confusedmustelid
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Summary
“Why’d you call me a gambler?”
Ratio’s head tilts again. His face doesn’t move much. But Aventurine swears he sees the shadow of something like amusement in his features—wry and private, like he’s smiling at a joke no one else heard.
“I can hear it,” Ratio says.
“Hear what?”
“Every time you shift your weight,” Ratio responds, voice low, “there’s a coin in your coat or pants pocket. It strikes against the lining three times—once when you move, twice when you stop. It’s weighted. Slightly larger than standard-issue credits. Smooth edge. It doesn’t roll.”
Aventurine stares.
Ratio lifts his chin. “It is not a commemorative token. It is not a medallion. It’s the kind used in high-stakes tables. Heavy enough to flip with flair, thick enough to stack without slippage. You gamble. Or you want people to think you do.”
A beat.
Aventurine’s mouth goes a little slack. His tongue clicks against the roof of it, dry. “You heard that?”
“I hear everything,”
Aventurine laughs, but it’s shaky, breathless. “You're unnerving, you know that?”
“I get that frequently.”
Series
- Part 1 of My Ratiorine one-shots
Bookmarked by confusedmustelid
15 May 2025