But the moment this other him leans in with eyes a little too bright, smile a little too wide, and says something like, "You ever think about what it would feel like to peel someone's skin off... just to see what's underneath?"—he goes still.

That’s when he realizes: this version didn’t just survive. He devoured everything that stood in his way.

OG Aventurine (our Aventurine aka my husband /j) hides behind flair, flair, and calculated charm. Parallel!Aventurine uses charm like a knife. He’s more tactile, more impulsive—laughing when things bleed, tilting his head when people cry. Not out of malice, but curiosity.

OG!Aventurine is unnerved, because he recognizes that darkness. He’s just better at pretending it isn’t there.

They inevitably play a game of chance—cards, roulette, something with stakes. But it’s less about the win and more about observation. They use the game as a way to pick at each other’s armor.

Parallel!Aventurine drops barbed comments like, “I remember how your sister screamed. Do you still pretend you don’t?” Just to see if it lands.

OG!Aventurine keeps smiling… but his left hand stays hidden behind his back the entire time.

They both smile constantly, but the meaning behind it is worlds apart.

OG's is disarming, sly, performative.

Parallel!Aventurine's smile is manic, hungry, twitching at the corners like a predator’s.

Watching his counterpart flash that grin while calmly discussing human anatomy in disturbingly sensual detail gives OG!Aventurine a cold feeling he doesn’t have a name for.

(He later decides it might be recognition.)

Parallel!Aventurine isn’t cruel—not exactly. He’s affectionate. Too affectionate. He touches often, leans too close, says things like, “I missed you, you know. You're the only one who understands.”

There’s a longing in him that’s real… but warped. It feels like being wanted by something starving.

Parallel!Aventurine voices the thoughts OG!Aventurine shoves down—the guilt, the rage, the obscene hunger for control masked as luck.

“We’re not afraid of dying. We’re afraid of being powerless again. Admit it.”

It’s not just uncomfortable—it’s invasive. Because it’s the first time OG!Aventurine can’t manipulate the person across from him.

The tension is electric. It's not quite flirtation, not quite hostility. They circle each other like rivals, brothers, lovers, enemies—every line blurred.

One moment: calm, sharp banter.

Next moment: Parallel!Aventurine has him backed against a wall, whispering about the sound of a spine cracking under pressure like he’s describing a fine wine.

OG!Aventurine, cornered, murmurs, “You're me at my worst, aren’t you?”

His counterpart only replies, “No, darling. I’m you when no one’s watching.”

If they ever work together? It’s terrifying. They don’t even need to speak. One lays the bait, the other tears into the prey. A perfect storm of chaos wrapped in charisma.

But OG!Aventurine never quite trusts him. How can he? You can’t play poker with someone who always bets the entire house—and doesn’t care if it burns down.

Parallel!Aventurine will say something profound in a sudden moment of clarity, like:

“Do you ever wonder what we would’ve become if someone just hugged us… instead of branding us like cattle?”

Then he'll immediately pivot to, “Anyway, I drowned a man in wine last week. Beautiful gurgle.”

It leaves Aventurine disoriented. Not because it’s shocking—but because it’s familiar.

Deep down, Aventurine fears this version of himself is not an alternate future.

He’s a possibility—a version he could become if he stops pretending to care, if he stops drawing the line at manipulation and lets the hunger win.

That terrifies him more than death.

Because if that mask ever slips completely? He’s not sure he could put it back on.