’t make sense. The door shuts with a solid click—clean, final.
That’s what happens when you bet everything on control.
He pockets the coin, exhaling through his teeth.
“If I corner him with a confession now, I’m no better than that guy—pushing, demanding, mistaking pressure for love.”
For a moment, the logic feels solid. Safe.
Then another voice, sly and quieter, nudges in: But walking away before the game even starts… isn’t that just another kind of cowardice?
He stares at his reflection in the car window—the practiced grin, the tired eyes behind it.
“Guess there’s a difference,” he murmurs, “between chasing someone and just… showing up for them.”
The coin flicks from his thumb, spins once in the air, and lands neatly in his palm.
“This time,” he says, more to the night than himself, “maybe I’ll stay in the round.”
He slips the coin back into his pocket, rain misting his hair, a faint smile tugging at his mouth as he turns toward his car.
==================
The study is warm with lamplight, the air thick with cedar and the faint sting of polished ink. Ratio sits behind his desk, a stack of neatly bound folders in front of him. Each one bears a name, a photograph, a résumé of virtues—education, lineage, philanthropy, hobbies curated to impress.
He opens the first. Reads it once. Twice. Closes it.
The second folder is no better: glossy smiles, neatly listed merits, nothing that breathes. He exhales through his nose.
“How am I supposed to choose from this?” he murmurs. “These aren’t candidates. They’re case studies.”
From the divan, his older brother, Lysander Ratio, sets down his teacup with a soft click. His posture is perfect, voice mild but leaving no room for argument.
“You’re overthinking it as usual, brother of mine. Just pick one. I’ve already narrowed them down to respectable families.”
“That’s exactly the problem, Xander.”
Veritas’s tone stays polite, but there’s an edge beneath it.
“I’m not selecting a research assistant or breeding the perfect specimen. These women have their own pursuits, their own beliefs. Compatibility isn’t solved with pedigrees.”
Lysander smiles—thin, knowing.
“Compatibility grows with time. What matters first is good stock and stable temperament. Love can be learned.”
Veritas’s gaze shifts toward the window, where the city lights blur against the glass.
“And if it isn’t?”
“Then at least you’ll have children,” Lysander says, gentle but immovable. “Someone to carry the name. You’re thirty-seven, Veritas. Do you plan to spend the rest of your life surrounded by microscopes instead of family?”
Veritas says nothing. Not because he hasn’t thought about it, but because he has—too often, too thoroughly. The idea of ending alone doesn’t frighten him. What unsettles him is the idea of being assigned companionship, as though affection could be arranged as easily as an inheritance.
Lysander stands, straightening his cuffs.
“You don’t have to fall in love to build something lasting. Stability will come first, affection later.”
Veritas glances down at the folders again.
“You sound very certain of that.”
“That’s the difference between us,” Lysander replies, moving toward the door. “You chase truth. I keep it running.”
When the door clicked shut, Ratio let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The folders waited patiently, all immaculate, all hollow.
He skimmed another profile, then shut it with a muted sigh.
“Flawless credentials,” he murmured. “Flawless… and lifeless.”
He leaned back in his chair, eyes unfocused, the lamplight cutting a pale line across his face.
The conversation from the restaurant replayed in fragments — Aventurine’s laughter, that glint of mischief when he teased, You know, someone like you.
Ratio’s mouth tightened, though not unpleasantly. “Someone like me,” he echoed under his breath. “Hardly an ideal model.”
He told himself it was curiosity. Professional interest, perhaps. Aventurine was a case study in contradictions — reckless but observant, ostentatious yet oddly kind. But the thought didn’t hold.
“…Still, there’s something instructive about proximity,” he muttered, as if to justify it.
His gaze drifted to the stack of folders again — a dozen polite smiles staring up from glossy paper. “My brother insists love can be learned,” he said, voice thin with irony. “As if affection were a theorem.”
He tapped the folder once, then let it fall shut.
“No. Data without context is meaningless.”
The image of Aventurine leaning across the table surfaced — eyes bright, laughter spilling over the rim of his glass. Ratio exhaled through a laugh that surprised him by existing.
“Unpredictable man,” he murmured. “Completely inefficient.” A pause. Then, quieter: “And yet… not unpleasant.”
He rested his hands together, fingers steepled, expression unreadable.
“Perhaps Lysander’s wrong,” he said to the empty room. “Perhaps enjoyment precedes affection. But affection…” He trailed off, shaking his head once. “That’s a hypothesis for another day.”
The lamp flickered once. Ratio looked down at the folder he’d meant to open, then pushed it aside. For now, reason could wait.
============
The night air is crisp, laced with the faint scent of rain and city stone. Ratio walks with his usual precision, each step deliberate, measured. The words from dinner—and from his brother—echo in his mind: the warmth of Aventurine’s laughter, and the sudden weight of the words, marriage interview.
He found himself wandering through the small park near the avenue. The lanterns there burned low, scattering gold over the koi pond and the benches lining the path.
On one of them sat the same elderly couple from the restaurant—their thermos of tea steaming gently between them. The man looked up first, smiling when recognition dawned.
“Ah. The quiet observer from dinner,” he said. “Still studying your human subjects?”
Ratio stopped a polite distance away. “Old habits,” he admitted.
The woman chuckled.
“Come sit, dear. The world’s kinder when you view it closer.”
He hesitated, then did as told, folding neatly onto the bench’s edge.
“You two seemed…” He paused, searching for the right phrasing. “In equilibrium.”
“Fifty-two years,” the man said. “Equilibrium takes practice.”
Ratio inclined his head.
“Most equations require adjustment. But affection isn’t something one can solve.”
“That’s because you’re trying to solve it,” she replied. “We didn’t solve anything. We just kept choosing each other.”
Ratio looked toward the pond, where ripples distorted the reflections of the lanterns.
“My brother believes choice should follow reason. That compatibility… can be calculated.”
The old man huffed a soft laugh.
“Sounds efficient. Terrible for the heart, though.”
The woman added, “Love isn’t efficient. It’s sustained by patience, not pedigree.”
He regarded them quietly, then nodded.
“You’ve given me more clarity than most charts could.”
“Then use it,” she said, eyes kind but firm. “Before someone else decides clarity for you.”
When they rose to leave, the man clasped Ratio’s shoulder with a steady hand.
“Don’t let anyone pick your future, son. You’ll resent the convenience.”
Their footsteps faded into the hum of cicadas. Ratio remained on the bench a moment longer, the glow of the lantern painting faint gold along his glasses.
He thought of Aventurine again—how easily chaos sat beside him, how alive it felt to argue without fear of fracture.
When he finally turned home, his expression had softened, but the line between his brows remained—the look of a man beginning to suspect what he truly wants.
============
Across the city, Ratio sits beneath the steady glow of his lamp, the old couple’s words looping like an equation he can’t quite solve: love isn’t efficient — it endures because someone keeps choosing it.
His hand hovers over the folders, then pulls back. Somewhere, a decision begins to take shape.
Across another stretch of road, Aventurine walks through the fog, coin warm in his fist, that vow repeating under his breath — no more pretending. Each step feels lighter, like he’s already betting on something real.
Neither knows the distance between them is only a street and a heartbeat apart.
To be continued.