Worth The Weight

by PreppyVampire

Summary:

"You have no idea what you’re talking about! My whole life, I never had a choice. I rolled with the punches and took everything that was thrown at me, and the one time—” A strangled noise, half laugh, half sob, caught in his throat. “The one time I finally had a choice, I chose wrong. I just wanted to prove I was worth something, that I wasn’t some stray to be kicked around. But I was wrong, alright? I fucked up.” His eyes darted up, as if daring Ratio to disagree. “Is that what you want me to say? I fucked up, and now I'm back in chains. Only now, I’m just as terrible as the men who kidnapped me all those years ago. In fact, I probably pay their salary." His voice broke into a snarl, but there was no heat behind it. “So don’t stand there and tell me I’ve got a say in my life, because if you think for one second that I get to decide anything anymore, you’re a lot stupider than I thought.”

OR

Aventurine of Stratagems is celebrating his seven year anniversary with the Stonehearts! Of course, they've tasked him with writing a speech to present at the celebration; one that's supposed to highlight his success. Instead, it reminds him of everything he ruined to get here.

Chapter 1: Clarity

There were worse places to wake up than Ratio’s bed, but still, Aventurine groaned when he cracked his eyes open and saw the neatly pressed purple sheets.

First thought: hangover.

Follow-up thought: oh no.

“Good morning,” Ratio said, without looking up. He was perched on the other side of the bed—his side, which was perfectly made, untouched, the comforter still tucked sharp enough to slice skin. He was dressed in silk pajamas, seated cross-legged on top of the blankets, and reading the newspaper. “You aren’t going to inquire why you’re in my bed?”

Aventurine’s stomach churned like a slot machine. His head throbbed against the light, and every breath tasted faintly of top-shelf whiskey.

“I’m gonna level with you, Doctor,” he said hoarsely, flopping onto his side like a dying animal, “I feel so terrible right now, I don’t care why I’m in your bed.” He dragged one of the pillows under his head, burrowed deeper into the mattress, and sighed. “If you had your way with me, just keep it to yourself. I won’t tell.”

“What a crude implication.” Ratio lifted his pen and scribbled out a square in the daily sudoku.

“Can you turn the light off?” Aventurine muttered, waving one hand limply in the air as if that would banish the harsh fluorescent above.

“The audacity that you have is astonishing,” Ratio said, not looking up. “And no, I cannot. I’m doing my sudoku.”

“Do it later.”

“I make my bed in the morning and lay down to read the paper from 9 to 10. Just because your hungover corpse is in the way doesn’t mean I’ll interrupt my schedule.”

“Whatever.” Aventurine grabbed a second pillow and mashed it over his face. His voice muffled, he said, “These pillowcases better be Egyptian cotton, at least.”

“Now that you’re awake and semi-coherent,” Ratio said, reaching over and yanking the pillow clean off his face before tossing it to the floor, “why don’t you go explain to your coworkers where you are?”

“Just let me sleep a little longer,” Aventurine whined, stretching for another pillow. Ratio intercepted his hand mid-air and slapped it with the newspaper.

“Do you know how many calls I’ve received this morning asking for your whereabouts?”

“Tell Jade I’m dead.”

“I am not your handler, Aventurine. Tell her yourself.” Aventurine groaned and half-rolled onto his stomach. He went still for a moment, suspiciously quiet. Ratio narrowed his eyes. “Do not fall back asleep.”

“I don’t have any meetings this morning,” Aventurine mumbled into the mattress. “It’s not a big deal. As long as I get my work done on time, nobody cares where I am or what I’m doing.”

“Neither of those things are true. You just do whatever you want, and somehow your annoying charisma gets you out of trouble.”

“What are they going to do, fire me?” He rolled over dramatically, flinging an arm across his forehead like a tragic noblewoman. “I couldn’t get that lucky.”

“No, but I’m shocked they haven’t demoted you.”

“I close every deal I’m assigned. You couldn't fathom how much money I bring into the IPC. They couldn’t demote me even if they wanted to.”

“Which they do, frequently.” Ratio sighed through his nostrils and shook his head, scribbling through another line in his sudoku. "Honestly, you ought to carry yourself with a bit more professionalism outside the office. You're an extremely high ranking executive director—you do understand that, don't you? Your employees look up to you, not to mention the reputation the Stonehearts have is one not to be messed with. If you ask me, I think the next step for you should..." Ratio trailed off, noticing Aventurine's auroral eyes had gone glossy and unfocused, like a gem fogged from the inside out. 

“Do you feel ill?” Ratio asked, finally cutting himself off.

Aventurine nodded once, then bolted. He tripped over the blankets, yanked the corner of the sheet off the mattress, and nearly face-planted onto the rug as he sprinted for the bathroom.

Ratio resumed his sudoku.

When Aventurine returned a few minutes later, dragging his feet, Ratio glanced up and said, “I will never understand why you drink in such excess."

Aventurine made a show of fixing his hair in the mirror, even as his hands trembled. “Just part of the glitz and glam lifestyle, silly,” he said with a crooked smile.

Ratio did not smile back. “Is throwing up at 10 a.m. the glitz? Or the glam?”

“Both.” Aventurine leaned closer to the mirror, grimacing. He touched his cheek with the tips of his fingers, as if the gentleness could undo the circles under his eyes. “Oh, gods. I look even worse than I feel.”

“You’ll have to touch up before your speech tonight, if you don’t want people thinking you were out until dawn, carrying on like a lunatic. Which, you were.”

Aventurine went still. “That’s tonight? Shit, are you kidding me? How is it already Friday?” He darted around the room in a frenzy, snatching up his belt, shoes, and jacket from where they’d apparently been flung during last night’s pity parade, and stumbled into the hallway. After a few seconds, his head popped back around the doorframe. “Hey,” he said, squinting suspiciously. “Why was I in your bed, anyway?”

"You really don't remember?"

"Not at all."

Ratio paused, staring Aventurine down with pursed lips, then said, “After what I assumed to be a night of self-harming debauchery, you called me and declared yourself too ‘emotionally fragile’ to sleep alone, beckoning me to come haul your inebriated body into my bed.”

"Oh. Well...thanks, doc. Want me to compensate you?”

Ratio rolled his eyes, though he set his paper down to look at Aventurine earnestly. "Go to work, gambler. I will see you tonight at the gala." 

________________

Aventurine stepped out of the cab with his sunglasses on, tie half-tied, and a deep, gnawing sense of regret in his stomach. Not the usual champagne-and-questionable-decisions regret. No, this one was sharper, more corporate-shaped. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked up the steps to the monolith of IPC headquarters, its mirrored glass glittering in the morning light. The front atrium was alive with movement—blazers, heels, tablets, coffee cups in trembling hands. Everyone looked like they belonged there. Everyone except him, hungover and two hours late to what was supposed to be a day about him.

Head down, he hurried past the crowds, hoping no one would notice him. Up the stairs and into the executive boardrooms, he'd have to pass Topaz’s office to get to his own, and she had a sixth sense for catching him at his worst. He diverted through the break room.

Unfortunately, she was already there.

“So nice of you to come to work,” Topaz said, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, brows raised. The remains of a breakfast spread sat behind her—bagels, fruit, an empty box of coffee, and a banner that read CONGRATULATIONS. It almost made Aventurine laugh; considering the company and who they were celebrating, it was exceptionally...average, to say the least.

“How do you always manage to catch me?” Aventurine muttered, closing the break room door.

“I have eyes, genius. Also, they had a party for you this morning, you know? Generally, the person being celebrated actually shows up.”

“Oh, please,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m sure no one even noticed I wasn’t there. They just wanted the excuse to gorge themselves on bagels for an hour.” Topaz handed him a bottle of water, which he accepted, taking a small sip and swishing it like mouthwash before swallowing with a grimace. “How pissed is Jade?”

“Depends. Do you have your speech ready?”

“Ready as it’s ever going to be,” he muttered. “Why do I need to celebrate seven years, anyway? It’s such a random number.”

“Seven has always been the Aventurine stone’s lucky number,” Topaz said. “That’s what Jade told me.”

Right. There had been others before him. Other “Aventurines.” He didn’t know how many; he never asked. He knew just enough to know he was a name on a legacy contract—valuable, and also, replaceable. A temporary setting for a stone someone else would wear next. Was he the best one? The worst? Somewhere forgettable in the middle? At least he managed to make it seven years; if someone had asked him before, he thought he'd be dead by this point.

“What do you want to eat?” Topaz asked, snapping him from his thought spiral.

“Advil.”

“Not food. Try again.”

“I can’t eat. Especially not today. If I have to give that stupid speech, the last thing I need is to make myself sick in front of the everybody in the IPC.”

“I think the fifth of vodka is what’s going to make you sick,” she said flatly, grabbing a bagel from the box behind her with her bare hand. She knocked it gently on his head and said, “have a bagel, at least.” He snatched it with a roll of his eyes. 

“If I hurl on stage, I’m blaming you.”

“Blame whoever gave you that bottle last night,” she said, grabbing her tablet. “Anyway, try not to disappear again before the event. Jade’s going to want to talk to you, and I’m tired of making up excuses.”

Aventurine gave her a two-finger salute and watched her walk out before he let himself slump against the counter. The banner fluttered a little behind him from the A/C kicking on. One of the Os had slipped loose and dangled like a noose.

He ghosted out of the break room and headed toward his office, ducking behind the decorative plant wall to avoid the finance director. He took the long way around, bypassing the comm hub and HR’s open floor. His office door slid closed behind him with a gentle hiss. Silence. Finally.

Exhaling hard, he dragged his feet over to his desk—the wide, sleek one they gave you once you hit “cornerstone” status. It was a disaster. Stacks and stacks of papers, all of which he shoved to the side as he sat down slowly, like a man being sentenced. He added the uneaten bagel to the pile of chaos and tapped the corner of his tablet screen to bring up a blank document.

Speech for IPC Gala: Celebrating Seven Years of Excellence with Aventurine

He stared at the blinking cursor. 

Seven years.

Seven years of glittering press releases, designer suits, staged smiles, and strategic charm.

Of being the gem they held up in photo ops—look how polished he is, how perfectly cut, how loyal to the IPC.

Of doing whatever it took to close a deal, no matter how ugly the terms.

Of saying yes when everything in him wanted to scream no.

What was he even supposed to say? Should he cater the speech to the lifestyle he knew so many people longed for? The money, the luxury, the prestige, the power, everything he once wanted so badly, he would have done anything to get? Or, maybe he should talk about the nights spent slumped over a marble countertop, high-end liquor burning his throat, trying to quiet the ache long enough to sleep without dreaming. The weeks—no, months of his life—blurred into static, erased by whatever would help him forget. That with every step up in the ladder, he had never felt more owned. At least the chains here came with a good dental plan and the illusion that he was in control. Maybe he'd even include that it had been seven years since he'd felt like a person, and that he was just a product the IPC kept polishing until the edges wore thin.

He ran a hand through his hair and started typing.

If this was a celebration… he couldn’t remember what, exactly, they were supposed to be celebrating.

Chapter 2: Luster

“I still remember my very first day with the Stonehearts—how exceptional it felt, stepping into a world that believed in me, invested in me, gave me the chance to become something greater. The IPC saw potential where others saw nothing. They gave me a new purpose, and a chance to start fresh. I know that not everyone is lucky enough to receive that.”

 

He hadn’t walked into trial expecting a future; he only wanted his money back. A lump sum of Tanba to prove he’d been worth something, once. But when Jade offered more than that—offered purpose, luxury, a seat at the table—a hunger inside him snapped awake. All of a sudden, he had the chance to be seen. To be the one in control for once. He could show the universe that he was so much more than a former slave from a burned-out colony. After everything he'd been through, didn't he deserve that? Despite the lengths he went through to get there, and the values his sister tried to instill in him...

The pull was impossible to resist. For his entire life, he'd never had the luxury to...want something. Everything was about survival. How to survive the desert, the Katicans, the IPC, the trafficking ring, his master, the other slaves. But in that room, standing before Jade, for the first time in his life he allowed himself to want. He wanted more money. More power. More recognition. More influence. He'd bleed the IPC dry and then ring them out again, lapping up anything that was left.

He just had to take the first step.

And once he did, he couldn’t believe the room he was in.

Aventurine stood frozen in the doorway, still wearing the same scuffed shoes and tattered shirt he’d arrived in. The air smelled like lavender and filtered air conditioning. There were no chains. No surveillance cameras. No barred doors. Instead, there was a bed. A real bed, with a headboard and sheets and stacks of pillows. He took one hesitant step into the room, then another. No one stopped him. The floor was plush underfoot. There was even a door built into the wall, one with a long rod and hundreds of velvet hangers.

Is this...where people put their clothes?  he thought. This is huge, how am I ever going to fill it? 

There was a single outfit already hanging there: his new Stoneheart uniform, wrapped in crisp plastic. It was the most elaborate outfit he had ever seen, with a pin shaped like a glittering green stone on the lapel. Could he really wear something like that out in public? How'd they tailor it without him there?

Rich people really can do anything.

And the food. Gods, the food. Someone had delivered a tray to his room right as he arrived—fresh fruit, pastries, some kind of pasta dish that smelled like butter and spice and everything he’d never had the chance to taste. For a while, he left it on his desk as a decoration, making sure to savor the sight, as if it might disappear.

Never in his life had he seen so many things. Soft towels. Real light fixtures. A screen embedded in the wall with access to everything. Hell, the room had three chairs in it. Three. He didn't even know three living people. 

But the thing that really stopped him cold was the mirror. It took up half the wall across from the bed. The reflection was sharper than anything he’d seen before. He’d caught glimpses in warped metal and rippling water, but this was different. Finally, he could clearly see his blue and pink eyes, the ones his family loved, the two things that tied him to his old identity. 

Well, three things.

The brand on his neck was just as hideous as he thought it would be. There was no chance something that hurt so bad could ever look less than grotesque. He couldn't read the word those branded letters spelled, but he imagined it didn't say anything kind. He touched his neck, and the mirror did the same. 

Was that really what he looked like?

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Someone taller, maybe. Older. Stronger. He looked… sick. His clothes looked too big. His face was hollow around the edges, like someone halfway carved out of stone, but not finished yet.

“Aventurine,” he whispered aloud, just to test it. It didn’t sound like him yet, but maybe it would, eventually.

He crossed the room and ran his hand over the bedspread. The fabric was heavy and expensive-feeling, like it belonged to someone important. Soon, he thought, I’ll be that person. Tomorrow, he’d receive his cornerstone. His official designation. A gemstone name to carry, to embody, and to live up to. People would know him. Respect him. Fear him, maybe.

It took a few tries to figure out how the lights switched off, and when they did, Aventurine immediately flinched at the darkness. He hated the cold, grey walls of his old cellar-cage, but this darkness was different. Big, arching windows let moonlight spill into the room, illuminating every corner. If anything, it made the room even more inviting. 

Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, he let himself fall back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling with a stupid, giddy grin on his face. Despite it being the most comfortable surface he'd ever had the pleasure to lay on, he didn’t sleep much that night. Excitement buzzed through him like electricity, bright and full of momentum. He kept imagining tomorrow: the cornerstone ceremony, the new name, the tailored suit, the way people would look at him differently. Tomorrow was the start of the rest of his life.

_______________________

“You're wearing that?” Jade asked him the next morning as she showed herself into his room. 

“I assumed this was a better choice than my previous clothing, no?” He smoothed the front of his Stoneheart uniform, self-conscious now. “It’s clean. I wanted to make a good impression.”

“I told you to pick out your a new wardrobe. This is for ceremonies and very formal occasions.” As she threw open his closet doors, Aventurine whispered, "There's different clothes for different things?" 

Jade studied the empty closet, then turned back to him, her expression unreadable.

“Well,” she said, “I suppose you wouldn't know these things, would you? It’s my job to educate you, after all.”

“Educate me?” he asked, half-joking.

“Style. Presence. Manners. You’re a Stoneheart now. You must look and behave like one." 

Aventurine followed her through the sprawling corporate hallways like a shadow, heart pounding in anticipation. Outside, a black vehicle awaited them, and there was even a man who opened the door for them. Aventurine found himself peering out the windows, ogling everything they passed as they drove through the upper levels of the city, to a shopping district that felt surreal.

He followed Jade, who walked ahead like she owned the place. She probably did. 

“Pick whatever you want,” she said when they had finally settled on a store to go into. As Aventurine nervously scanned the hundreds of clothing items, a few customers drifted nearby. One of them did a double-take when she saw Aventurine. Normally, he didn't like being stared at, but this time was different. They weren't looking at him like a piece of meat, rather, they met his eyes with awe.

"This feels strange," he whispered to Jade. "People are staring at me." 

"Theres nothing strange about it. Gemstones are meant to be desired.” She picked a deep green suit off the rack and held it up to Aventurine. “However, there’s so much more you can be. It all depends on how you see yourself.” 

Aventurine reached for things that shimmered in the light—gold cuffs, rich velvets, long lapels. There was a coat lined with synthetic fur, dyed the color of sunburnt sand. He touched it reverently. The fabric reminded him of desert nights.

“You’ve got a taste for drama,” Jade said.

“Is that bad?”

“It’s something we can work with.”

They moved through seven more stores. He tried on a dozen coats, dress shirts, and slacks that actually fit. She made him twirl for her a few times, and though he pretended not to enjoy it, he absolutely did. When their arms were sufficiently full of shopping bags, Jade took him to a restaurant with white tablecloths and twelve different utensils beside each plate. 

"What...is all this stuff?"

"Tableware."

She picked up the smallest fork,  and Aventurine studied how she held it. He tried his best to imitate, though he felt terribly silly when he spent nearly five minutes trying to stab a tomato.

"This seems unnecessarily hard," he said. The tomato slipped under the prongs of his fork and bounced onto the ground. Jade sighed. 

"You must learn how to properly present yourself at a table. Sit up straight. Chin out, shoulders back. Keep your eyes sharp and smile.”

He nodded quickly, drinking in every word.

"And you're using the wrong fork. That's your fish fork."

"My...what?"

"The utensil you use depends on the dish, and the course you are eating." 

"There's a code for the table utensils?" 

“Of course there is. Salad fork’s on the outside."

He tried again, picking up the smaller fork. 

“And keep your wrist loose when you hold your cup. You’ll look like a brute if you grab it like a beer mug.”

Aventurine flushed, adjusting the angle of his fingers.

“Are people really going to care?” he asked, checking his lap several times to make sure he hadn't spilled water on himself while drinking

“Yes,” Jade said without hesitation. “They’ll care."

That nervous knot in his stomach started to twist. Not just with pressure—but with the quiet fear that if he messed this up, they'd take it all away.

The car was waiting for them when they were finished. Aventurine stepped onto the sidewalk, stomach full with the best food he'd ever tasted, and arms full of sleek shopping bags with silk ties, golden buttons, and tailored pants. A wardrobe made for someone important. Someone new.

He was so lost in thought, he almost didn't notice the people huddled beneath a column just outside the transit stop. An older woman sat holding two children, all wrapped in faded blankets, sharing a thermal flask. The youngest was barefoot. 

The hum of traffic faded under a sudden rush of memory—heat, dust, the sound of coins clinking into a metal bowl. He remembered standing just like that with his sister on Sigonia’s southern stretch, begging travelers for scraps. He remembered hunger so deep it made his bones ache. Now he stood there in clothes that could pay for that whole family’s food for a month. He felt like a joke. Before he knew it, he was reaching in his pocket, only to be stopped by Jade catching his arm.

“Don’t,” she said, calm but firm. “Not here.”

His brow furrowed. “But—”

“They don’t want your pity. Leave them their dignity. Don’t make a scene.”

“I wasn’t going to—”

“Your compassion is a tool, Aventurine. Use it wisely.”

Aventurine looked back at the family. The child had turned away, hiding his face behind the woman’s coat. As if he should be ashamed.

“But I could do something,” Aventurine said, voice low. “Isn’t that the point?”

“No, it isn't.” Jade’s grip loosened, but her words stayed sharp. “I advise against handouts. It perpetuates the illusion of blessings without a price, which is not reality. Nothing in life is free—and if it is, it usually costs more than you realize.”

She didn’t need to say it. He knew what she meant. He hadn’t earned his name yet, not really. Not the room, not the bed, not the uniform he wore. They’d been given to him. And deep down, he knew it was a thought he'd been avoiding; the IPC gave nothing for free.

The bags in his hands felt heavier than they should have. He climbed into the car in silence. Outside the window, the city kept moving, and for the first time since stepping into his new life, Aventurine felt something bitter curl inside him.

____________

They led him down the long hallway in silence.

The IPC building didn’t echo, but the marble still hummed beneath his shoes like it remembered every footstep that had ever crossed it. At the end of the corridor was a gold-plated door—the same one he’d seen the day he arrived. Back then, he'd been marched past it, shackled and silent, with nothing to his name but a file number and a debt he hadn’t earned. Now, he stood in front of it in a designer suit, his back straight, and his wrists free.

The guards stepped aside and the doors opened.

The room was colder than he remembered. It was all clean lines and glass, nothing decorative. Nine figures sat at the far end of the long table, flanked by holoscreens and tablets. Ironically, everybody except him wore the official Stoneheart uniform. They mingled and sipped chilled wine, laughing like gods. Aventurine felt a single bead of sweat trail down his spine. It wasn’t long before the others noticed him. Or rather, noticed Jade, and glanced with interest at the young man she’d brought under her wing. As he came into view, the chatter died down. A few of them covered their mouths with their chalices and whispered to one another. 

As Jade took her seat, she extended her arm and invited Aventurine to sit at the empty seat beside her. 

Finally, he thought, marveling at the empty chair. My seat at the table. 

A man with ice white hair scoffed the moment Aventurine sat down.

“Ah, the desert rat himself. I heard all about you and your schemes.”

Aventurine stiffened, but shot him a smile. “I'm honored you took such an interest in me.”

“Only because I wanted to predict how long you'd make it here. I'd originally thought you'd last a month, but after seeing you...I'd say three weeks, tops.”

Before Aventurine could respond, a warm voice cut in:

“You’re making a terrible impression, Sugilite.” The woman beside him gave Aventurine a nod. “Don’t mind him. His ego’s just bruised because someone prettier is getting attention tonight. I take it you're Aventurine?"

"As of today, I suppose."

“I'm Topaz."

They exchanged smiles, and Topaz returned to her work. The meeting started when a small man in gray—an executive whose name he still didn’t know—began to read from a tablet. Numbers. Transactions. Performance ratings. Risk calculations. Casualties. Profit margins.

None of it meant anything. The entire time, he was revelling in how it felt to sit in an actual chair at an actual table. His chair was so high off the ground, he could nearly kick his feet like kid. If he played his cards right, he'd never have to go back down.

It wasn’t until the light changed that his attention snapped back. The room went subtly ceremonial, and the man in gray walked over to him, holding a velvet-lined case. When they opened it, the inside glimmered excessively. 

The aventurine stone.

It was smaller than he expected. Not quite green, not quite blue—but perfectly cut and unnaturally flawless. A gemstone meant to symbolize luck and new beginnings. The man held it out to him, and for one brief, irrational moment, he hesitated. He had put his life on the line for this. Crawled through dirt and glass. Let himself be reshaped into something that could belong here. All for this one symbol. This title. And yet, now that it was in front of him...

No turning back now, he thought. What would mama or big sis say if they were here? Would they be happy that I've made something of myself? Or...maybe they'd be angry that I ended up with the IPC, of all people.

He shook his head, hard. No. This was his blessing from Gaiathra. This was his karma for surviving such horrible tribulations. It had to be.

You'll finally be a winner for once. You'll have everything you could ever want. People will respect you. They'll beg for a minute of your time. You'll be untouchable, metaphorically and literally. It's time you make yourself more than just an Avgin slave.

The man holding the case raised a brow. Sugilite said something under his breath, but Aventurine couldn't hear anything aside from the buzzing in his head.

You need to do this. All the people you killed to stand here right now, it would be a waste if it was all for nothing. You have to live on. You have to. You have to. You have to go all in. 

He reached out and took it. Though the stone was small, it weighed a lot. It fit into the palm of his hand like it always belonged there, like his hand was cut to fit it, fingers wrapping around the stone like prongs of a ring. 

“Congratulations, Aventurine,” someone said.

He smiled. He was good at that part.

Then, everyone returned to their conversation about their numbers, as if the ceremony had been a minor interruption in an otherwise more important day. Through the rest of the meeting, he ran his fingers along the aventurine stone. 

He did the right thing. It was about time he got some recognition, after all. And this wasn't just for him, of course—it was for everyone. Now a high ranking IPC member, surely he could return to Sigonia and help the Avgins repair the damage from the war. Everyone would benefit from his lucky blessing.

At the end of the meeting, the room emptied, leaving only him and Jade.

“Do you have any more questions, Aventurine?” she asked.

"Actually, I do," he said, keeping his tone neutral. "I wanted to know if we could travel to Sigonia, at some point."

"Why do you ask?"

He hesitated. Should I tell her the truth? She doesn't look too favorably on charity. It wouldn't be wise to upset her on his very first day.

Instead, he said carefully, "I'd just like to visit the Avgins, that's all."

"I'd just like to visit the Avgins, that's all," he said lightly, like it didn’t matter.

"Oh, child." Her smile was soft, but something in it was sharp and mocking. Her brows lifted with a look that might have been pity—if pity ever felt so condescending. “There are no more Avgins in Sigonia.”

His stomach dropped. "None at all?"

“Not anymore.”

The words landed like a blade between his ribs. He didn’t ask how it happened—because what other answer could there be? The very empire he’d just chained himself to had wiped them out, and now, he was one of them.

“What about the people on planet ███—the ones who helped me, when I was trying to escape?” His voice cracked despite his best efforts.

"They're gone, too."

In his mind, their faces blurred and burned away like ash. All those promises he made to himself…he hadn’t saved anyone. He hadn’t even tried.

And for what? For a suit and a title? For a rock? For the chance to stand in a room like this and make people bow their heads? Helping people had always been a footnote—a neat little excuse that let him ignore how selfish this all was.

You didn’t do this for them, a voice hissed in his skull. You did this for you.

With the way her smile grew, he was positive he let his poker face slip. Jade stepped closer, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t let this spoil your special day, Aventurine.” The way she said that name made his skin crawl. “After all, you’re a very lucky dog.”

Lucky.

The word clanged in his head like a cruel joke. 

He returned to his room in a daze. It was spotless, the furniture untouched. A welcome bottle of champagne sat unopened on the marble desk. He plopped the aventurine stone beside it as he collapsed in his desk chair. Moonlight flooded in through the windows, making the stone sparkle. He couldn't tell if it was trying to congratulate or mock him, but he couldn't stop staring at it. At the weight of everything it meant. Everything it had cost. Was luck truly on his side when he wrestled with fate? He couldn't tell anymore, but he knew one thing for certain.

It was far too late to fold.

Chapter 3: Sought

“The IPC has taught me that adaptability is a staple of success. In business, as in life, knowing how to read a room—and give it what it needs—can make all the difference. They gave me the freedom to become whoever I needed to be. That’s the kind of trust I’ll always be grateful for.”

At first, he kept thinking it was a mistake.

Every morning, he half-expected to wake up back on the floor of his cell, stripped of the fine sheets and silk pajamas. He'd go to touch the cuff of his sleeve and find rough cotton instead.

But the dream never broke. His closet was full. His appointments were full. His glass was full. And after a while, Aventurine stopped flinching when the dream held. He got better at walking in polished shoes, and learned to smile with just the right amount of disinterest. He studied the way the older executives laughed—not too loud, not too often—and began to mirror it. They also read this thing every morning called the ‘newspaper’- he had it delivered to his desk, beside a coffee with a name he couldn't pronounce. 

Jade made sure he was prepared for everything. She hired a private tutor to teach him to read, a personal stylist to teach him to dress, and even a publicist to make sure his appearances in magazines and billboards were as flawless as possible.

There were parties. Endless ones. Off-world galas and celebratory luncheons with people whose names were worth more than entire colonies. The IPC paraded him around like a rare artifact—proof that a gutter-born nobody could be polished into something profitable. He was charming. Dazzling, even. The smile never slipped. He made small talk in five dialects. He got his shoes custom-heeled and stopped checking prices before swiping his card. Once, he bought a bottle of perfume that cost more than his entire outfit. He didn’t even like it that much, but it looked good on his vanity, and more importantly, he bought it because he could. Everyday, he thought to himself, is this what freedom feels like?

He was finally Aventurine. People said it like it meant something, and for a little while, he let himself believe it did.

The work as an executive director wasn’t hard. Sitting through meeting after meeting was dull, and he didn’t always follow what was being talked about, but the real work came out of the office. He learned to play cards, and to nobody's surprise, he was a natural. No matter what, he always seemed to have the perfect hand. Paired with the bottle he'd share with his opponent, every game left him feeling untouchable. 

He hadn’t grown up around alcohol; in the Sigonian desert, sometimes clean water wasn't even a guarantee. But here, alcohol was everywhere. There were toasts at every meeting, and bottles in every office. It started as a polite sip at client dinners, then a nightcap, then a constant, post 5pm companion. He discovered the warmth of it, the way it gilded his thoughts and smoothed out his smile. With a drink in hand, everything was easier: the conversations, the charm, the person he was pretending to be. He didn’t understand why people didn’t stay like this all the time. It felt like cheating. Like having a secret weapon. One glass and the guilt turned quiet. Two, and he almost believed his own performance.

He was on his third when he met his first client that day. The guy was old money; greying, sharp-eyed, and famously difficult to impress. The kind of man who spoke in half-sentences and expected the room to fill in the rest. The man had also declined a boardroom meeting, and requested something “more comfortable.”

So Aventurine met him in one of the IPC’s private lounges. It was wall to wall velvet with leather booths, and a table built for cards and liquor. He wore a deep green suit with gold cufflinks and no tie. Casually intentional. 

He ordered a round for both of them—whiskey that was clearly expensive without being flashy. Just like the man across from him. They played cards, not for money—officially—but the stakes hovered in the air, unspoken. By the look of him, Aventurine could tell that the client liked control, liked knowing more than the other guy. Aventurine let him think he did.

He lost the first two hands on purpose. Smiled at the insults. Let the older man offer advice.

By the fourth round, he started winning.

By the sixth, he had the man talking.

By the end of the game, the contract was signed, and it wasn’t just a deal. It was a steal. Terms more favorable than they had any right to be, agreed to with a laugh and a handshake. The client even clapped him on the back on the way out, muttering something about “not being half as dim as you look.”

The moment the doors closed behind him, Aventurine exhaled. This...he was pretty good at this. The guilt that usually prickled at the edges of his success was quiet tonight. He was still grinning when his phone pinged and a message from Jade lit up the screen.

New assignment. New client.

And Aventurine, drunk on the win (and the whiskey), adjusted his collar, smoothed back his hair, and thought:

Let’s see who I get to charm next.

The new client was a planetary developer from the Outer Sectors. He was older with a smooth voice, and crisp cologne that reeked of generational power. Aventurine met him at the penthouse bar of the Asterion Hotel. From the jump, the man was overly friendly. He was far too happy to see Aventurine, and far too willing to pay for their drinks, considering Aventurine was the one trying to sell him something. Though Aventurine was new to the job, it wasn't his first day on earth. He had plenty of experience with that type of man. He knew better than anyone how to talk circles around them while pretending to listen, and how to make sure they felt flattered. 

But this one was different.

The man smiled too easily. He laughed at things that weren’t jokes. When Aventurine finished telling a story, he’d shake his head and look him up and down, drinking in the sight before him.

“You look so polished,” he said, sipping dark liquor with one ring-heavy hand. “But you’ve got bite under all that shine. I can tell.”

Aventurine flashed a smile. “I do have an appetite for keeping clients entertained. You’ll find I’m very effective.”

“Oh, I believe it.” The man’s gaze lingered a little too long after he said that.

Aventurine went back to his script and thought of clever ways to talk contracts, investments, the usual, but the client kept steering off-course.

“You know,” the man said, after his third drink, “if I’d known they were sending you, I would’ve signed the contract before we even met.”

Aventurine laughed politely, ignoring the way his skin prickled. “Flattery won’t get you a better deal.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Just enjoying the company.”

He shifted tactics again and tried to regain control. More numbers, more hard facts. But every time he thought he had the upper hand, the man threw something unexpected at him—a comment, a compliment, a glance that lingered a moment too long. When he felt a hand brush against his thigh, his throat burned, and it wasn't from the whiskey. 

The invitation to his suite came casually, like it was the next step in the negotiation. And though it caught him a bit off guard, Aventurine said yes. Because, this was business, and business sometimes required flexibility. He’d danced on the edge of these moments before. Close enough to play the part, far enough to stay untouched. He could do it again.

But inside the suite, with the city lights glittering through the glass and the contract unopened on the desk, something shifted. They sat on a loveseat by the window, Aventurine stiff as a board. He didn’t like the way the man looked at him like he’d already bought him.

Aventurine smiled through it, saying witty things as the man pour more drinks. He downed his in one gulp, internally begging for the alcohol to start numbing the horrible feeling in his stomach.

“You’re a wild one,” the man said, refilling his glass. "Think you can out drink me?"

"We'll see," Aventurine said, getting up from his seat. "But before that, I’d like to freshen up a bit, if that's alright.”

“Oh, be my guest.” 

He stepped into the bathroom and closed the door, frantically dialing Jade. She answered on the second ring.

“What’s the status? Have you closed the deal?”

“Madam Jade, I’m trying to, but things aren't going as planned.”

“What ever could you mean?”

“He doesn’t want money, and I offered him a ton, too! What am I supposed to do?”  

“You give him what he does want. This client is one who prefers…more personal negotiations.”

“I don’t follow.” 

“Do you know what people do with gemstones, Aventurine?”

The question lingered, hanging in the air while he tried to think of a better answer than the one he had. Eventually, with a low, bitter voice, he asked, “Buy them?” 

“They pay for their beauty. They cherish them as a status symbol. Spend the night with him, and let him cherish you as he pleases. I’ll send a car for you in the morning.” 

For a moment, he thought he might be sick. He clapped a hand over his mouth, his breath coming in sharp bursts.

“But…I couldn't do that,” he whispered, voice muffled by his hand.

“You have the experience, I’m sure. Don’t overcomplicate it.” 

He didn’t respond right away. He just stared at his reflection, the cold glow of the suite behind him. Hunched over the sink, his heart beat like a hammer in his chest, and all of a sudden, he could feel the cement of his old cellar floors. He heard the chains that would rattle when his master came to get him, and hand his leash to whoever paid for him that day. How much he hated the feeling of their hot skin, covered in sweat, sticking to him as they latched on like leeches. The way his entire body ached after they were finished with him. Some days, it went on until every limb was numb. The more they paid, the longer he stayed. Those were the only times in his life that he actually wished he was back in his master’s house, safe in the cellar. 

When he looked at himself again in the mirror, he was sheet white and gasping for air. He fumbled with the handles of the sink and prayed the water would drown out his panicked breaths.

“But that’s not—I mean, this can’t be—”

“Aventurine, do not get emotional. This is nothing more than a business transaction,” Jade said, smooth as glass. “Visually, you’re stunning. It’s your best asset. While he thinks he’s scoring the biggest win of his life, you’re the one who’s really winning. You’ll have him bound in a that contract by the morning. You’re in control.” She waited for his response, but when it didn't come, she said with a sigh, "Regardless, this deal needs to be sealed. Should this client get away from us, I can only imagine the repercussions from Diamond. I don't think either of us want that, do we?” 

Repercussions from Diamond.

Does that mean...if I don't close my deals, I lose everything?

Aventurine didn't lose. He couldn't. Without the money and the status, without the title...who would he be if he lost it all? The thought of the gold slipping away…

“Are we clear?” Jade's voice cut through the phone.

Through his cracking voice, he whispered, “Yes m'am.” 

She hung up, and he dropped the phone on the bathroom floor.

She’s right. You have the experience. You’re good at this, he told himself. You've done it before. You know what guys like this want.

His lower lip trembled and he bit it as hard as he could. He couldn't cry. Aventurine didn't cry. Aventurine also didn't have panic attacks in random hotel bathrooms, but there he was, wheezing into his hand as he tried to steady his breathing. His eyes, red and glassy, flicked toward the row of orange bottles lined up by the sink. His hand trembled slightly as he grabbed one and tilted it toward the faint bathroom light, trying to read the label.

Take one tablet once a day as needed for anxiety

He dry-swallowed three of them, one after the other, like he was daring them to work as fast as they could. He ran a hand back through his hair, forcing it into place, then reached for one of the tiny hotel perfumes. He sprayed it on his neck, mindlessly emptying the entire bottle. It was way too much, but he didn't care. Maybe it would help mask the inevitable scent of sex and blood that was about to fill the room. 

When he opened the door, he felt like someone else was piloting his body now, and all he could do was let it happen. Because if he stopped moving—if he thought too hard about any of this—he might never move again.

“What'd you put on, some fancy perfume?” The man asked with a smirk. He tapped on his thigh, urging Aventurine over. “You like bets, don’t you? Come sit here, and I bet I’ll be able to guess every note.” 

Aventurine smiled, picked his cocktail glass up off the table and downed it. He popped the cap off the bottle of whiskey and filled both their glasses. 

“Before we start,” Aventurine said, taking a seat on the man's lap. He handed him a glass, and clinked them together with a wink. “Why don’t we have another drink?”

Chapter 4: Pressure

“People love to ask how I made it to the top. The secret’s always the same: gamble with everything you have until the losses start to sting—and then keep going anyway. That’s where real power is. Not in playing safe, but in knowing exactly how close you can fly to the sun before something melts.”

 

Aventurine had started taking bigger bets.

Not just at the card table—though he took those, too. He played recklessly, doubled down on losing hands just to see the panic in someone else’s eyes. It wasn’t about winning anymore, even though he always won. But aside from the card table, his recklessness bled into everything. He started showing up late to meetings. Canceling on clients. Making deals without clearance and pretending it was all part of the plan.

Jade hadn’t stopped him. Nobody had. After all, he was still closing. Even high. Even hungover. Even with the kind of smile that made executives wonder whether he’d kiss them or kill them. Time and time again, he took on dangerous contracts and walked into unstable territories with nothing but a briefcase and a grin.

“I’m a risk-taker,” he said once, lighting a cigarette with a stack of credits. “That’s why they love me.”

One of the bigger risks he took was a mission on lymanika—uninsured, unescorted, and technically unauthorized. But he had business there, unlike the so-called Mad Bull of lymanika, whose business had just dried up. 

The landing ramp groaned beneath their boots as Aventurine led his squad out onto the dust-choked outskirts of Iymanika. Wind blew fine ash across the cracked terrain, and not a single light glowed from the once-bustling refinery stations ahead. 

“Sir,” one of his agents called from behind, voice taut. “Scans show movement deeper in the compound. Hostiles. Lots of them. Are we really going in with just one team?”

Aventurine adjusted the cuffs of his coat, smirking. “We cleared out his ledgers, took down his contacts, and froze every account he ever used. Mad Bull’s out of money, out of allies, and out of time. That makes him desperate. Desperate men make stupid decisions.”

“Exactly,” the agent pressed. “Which is why the base advised we wait for reinforcements—”

Aventurine turned, sharply enough to silence the protest. “I’ve waited long enough. This bastard’s been bleeding resources out of IPC supply lines for years. I’m not about to let him crawl back underground and play martyr. We end it. Now.”

"I understand, but—"

"Are you giving me orders?" 

"No sir." 

"That's what I thought." He spun back toward the compound and motioned forward. His employees exchanged uneasy glances, but followed. Inside, the air stank of oil and scorched metal. Broken monitors flickered. Shadows shifted behind support beams. Aventurine barely blinked.

He was already picturing the report: Enemy organization neutralized. Leader apprehended. All assets seized. Minimal IPC losses.

He didn’t picture the mines buried beneath the floor. The makeshift turrets rigged from torn-up security drones. The chaos when the first ambush landed, or the way his squad scattered, ducking for cover, some of them not fast enough. Even then, as gunfire rang out around them, Aventurine pressed forward, eyes glowing with conviction—or maybe just addiction to victory, because no matter how many times people warned him, the only voice he ever listened to, was his own.

In the rubble, the so-called Mad Bull of Iymanika sneered as he stood, cracking his knuckles and brushing soot off his lapel. "You're quite something else, boy... I still can't figure out how you managed to empty out my entire business, but I will never surrender."

A pair of his men shoved another IPC grunt to the floor. 

"If push comes to shove," the Mad Bull said, "I'll just blow up this whole place... you already had a taste of what I can do. You arrogant dogs from the IPC never respected us wanderers, did you? But now that you're in our territory, you'll play by our rules." He emptied a revolver cylinder, slid in a single bullet, and let it spin. The click echoed, and he tossed the gun to Aventurine. "Six shots. Fate will decide whether we live or die. Do you have the nerve?"

Aventurine bent down to pick up the revolver, ignoring the slick of blood under his shoes. 

“There are too many people who've pointed a gun at me,” he said, weighing the revolver in his hand. “Some of them even pulled the trigger.”

He raised the barrel to his own chest and met the Mad Bull’s stare.

"Now, guess why I'm still standing here."

The first shot cracked through the tense silence. Nothing.

The second, third, fourth and fifth followed—each louder than the last, each met with a wince from the Mad Bull’s men. 

"One in six is boring," he said softly, sliding a fresh bullet into the chamber. “If you want to tempt fate…”

Bang. 

Bang. 

Bang. 

Bang. 

When the smoke cleared, Aventurine was still standing. He stepped forward through the haze of gunpowder and adrenaline, loaded the gun with four more bullets, and pointed it directly at the Mad Bull’s forehead.

"You need to learn how to turn yourself into a die first."

The Mad Bull didn’t speak again. Not when Aventurine pulled the trigger, and not afterward. And when they finally docked back at the IPC base, bruised and half-dead, Aventurine was the only one laughing.

___________________

When the higher-ups caught word of what happened, Jade smiled and said, “The IPC has always valued results. As long as he’s bringing those to us, I don’t see the issue.” 

A few hours after the mission, Aventurine was in his suite, slouched sideways on the velvet couch, one arm draped over the back, the other lazily gripping a half-empty bottle of something expensive. His tie was undone, collar askew, and the air reeked of cologne. A small, orange pill bottle sat uncapped on the coffee table, spilling white tablets on the glass.

Topaz let herself in without knocking. “You’re back from lymanika?”

He raised the bottle, not even looking at her. “And I'm alive, unfortunately.”

She sat in the chair across from him. “I saw the report. That mission was supposed to be recon, not a near-death experience.”

He chuckled, finally turning his head to look at her. His eyes were glassy, and far too bloodshot for the time of night. “Near-death gives the best adrenaline. You should try it sometime, commander.”

Topaz didn’t return the smile. “You were limping when you walked in. And you’ve already popped who knows how many of those.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“Topaz.” He leaned forward, then immediately fell back into the couch when his body couldn't support him sitting up. “I’m not one of your fresh recruits, okay? Don't worry so much. I always get the job done.”

“Aventurine—”

“I said I’m fine.” His voice snapped louder than he meant to. He winced at himself, then reclined again with a sigh, one hand over his eyes. “C'mon, you’re being so dramatic.”

“Me?” She said with a scoff. “You’re the one who's basically incapacitated at 7pm, wallowing all day for no reason. I mean, what could possibly be so bad that you insist on being as intoxicated as possible, every single day?” Aventurine reached for the pills again and shook the bottle near his ear, drowning out her voice with his makeshift maraca. She rolled her eyes and left the room, muttering, “Whatever.” Once the door clicked shut, he sank deeper into the couch, right where he belonged. Finally, alone again. 

Though, suspiciously, he received a text message from Jade the next morning: 

“You’re getting a partner.”

He glared at his phone, the light making his head hurt even worse. A partner? For what? If Jade thought some random IPC employee could boss him around, she had another thing coming. Rolling off the couch, he threw his coat back on and ran his fingers through his tangled hair. Not his best look, but it would do.

A knock on the door echoed through his suite. Slipping a few pills past his tongue, he washed them down with his half empty flask and called out, "Yeah?"

In walked a man with crisp posture, dark curls, and a less than impressed expression. 

Dr. Veritas Ratio.

Aventurine didn’t need an introduction to know who he was. Everyone in the department knew of the Intelligentsia Guild, and Ratio was a renowned name within them. A self proclaimed genius with eight doctoral degrees, Ratio had no tolerance for nonsense. 

This will be fun, Aventurine thought.

"You're Executive Director Aventurine, I presume?" 

"Doctor Ratio," Aventurine purred, peering over the couch. "How did you know? Are you a fan of mine?"

"The empty liquor bottles and varies white powders I can see just from where I'm standing, tipped me off." 

Aventurine grinned. “Oh, you're snarky. That's cute. Let me guess, then. You’re my new babysitter?”

“I’ve received an assignment to be your new mission partner.” Ratio closed the door behind him and casually hung up his coat, making himself right at home. "I was told that you're an infamous, crazed gambler, who stepped into this position three years ago and has viciously climbed the corporate ladder faster than anyone else."

“Well, doc,” Aventurine said, flopping back onto the couch. “You'll be pleased to know that I'm quite easy to work with. Very go with the flow.”

“Considering your most recent mission report, I doubt that.”

“And you said you weren't a fan.” Aventurine gestured grandly to the chair across from him, as if it were a throne in Versailles. "Please, have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?"

"I don't drink at 11 in the morning," Ratio said, crossing his legs as he sat. "But thank you for your concern." 

They locked eyes like twin blades drawn in the dark—gleaming, deadly, and waiting to strike first.

"I have water," Aventurine hissed through his perfect teeth. "Would that suffice, your grace?" 

"That would be much more appropriate."

"Do you prefer sparkling? Still? Mineral? Glacier? Crushed ice or cubed?" Aventurine asked, sauntering to his kitchenette. "Actually, don't bother answering. You seem like someone who drinks straight from the hose." 

"Was that supposed to offend me?"

"Oh gods, not at all, doctor," he said, dramatically filling a ludicrously tall crystal glass from the sink, never breaking eye contact. "I admire your commitment to frugality. Besides, I'm sure your immune system appreciates the challenge."   

“In reading your most recent mission report," Ratio said, ignoring the taunt as best he could. "I learned that you took four subordinates into an unstable structure with zero clearance. Two were hospitalized. One may have permanent spinal injury.”

Aventurine handed him the glass with a smug smile.

“And yet," he said with a wink, "the IPC won again. Whoopty doo.”

“Do you always gamble with people’s lives?” 

“Only when I win. Which, I always do, by the way.” 

Ratio said nothing, but he stood up to match the man in front of him. Aventurine scoffed and asked, “What, no follow-up questions? Not gonna poke around in my head, psychoanalyze me, tell me I need to rest?”

“You won’t rest.”

“You’re right, so cut to the chase on why you're here. Did they tell you to keep me in check? Calm me down? Fix whatever’s broken in here?” He tapped his temple with his finger.

“I’m a scholar. I don’t fix people. I observe them.”

“Kinky. You wanna observe me, doctor?”

“Not at all. I’m here because I was ordered by Diamond."

“But you're awfully smart, aren't you?” Aventurine leaned forward, fingers trailing along the rim of Ratio’s glass. “Go on, then. Observe me. Tell me something I don’t even know about myself.”

“I doubt that would be difficult.” Ratio moved his glass deliberately out of reach, brushing off the touch without flinching. “But, if you insist.” Ratio circled him like a lion, silence stretching just long enough to turn theatrical. “Your coat’s been tailored three times—hips narrowed, shoulders let out, hemline dropped to mimic someone taller. Your perfume’s overpriced, and you over-apply it because you’re convinced you’re always one breath away from being forgotten. And...you keep touching your ring finger, even though there’s nothing on it. So either, there used to be something once… or you wish that there was.”

Aventurine blinked, the smile on his face twitching. Ratio raised his eyebrows, as if to say, "your move, gambler."

“I like you,” Aventurine said, a little too quickly. He took a step back, smoothing his hair with the kind of care reserved for hiding nervous hands. “You've got balls. That's rare around here." From the inner lining of his coat, Aventurine pulled out a sleek revolver. He tilted it sideways and loaded five bullets, leaving one chamber empty. Then, he handed it to Ratio as if he was passing a pen across a desk. "Let me tell you something you’ll want to keep in mind, if you plan to last as my partner.” Aventurine spun the cylinder, pressed the muzzle against his own chest, and locked eyes with him. “Life is a grand gamble,” he whispered.

Click.

“And I’m always the final victor.”

Click. Click.

His grin stayed put, even as the third click echoed through the room. The tension clung to the walls like smoke. Finally, he lowered the weapon. Ratio regarded him in silence, then finally replied, “Fascinating. You think playing with death makes you look powerful, when really it just screams that you've already lost interest in living. How sad." 

For the first time that day, the grin on Aventurine’s face fell. 

“Also, do you always hide your left hand behind your back?" Ratio asked, tugging on Aventurine's left sleeve to pull his arm back into view. "You've done it three times, now." 

Aventurine scowled, clutching his left hand to his chest, looking Ratio up and down. "Just who do you think you are?" 

"I already told you, gambler." Ratio held his glass of tap water up toward Aventurine with a nod. "I'm your new partner." 

Notes:

uwu

I've been trying to lace in pieces from his character stories, so that's where lymanika and mr mad bull came from, lol. i also for sure am just making up random business terms that i dont even really understand LMAO but you get the vision

Chapter 5: Fracture

"But at the end of the day, success isn’t about never slipping. It’s about knowing how to fall without losing your grip on the gold. You need to have enough stubbornness to keep your hands on the prize, even when the weight threatens to crush you. The IPC taught me how to hold on, despite everything. That's what separates those who are remembered from those who are forgotten."

Aventurine usually arrived at the office anywhere from twenty minutes to two hours late, all depending on how long he had spent wallowing the night before.

Today, the elevator opened with a soft chime, revealing Aventurine already mid-phone call. He barely flicked his eyes toward the employees waiting to greet him.

"Tell them if they want to renegotiate, they can do it on their knees like everyone else," he drawled, striding past the wide-eyed employees without breaking pace. "Yes, I’m being serious. They’ll take the deal as-is, or they won’t take it at all." His shoes clicked sharp against the marble as he cut through the executive wing, coat flaring just enough to expose the tailored suit underneath. But beneath the perfection, the cracks showed. His eyes were bloodshot, his usual polish dulled by exhaustion. "Don’t call me again unless they’ve signed," he added. "If they want to cry, they can pay for a therapist. My time is too expensive."

A disheveled office man scurried into his path, clutching a tablet. "Sir, the board is ready for your presentation when—"

"Why are you talking to me like I asked?" Aventurine snapped, not even slowing down his stride.

“I was just—”

“Wasting my time? Do you know how much a minute of my time is worth?" He didn’t wait for the answer as he shoved past him, shoulders squared, and stepped into the conference room.

All eyes were pinned on him the second he walked in. Executives filled the long table, while half a dozen planetary stakeholders flickered in on holographic screens. Despite being twenty minutes late, his posture oozed confidence, as did the half-empty flask he didn’t bother concealing when he sat at the head of the table.

"Aventurine," Jade said, her voice smooth but tight, lips pressed into the faintest line. "I trust you had a good reason for keeping the board waiting."

"Madam Jade." Aventurine touched a hand to his chest in mock offense, gasping theatrically. "Surely you know I never make you wait for nothing." With a flick of his wrist, the projector ignited, and he sank effortlessly into his pitch. "In short," he said, spinning through graphs and data with careless charm, "we’ve been sitting on a goldmine—and I do mean that literally. The planet Kardian contains enough raw lithium and iron to fuel our tech divisions for the next two decades."

A ripple of murmurs ran through the board.

“Yes, the region was previously red-zoned under the Environmental Care Treaty," Aventurine continued smoothly, "but with clause 7.3A expiring last quarter, nothing stands in the way of private-sector investment. And the IPC has first rights of entry. Lucky us."

Jade leaned back, spreading her fingers across the table, visibly pleased. “Projected quarterly return?”

“Seven-point-three billion. Conservative estimate.”

"Excellent."

The room warmed with approval. Executives nodded, exchanged delighted looks, already envisioning the profit margins. One of the remote feeds burst with static applause. Aventurine basked in it—every clap on the back, every glittering smile. For a moment, the hollow exhaustion vanished, replaced with the familiar rush of being indispensable.

When the meeting ended, the boardroom emptied in a current of good humor. Aventurine was still glowing in it when he felt a hand on his arm.

“Mr. Aventurine?” The voice came from a young intern. She’d been tucked against the back wall, scribbling notes during his presentation. He nearly brushed her off, but with so many executives still lingering nearby, he forced himself to stay put. “Those colonies you just green-lit,” she said quickly, “they’re… struggling. Water’s rationed, and half their miners don’t even have hazard gear.”

“It’s IPC property,” Aventurine replied flatly.

“I know, but...I grew up on Kardian. Even if it’s in bad shape, if you could reconsider—”

“If they don’t like it, they can leave.” Aventurine’s smile sharpened, though it didn’t touch his eyes. “I didn’t even have that option back on my home planet.”

“Then you should know better than anyone how defenseless they are, right?”

He let out a soft laugh, the kind that sounded polished enough to pass as charm but was really meant to cut her down. His patience was fraying, but he couldn’t afford to snap in front of an audience. So he leaned on the mask instead, letting it do the work.

"I'm speaking from a business perspective. You should take notes. With a heart that big, you'll never move up."

“Maybe moving up isn’t worth it if you have to step on everyone else to get there," she replied.

His smile widened, but his eyes were absolutely piercing. "You’re an intern. I’m an executive director. Remember the difference, unless you’d like me to remind you more directly." Aventurine slipped his arm from her grasp and walked out, the picture of composure. Only once he was behind his office doors did the mask falter. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the skyline. The words rattled in his head, unwelcome: Then you should know better than anyone.

He thought of Kadrian miners choking on dust, drinking rationed water, laboring under a deal he had just cemented. Thought of his own home, years ago—neighbors with hollow cheeks and cracked lips, his mother bartering for food, the sound of boots when the IPC came all those years ago, trying to collect what little he still had. For a moment, it was like he could smell the iron dust in his lungs again. Like he was thirteen and powerless, and now he was the one signing contracts that made sure someone else stayed powerless.

The irony was bitter enough to choke on.

Then he poured another drink, and told himself it didn’t matter.

____________________________

New Year’s Eve called for parties, champagne fountains, and spending money—three things the IPC did very well. That weekend, many members of the IPC booked rooms at the fanciest hotel in Pier Point, so they could start celebrating as soon as the work day ended. Or, they booked a room so they could utilize the extra deep bathtub and write the whole thing off as a business tax (Ratio's case)

And when the doctor was done milking all the relaxing amenities his room had to offer, he threw on a robe and headed up to the seventh floor. When Ratio knocked on his door, Aventurine answered in silk pajama pants and absolutely nothing else. His hair was mussed in a way that looked intentional, a glass dangling loosely from his hand.

“Well, well,” Aventurine purred, leaning against the frame. “If it isn’t my favorite doctor. Did you come all this way just to see me shirtless?”

“Get serious.”

“You’re here to yell at me about the last board meeting?” Aventurine stepped aside with a dramatic flourish, letting Ratio enter his suite. The place looked less like a hotel room and more like a penthouse, with floor-to-ceiling windows framing the skyline and half a dozen champagne bottles scattered across the minibar.

“I couldn’t care less about your corporate schemes,” Ratio replied dryly. “You left this at the office yesterday.” He opened his palm, revealing a glittering green cornerstone. Aventurine plucked it from his hand, unimpressed.

“Oh, right. That thing. Sorry, doc. Guess it slipped my mind.”

“Be grateful I’m the one who found it. You need to start treating it with an ounce of care.”

Aventurine lobbed the gemstone onto the couch like a throw pillow.

“You came up to the seventh floor just to tell me that? You could’ve just called.”

Ratio didn’t answer right away. He just crossed the room and placed the cornerstone gently on the table before sitting down, like he was putting a reckless child’s toy out of reach. “I needed to get my daily steps in.”

“Aww. You missed me.”

“I did not.”

“Say it.”

“No.”

“Say it,” Aventurine sang, sauntering toward the minibar with a grin too sharp to be harmless. “Go on. You missed me. It’s okay.”

“Pour me a drink, gambler.”

Aventurine raised a brow. “That’s a surprise, doctor."

"I figured I'd speak your language, at least for one night. It's a holiday, after all."

"Ice?”

“Neat.”

“A classy drink for a classy man.”

“Were you planning on sitting here alone all night?” Ratio asked as Aventurine started clanking around in the hotel kitchenette. 

“You’re never alone when you have a bottle of Macallan,” Aventurine said, picking a short, shiny glass to fill with whiskey. 

"Still, I’m surprised you’re actually in your room. No New Year’s Eve parties?”

“Once you’ve been to one, you’ve been to them all.” Aventurine handed him the drink, gesturing toward the spread laid out across the massive table. “If you're hungry, help yourself to anything you want. I wasn’t sure what I was in the mood for.”

Ratio eyed the plates—steak, lobster, soufflé, and three different cakes—and frowned. “Are you sure you aren’t hosting a party?”

“Nah.” Aventurine speared a slice of duck, bit once, and tossed the rest back onto its platter. “Honestly, I’m not even that hungry.” He snatched a pack of cigarettes off the coffee table and lit up, the smoke curling around him in practiced spirals as he leaned against the window like he belonged in a vintage cologne ad.

“I believe it is common knowledge that you cannot smoke in hotel rooms.”

“Sure I can. The smoking fee’s only a thousand credits.” He exhaled a perfect ring, then aimed the next puff directly into Ratio’s face. “I made sixty grand in the casino a half hour ago. Consider it pre-paid.”

Ratio waved the smoke away. “I’ll be sure to bill your lungs later.”

“You’re no fun.”

“And you’re going to get cancer.”

“That’s a future Aventurine problem.”

“I’ll add that to the list of concerning coping mechanisms.”

“Please do. File it under ‘A’ for ‘Aventurine being an unstoppable legend."

Ratio rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his drink. He drew back, eyes wide, marveling at the golden liquor. “This is actually... good.”

“I’d hope so. It’s a six-thousand-dollar whiskey.”

Ratio nearly choked. “You’re joking.”

“That kind of smoothness doesn’t joke.” Aventurine finally sat across from him with the bottle of Macallan in his hand. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m not the one who bought it. A client gifted it to me after a...satisfactory exchange we had.”

Ratio swirled his glass, eyeing Aventurine over the rim. “I can’t decide what’s more ridiculous— the fact that you keep whiskey this expensive in arm’s reach, or the fact that you’re drinking it straight from the bottle half the time.”

“I call that versatility.” Aventurine stretched out across the couch, arm draped dramatically over the back. 

"Versatility in vices is generally not a good thing."

"Sure it is. It shows that I'm a jack of all trades." 

"Maybe a jack who's addicted to all of his trades."

"I'm not addicted, I can quit any of my vices, whenever I want."

"Any of them?"

“Any of them,” Aventurine said proudly. “Well—except for you. Haven’t managed to get rid of you yet.”

"Are you implying that I'm a vice?" 

"Only because you're always around me, keeping me level-headed." 

Ratio gave him a long, unimpressed look. “That’s because you need me.”

“Oh? So you agree—you’re the one vice I can't shake?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just harder to replace than the whiskey.”

“Careful, doc. You keep talking like that and I might actually start believing you care.”

Ratio didn’t rise to the bait. He just sipped his drink and muttered, “Delusion suit you.”

Aventurine tipped his head, grin still plastered on, though it softened at the edges. “You know, when Jade told me I was getting a partner last year, I expected you to be a major buzzkill. I’m actually glad that I'm stuck with you. Things would be pretty dull if I was alone all of the time." 

"Is that so? You don't strike me as a person who wants to be around people."

"Really?" 

"You have a clamorous personality, sure, but you're more formidable than the people around you. As someone who shares that quality, I know it leads to general boredom around most people."

"...did you just call me smart?"

"If that's how you choose to interpret that," Ratio said into his drink. Aventurine barked out a laugh, but it didn’t have his usual bite.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," he said. "That's funny. When I was younger, I used to want to talk to anyone about anything, all the time. I never thought I'd turn into this sort of person."

"You didn't dream of being a billionaire?" Ratio asked with a huff. "I find that hard to believe." 

Aventurine took another drag of his cigarette, eyes flicking toward the glittering skyline beyond the window. "Maybe it's hard to believe, but no. That wasn’t the dream.”

Ratio finished his drink and placed the empty glass in front of Aventurine, who happily topped him off. "Care to share?" Ratio asked, taking his drink back. 

"C'mon ,doc. You don't want to hear about that."

"If I didn't want to hear about it, I wouldn't have asked."

Aventurine stubbed his cigarette out, too fast, like he couldn’t stand to hold onto it anymore. “Alright, if you're going to twist my arm about it. I mean...if you’d asked me as a kid where I thought I’d be at this age? I wouldn't have said this. I used to think I’d have my own family by now. A space somewhere deep in the desert, with a family of my own. Maybe we’d be lucky enough to have an actual roof over our heads, with my lover and our kids, all snuggled together on a warm, summer night."

Ratio blinked, surprised at the sudden rawness in Aventurine's voice. “That’s a bit young for a whole family, don't you think?” 

“Maybe, but I was just so thrilled by the thought of it. It's what I always wanted." Aventurine took another long drink straight from the bottle. “My family was the best thing to ever happen to me. Mama and my big sis always said I was a blessing from Giathra, but if you ask me, they were the real blessings. In Sigonia, I’d find a lot of Avgin kids wandering around with nobody. I never knew if they lost their family from the Katicans or from the elements, but I never asked. Sometimes, if we had food to share, we’d give it to them. I always cried afterward because I couldn't imagine being alone, without my mama or my big sis.” He pressed his thumb to the lip of the bottle, rolling it slowly back and forth, his gaze somewhere far away. “My life…didn’t really turn out the way I was expecting.”

“Still, you’re pleased with where you are, aren’t you?” Ratio asked, noting the way Aventurine's smile fell by the second. "Despite not turning out the way you thought, you've still accomplished an enormous amount. You should be proud of that." 

“Oh, totally. This is much better. No whining kids, nobody to tie me down.” He lifted the bottle again with exaggerated flourish, but the liquid sloshed too close to the rim, nearly spilling. His hand trembled as he laughed it off. “Nobody to think of but myself, right? Sorry, you didn’t ask for my life story. I guess the new year just makes me reflective.”

Ratio finished his drink, letting the burn settle in his throat before speaking. “I never saw myself as a family man,” he said, setting down the empty glass.

“Oh,” Aventurine said. Oddly, he sounded a little disappointed. “No?”

“Not at first. I always thought having a family would be more trouble than it was worth, but...this last year, I’ve started to reconsider.”

Aventurine gasped and rushed to his side, eyes gleaming.

“Doc, you’re absolutely wicked!”

“What?”

“You’ve had a thing for someone this whole time, and you haven’t even told me? How rude!”

“You’d be the last person I’d tell.”

“Huh? I can keep a secret!”

“No, you cannot.”

"How long have you been in love?" Aventurine pinched Ratio's blushing cheeks. "See, you're turning red! You're totally in love! 

"It's only been a year or so," Ratio said, chuckling as he tried to shove Aventurine off him. "You're so obnoxious."

“Who is she? C’mon, you’ve gotta tell me!" Aventurine jostled his arm like he was trying to wriggle the secret out of him. "Who’s the lucky lady, hm? Somebody pretty?” He leaned in closer, a teasing grin curving his mouth. Ratio’s pulse stuttered — at this distance, the blond looked unbearably gorgeous.

“Very pretty,” he said softly. 

“Is she rich?”

“There’s more important things in life than money."

"Is she, though?"

Ratio rolled his eyes. "Yes." 

“Hmm…” Aventurine squinted at him like a detective. “Give me one more hint. I’m between Elena from Treasury and Sofia from Legal. What’s she like?”

Ratio hesitated, eyes lingering. Aventurine’s face was flushed from the alcohol, but his grin was so alive, so sharp-edged and radiant it hurt. He swallowed, lips parting around a truth he didn’t mean to give away.

“The only word that comes to mind at the moment is… luminous.” Ratio’s eyes flickered down to Aventurine's lips, then back up. Aventurine tilted his head, caught off guard by the softness. He let out a low whistle, his grin curling back into place.

“Damn. If you look at her like that, she’ll be yours in no time.”

Aventurine's phone chimed from inside his pocket. As soon as he looked at the screen, his face dropped. 

“What’s wrong?” Ratio asked as Aventurine hurried away from him, grabbing the bottle of whiskey back by the neck. 

“Nothing,” he said, taking a few gulps of whiskey as his thumbs dashed across the screen of his phone.

"Obviously it isn't nothing. Is it Jade?”

“Yeah. She just wants me to meet with a client tonight, nothing new. Sorry, uh—I’ve gotta change.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No, you don’t have to.” Aventurine left the room quickly, already pulling off his loose lounge shirt and disappearing into the bedroom. When he reemerged, he was tugging on layered jewelry with shaky fingers. His top—if you could call it that—was little more than a sliver of golden fabric. Ratio tried not to stare. He failed, right up until Aventurine shrugged into a sharp-cut suit jacket, covering most of the exposed skin. 

“Do you know who you’re meeting with?” Ratio asked, eyebrow raised.

Aventurine sighed sharply through his nose. “Remember Mr. Creel?”

"Not that creep," Ratio said, shaking his head. "Why is he even here?”

“Because he’s been stringing Jade along for two years and she finally found something he wants. Apparently, that something is me.”

“Isn’t he the one who—”

“Revolutionized strip-mining and found those rare ore veins in the desert? Yeah. The IPC wants exclusive rights to his tech and every site he touches. If he signs, it’s a multi-planet resource monopoly, and Jade gets to rub elbows with all the higher-ups.”

“And you get the honor of…” Ratio trailed off, gesturing vaguely toward Aventurine’s glittering, low-cut ensemble.

“Being the bait. As usual.” Aventurine clicked the final clasp on his necklace. Each piece of jewelry added to the armor, but none of it made him feel less exposed. “Congratulations to me.” He snapped open the hidden compartment in his sapphire bracelet—one of the stones popped loose to reveal a tight swirl of powder. With practiced ease, he tapped out a bump onto the back of his hand and pulled a folded hundred from his jacket.

“I wish you wouldn't do that in front of me,” Ratio said with a wince. 

“Turn around.” Aventurine sniffed hard and wiped his nose, eyes fluttering. “Be grateful you’re not my partner for these sorts of assignments, alright? You’d never last.”

“Still, I’d rather not attend the funeral of my 26-year-old coworker, if I could help it.”

“I couldn’t get that lucky.”

“I really don’t like you joking about your own death.”

“I’m not joking. Dying’s the only way I’m ever getting out of this.”

“Oh please. There's no need for the dramatics, Aventurine. If you need help—”

“Help? Help with what?” Aventurine asked with a laugh, already buzzing.

“You’re obviously—”

“No, I don’t need your fucking help. I don’t need anybody’s fucking help. I can handle myself just fine.”

“Clearly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Do you know what’s hinging on this deal? I’ll give you a hint: it’s a lot. And he’s willing to give all that money up, just for one night with me.”

“Your point?”

“My point is I’m fucking awesome, so go ahead and jot that down.”

“You’re hardly even speaking in cohesive sentences.”

“I don’t need to speak in cohesive sentences. Look at me!” Before Ratio could stop him, Aventurine pounced, grabbing him by the tie. He climbed right into his lap, draping himself over him like a prize on display. "Do you know what people would pay to be in your position right this second?"

Though Ratio’s hand hovered by the curve of Aventurine’s waist, his heart hammered and a faint flush crept up his neck—he wanted to touch, to steady him, but he kept his expression sharp, almost scolding, as if daring Aventurine to think he could get away with this. All Ratio said in response was, "You don't have to do this." 

Aventurine’s smug smile faltered as the doctor's advice pierced him. He scrambled off Ratio, swallowing hard. “I… I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

"Of course you'd say that. You're all the same." 

"If I'm wrong, enlighten me." 

Aventurine glared at him. The glib retorts were lined up behind his teeth—but none of them came out. Instead, he reached for his bracelet again and popped open another notch.

Ratio lunged forward and grabbed his wrist. “No. Speak to me without—”

“I can’t!” The words ripped out of him before he could stop them. “Whenever I try, it’s like—! My chest—!” His voice cracked, and he drove a fist hard against his chest, as if he could dig the feeling out of his sternum. “I can’t breathe, I can’t think—you have no idea what you’re talking about! My whole life, I never had a choice. I rolled with the punches and took everything that was thrown at me, and the one time—” A strangled noise, half laugh, half sob, caught in his throat. “The one time I finally had a choice, I chose wrong. I just wanted to prove I was worth something, that I wasn’t some stray to be kicked around. But I was wrong, alright? I fucked up.” His eyes darted up, as if daring Ratio to disagree. “Is that what you want me to say? I fucked up, and now I'm back in chains. Only now, I’m just as terrible as the men who kidnapped me all those years ago. In fact, I probably pay their salary." His voice broke into a snarl, but there was no heat behind it. “So don’t stand there and tell me I’ve got a say in my life, because if you think that for one second—if you really think I get to decide anything anymore—then you’re a lot stupider than I thought.”

Ratio didn’t answer. And that, more than anything, made Aventurine feel like he might come undone. He ran both hands through his tousled blonde hair, shoulders slumping. The cocktail of anger, panic, and exhaustion left him shaking where he stood. “You should go. I’ve got work,” he rasped, but the words sounded hollow, even to him. "And you shouldn't come back. I wish you'd just forget about me, Ratio. Ask the IPC for a new partner. I'm only ever going to cause you trouble." 

The two of them stood in silence for a moment, before Ratio grabbed his things and walked past him, eyes pinned to the floor.

"I'll leave you alone for now," Ratio said. "But I’m not going anywhere."

Aventurine swallowed hard, his throat tight. He watched Ratio’s silhouette retreat toward the door, and for a brief, terrifying moment, the warmth of anger and pride he usually carried with him faltered. Something unfamiliar scraped at the edges of his chest. Gratitude, maybe. Or worse—it was the sting of being seen.