Work Text:
Habits are persistent actions that one (unconsciously) does again and again. They are tendencies that reflect a lot about the character in question. It is a routine, a performance, a personal inclination.
Five habits of Aventurine that Ratio finds impossibly endearing, and one that makes his heart break.
- Hiding behind his hair.
Usually, Aventurine is the one to take the initiative and flirt boisterously. On more than one occasion, he wears that complacent smirk and looks up at Ratio through the fringes of his lashes, before offering the most ridiculous lines Ratio has ever heard.
The doctor rarely offers one himself.
But this time…
Perhaps he was just in the mood for some… teasing, after hearing Aventurine spout rancid love poetry for the entirety of his evening.
“With all due respect, gambler,” Ratio sighs, beyond irked once the flirting had gone out of hand. “Shut up.”
“Ah, but why, my dear doctor?” Aventurine grins. “The way your vermilion eyes flare with my every word is quite amusing to watch. I’d like to see how you’d shut me up, because I certainly won’t do so mys-”
“Would tangling my mouth with yours do the trick?”
Aventurine shuts up instantly.
It’s quite ironic, and Ratio watches with smug satisfaction as the gambler openly gapes at the doctor.
What further strengthens this satisfaction is when he sees the gambler’s cheeks turn a lovely pink.
“I– What did you–” He sputters, shrinking into the plush cushions of the couch, and tilting his head to let his luscious, golden locks fall in front of his face. It’s a shame it does nil to hide his fluster.
The doctor belatedly realizes that he’s seen the gambler do this subtle movement many, many times.
In gambles, in games, in lazy conversations with their mission targets… it’s quite surprising that he didn’t notice this obvious tendency.
The goal was to conceal his intents and give a psychological feeling of mystery.
But now, seeing the great Aventurine of Stratagems hide behind a curtain of gold because of a little, loosely-said comment, makes him smile.
So he decides to tease him a tiny bit more.
“Pardon?” He says in a mocking state of innocence. “Care to enlighten me? What offense have I committed, this time?”
Aventurine murmurs something nonsensical and indignant, then takes a deep breath. Promptly, he sits up.
When he brushes his bangs to the sides, he’s wearing his usual poker face, perhaps with a hint more of amusement. “Oh, nothing. Nothing of importance.”
Unconsciously, Ratio finds himself sorely missing the color in the gambler’s cheeks.
- Holding his stomach and closing his eyes when he laughs.
They were on a mission.
Ratio and Aventurine follow the group of shady men all clad in black with suspicious bulges in their coat pockets that jingle with every step they take.
“Now, don’t do something ridiculous like you always do,” Ratio hisses to the gambler as they hide behind a derelict brick wall.
Aventurine turns to him with an expression akin to exasperation. “When have I done something ridiculous, doc?” He asks cheekily, eyebrows raised in faux curiosity.
“You have every idea of what I’m talking about. I see no reason to further elaborate.”
Aventurine pouts. “You wound me.”
Of course, Aventurine does something ridiculous.
That something is ignoring Ratio’s frantic whispers and sauntering up to the group of three men with a flirtatious smirk and a poised stature.
“Greetings, dear gentlemen.” He drawls. “Do you happen to know the directions to the nearby casino?”
One of the men scrutinizes him with interest. He’s a tall, burly man with – Nous forgive the doctor – the most hideous face. “Oh? The Grand Casino? I happen to know where that is… but first, what’s your name, handsome boy?”
“You may call me… Mortifer .” Aventurine winks.
The man with the grotesque features steps forward, infiltrating the gambler’s space. He raises a hand to Aventurine’s cheek, caressing his skin with revolting tenderness. “ Mortifer ,” he purrs. “What a lovely name… What does it mean, my dear?”
“It means…” Aventurine pauses, for dramatic effect. He grins. “ Your death bringer .”
The man halts, looking nonplussed. Then he chuckles. “How humorous, sweetheart. How about-” He stops, wide-eyed. Choking out a garbled gasp, his hand falls from the gambler’s face and down to his stomach. Red dribbles through his fingers, drops of it splashing onto the ground. Wordlessly, he turns around – and promptly, his head is sliced off.
Ratio towers over the headless body, eyes hardened with anger and a scowl glaringly evident on his face.
Behind him, the two bleeding bodies of his goons lie with their throats and vocal cords slashed.
Aventurine skips up to the doctor, linking their arms cheerfully. “How was my performance?” He hums in complete disregard for the corpses. “Quite charming, don’t you think?”
Ratio shakes their arms apart and glares at the gambler as he bends to retrieve the tinkling coins from the man’s pocket. “That was insanely foolish,” he snaps. “You could’ve gotten severely injured.”
He stands up and shoves an open hand in front of Aventurine’s face. Not only were there coins and credits dangling in his palm, but a glistening, undoubtedly loaded gun as well.
“Ah well-”
“And you pronounced it incorrectly.”
Aventurine blinks. “What, mortifer?!”
“You need to roll the ‘r’.” Ratio states, casting a disgruntled eye at the gambler. “Have our nights spent reviewing Latin taught you anything meaningful?”
Aventurine stares at him, his smile frozen on his face.
And then he laughs. Boisterous and so pleasing to the ear, Ratio’s fury at the man’s outrageous behavior evaporates on the spot.
Ratio can’t help but note that his eyes are always squeezed closed, and he’s hugging his stomach whenever he laughs uproariously. And he laughs so carelessly and freely.
It starkly contrasts the carved mask of smiles he parades around with.
Ratio treasures the laugh. Very much so.
Aventurine quiets down and sends him a smile that quite literally burns his heart. “Haha… Alright! We’ve dallied here long enough. The stench of incompetency is fuddling with my brain.” He shoots a pointed glance at the bodies. “Let’s go.”
- Pouting when he’s upset.
Another call with a member of the IPC had led them here, walking through the streets in search of a building with a sign depicting raccoons in trashcans.
Aventurine sighs, slouching exaggeratedly in a display of fatigue. “Why do they give me the most mundane of missions?!” He questions, quite insulted. “My brilliance shouldn’t be wasted on this,” he continues, gesturing towards the file full of paper in his hand. “What do you think, doc? … Eh, doc?”
Ratio wasn’t listening.
…
In retrospect, he was. It’s just… it wasn’t the words that he was focusing on.
He’s looking at the way the gambler sticks out his lip and puffs out his cheeks when he’s upset. It reminds him of a pouty child. An adorable, pouty child.
How unfathomably endearing.
A hand waves in front of his face, evaporating any more of his thoughts. “Ay, ay, doctor! My eyes are up here!”
Ratio blinks, disconcerted. He stares at Aventurine who had a singular, neatly-trimmed eyebrow raised.
And then he slaps himself in the face. Mentally.
What in idiot’s name am I thinking? He groans silently to himself. What are these silly, teenage thoughts that I’m indulging?
“My apologies, Gambler. I wasn’t paying your words the proper attention.” He says, because he genuinely can’t think of anything else to say.
But Aventurine grins immaturely, and Ratio knows he’s in for another one of those long, teasing sessions. “Oh? What or where were you giving your proper attention to, then? Was it my lips? I saw you looking, doc. No need to retort,” he sings. “Were you thinking of giving me a kiss? Hm?”
He’s gotten more bold, Ratio thinks as he closes his eyes and pinches his nose bridge in annoyance.
But maybe I was, gambler.
- Twirls his hair whenever he’s in thought.
The gambler had a genius mind. That much was quite glaringly obvious. To the doctor, at least.
Most people assume that his gains are salvaged from luck, and pure luck only. Ratio would call each one of them incomprehensibly moronic dimwits, with a severe case of missing brain syndrome.
Though it is true that the gambler is unusually fortunate, with a large stack of wins in his needlessly ornate belt, his intelligence had been the biggest reason why.
You’d be a fool not to see that.
And here the doctor is, seeing the gears of that scrupulous brain of his turning and creaking.
Out of habit, the gambler is playing with a thick, lustrous strand of hair as he ponders.
Ratio’s eyes follow his fingers. He’s lulled by the steady rhythm of twirling and twisting, graceful and so full of refined elegance even when the purpose is aimless. The blonde locks are a network of golden rivers, entwined in those slender fingers and gleaming like star-lit silk.
He never thought he’d be so mesmerized.
The gambler suddenly snaps his fingers, the golden strands falling from his clutch like swinging aureate necklaces. “Ah…!” the blonde lets out a small laugh, those hypnotic eyes of his vivacious and triumphant.
It seems like the gambler’s found an answer to whatever had been plaguing his mind.
But before Aventurine could share his thoughts, the waitress came with heaping plates of food.
“We’re sincerely sorry for the wait,” she says politely as she places the bowls of noodles in front of them. The scent is mouthwatering, and Ratio doesn’t miss the happy gasp Aventurine lets out.
“Thank you,” he tells the waitress, smiling widely.
Once she’s gone, they both dig in.
“This is heavenly,” Aventurine mumbles delightfully.
“Very,” the doctor replies. The food is a bit too luxurious for Ratio’s liking, but the gambler’s merriment is contagious, and so he can’t help but enjoy the meal. “I didn’t ask you before because I didn’t want to disturb your little musing session, but what exactly were you thinking about? It seemed quite serious.”
The gambler looks up at him with a mouth full of food. He attempts to grin, but it comes out ludicrous. “mmphghhwuomn,” he garbles.
Ratio rolls his eyes fondly as he hits Aventurine on the back of his head. “How vile. Swallow your food first, Gambler – you can tell me later.”
- Softness of the voice when conversing with children.
Ratio isn’t good with children. Far from it.
Perhaps it was his bluntness and complete ‘disregard’ for the emotions of others… but nevertheless, children seem to gravitate to him as much as the like poles of a magnet.
With Aventurine, though, it seems to be the exact opposite.
The children flock to him like a bunch of hungry geese.
Ratio doesn’t even know how this happened. They were on their way towards one of the newly-opened restaurants for a treat when a child asked to play with Aventurine’s hat.
One child led to another, and then another, and then another…
So here Ratio is, in the sorrowful, unjust world, forgotten next to the gambler whose every limb is clung onto by tiny, chubby hands.
When had the gambler become a free-for-all playground?
The doctor sighs, beyond aggravated. Aventurine looks at him through the corner of his eye, entertained and smirking. “What’s the matter, doc?” He prompts, wiggling his eyebrows. “Jealous that it isn’t you, clutching onto me as if your life depends on it?”
“I felt nothing of the sort.” Ratio mutters, crossing his arms indignantly.
Aventurine’s grin broadens. “Ah, but you see, your blush says otherwise.”
Ratio’s about to whip out his reasonably heavy physics textbook from his bag when one of the pesky little children pipes up. “Ave– Avenrichin-”
“Just call me Aven, dear,” Aventurine coos at the boy, his voice suddenly full of doting and softer than the fur of his exquisite coat. Ratio fights back the adoration blooming in his heart.
The little git giggles. “Aven!” he squeals, apparently delighted at how the name rolls off his tiny tongue. “Who’s that big scary person you’re talking to?”
Aventurine looks over to Ratio, his amusement visibly mounting higher, if possible. “Oh, him? He’s Doctor Veritas Ratio,” he chirps. “But that’s a bit of a mouthful, so I suggest you call him… Rubber Ducky Lover the Third.”
Ratio scowls. “Haha, how laughter-inducing. Did you pull that name out of the baseless depths of your brain?”
“No, it’s a well-supported and genius fact backed by multiple findings conducted in your bathtub.”
Before Ratio can retort, they both hear a yawn.
The young girl who had been marveling at Aventurine’s jeweled bracelet is on the verge of sleep.
“Tired?” Aventurine asks, patting down her unruly hair.
“Yes.” The girl responds, before burying her face into his arm. Aventurine’s expression melts into a fond gaze, so fiercely tender.
“Ah.” He says. He looks at the children gathered around him and then at the giant clock ticking on the side of a building. “Well, it’s getting late. Why don’t you all head back to your homes?”
The children all groan in unison. “But I don’t want to!” One of the children says. “You’re a lot more fun to be around than Mama and Papa. They’re always busy and have no time for me!”
Something unreadable flickers across Aventurine’s mesmerizing eyes before it disappears, gone as quickly as a shooting star. “Ask them to sit down once in a while and play with you more often.” he smiles, comforting and warm.
Ratio can only marvel at the gentleness with which the gambler spoke.
“One gamble lost, pretty blondie, and your head will be on my platter.”
“Oh, I’m already well aware of that.” Aventurine places his chips, a certain viciousness in his actions that even his smile cannot hide.
The sleek black guns pointed at his head do little to stifle his confidence that trots into the room, prancing with its crest of multicolored feathers and ever so challenging.
He might seem fearless, undeniably valorous, in this gamble. Prideful and – Aeons forgive – haughty.
Unless you see the hand trembling behind his fashionable cloak.
Which is a scene that Ratio – only Ratio – is privy to.
“That was quite the gamble, don’t you think, doc?” Aventurine chirrups as they leave the building, painted with blood that thankfully isn’t theirs. He says it cheerfully, as if he hasn’t been fearing for his life at that very moment.
“Hand.” Is all Ratio says.
Aventurine’s grin freezes on his face. He stares at Ratio for what seems like forever.
Ratio stares back, letting the foolish, reckless gambler see the knowing in his eyes.
Why do you insist on deluding yourself from the truth? Aventurine says nothing.
Will you please free yourself from the mask you stubbornly shackle yourself to? His facade doesn’t falter.
…Don’t you trust me?
Silence.
Ringing, empty silence, that sounds unfathomably loud with the unspoken words they share.
Finally, Aventurine exhales, his breath shaky.
Slowly, slowly , he brings out a quivering gloved hand.
Slowly, slowly, his stories are unravelled silently through every movement, every action, every slight tremor.
Slowly,
Slowly,
Ratio begins to see.
See everything.
Everything that makes up the man who has him hopelessly entranced. Every habit, every sweet and bitter tendency of his unsnarls before the doctor like a ball of golden yarn.
Ratio grabs the gambler's hand, careful and uncharacteristically gentle. He brings it to his lips.
“How long has this been going on for?” He murmurs against the soft black velvet covering the warm, pulsing skin.
“I don’t know.” Comes the resigned answer.
No teasing lilt, no gaudy flirtatiousness in his voice.
Just resignation.
Ratio’s heart has handled many distressful occasions or revelations with surprising calm. To be able to think properly in a harrowing situation entail a steadfast mentality.
Yet those three words manage to shatter his heart as if it is nothing more than thin glass.