#skip.writes

With the minds that geniuses have, he never thought he’d get a look into one. Hell, it was hard understanding his own mundane mind at times. But a manifesto? He’d never thought you were a scholar to write such a thing. He berates himself for coming to such a conclusion, though, it being the second time he’s been wrong about you. The second time, he’s underestimated you. 

You had written down your thoughts, philosophies, and beliefs and simplified them so that any ordinary person could understand them—so that he could understand you. 

Having an intelligent mind was one thing, but it took an articulate one to get those thoughts on paper. 

Maybe that was the difference between you and him—why you were a genius and he wasn’t—why you climbed, while he stayed stagnant. 

It’s been three months since you’ve given him your mind nestled in the form of ink on paper, and for three months he’s been reading and trying to understand your words. 

The Doctor has never had the time to binge it. Most nights, he falls asleep at his desk, swamped by the recent influx of his workload. 

But some nights he finds himself flipping the pages of your gift in utter captivation; sacrificing his scheduled eight hours of sleep to grasp a fraction of who you really are. The conclusion he’s come to: 

You must talk a lot. 

And you do. To an extent that is. He sees you conversing with other professors and researchers, getting to know them gradually over time. He watches intently. 

But it is when Veritas finds himself in your company that questions and banter often follow. 

“What are you doing?” 

He finds you in one of the many common areas around. The familiar sound of chalk on slate reverberated in the room. He watches as you frantically place number after number, equation after equation, on the chalkboard before you. 

You don’t turn your head to acknowledge his presence. But you acknowledge his question with a question of your own. “What do you mean?” 

Ratio sighs in annoyance before placing his belongings on the table closest to him. He walks to you, his height creating a shadow on the chalkboard. He looks down at you momentarily before crossing his arms and moving his gaze to the numbers you write. 

“I thought you hated math,” he states matter-of-factly. In his defense, it was a fact. Your words, not his. Page 142, actually. Although he hasn’t gotten to the chapter where you explain why…but that’s of no importance. 

“Yes, I hate it.” 

His gaze shifts to you at your response, allowing him to see the ever-growing smirk that takes over your lips. “Doesn’t mean I can’t do it, Doctor,” you say teasingly. 

Ratio’s hands go to his hips as he sends a glare to the back of your head. He swears you feel it too, with the way your cheeks rise due to your growing smile. Even after his and your “amending” conversation those months ago, you still manage to agitate him to no end with every spontaneous conversation you two have. 

“Looks like you still have some more reading to do.” You chuckle, putting the chalk down and dusting off your fingertips. 

You finally turn around to face him. You pause for a moment. A moment so small that some may not even notice. Veritas notices. He notices how you quickly look him up and down, taking in his presence. But just as quickly as your gaze takes him in, it’s gone. And your eyes meet his, like it never happened. “Another professor told me of an upcoming banquet with the IPC,” you declared.  

Ratio has to compose himself. He has to quickly uncurl and de-tangle the knots that had formed in his stomach from your gaze. What a feeling. What a weird feeling. 

Odd…

Perhaps he’s fallen ill? He swipes a hand across the lower half of his face. “Well, yes…”  He says uninterestedly in the new topic of conversation.

 “It's an event that the IPC and Intelligencia Guild hold every year in order to honor our… ” He pauses briefly, trying to think of an accurate word to describe the relationship between the two organizations. “…partnership,” he finally settles on. “All are to attend.” He sighs. “It’s quite bothersome.”

As he talks, you make your way closer to the table. You sit across from him and fold your arms. “Is the food good?” You ask. 

He's shocked.  What an utterly plain question. He begins to stutter. ”Well- I- I’ve never thought to pay any mind to i-“

“Is it any fun?” You interrupt. 

An even more confused look crosses the doctor’s face. “Fun is subjective, as you know.” His hands become animated as he continues. “However, watching people stuff their faces and dance isn't my idea of ‘fun.’” He ends his sentence with a bold pair of air quotes. “The whole thing is… redundant and unnecessary.” 

When Veritas finally looks back at you, you’re smiling. That oh-so-stupid smile on your face. He’s realized now from your few conversations with each other that it’s the smile that appears when he’s about to be outwitted. 

“Maybe you should try doing those things instead of just watching. Some fun will surely come of it.”

Ratio hitches an elbow on the back of his seat, his hand placed firmly on the table. He begins to rebut, but is shut up by your sudden movement. You rise from your chair and walk over to his side of the table. Your hair falls as you lean down to eye level with him, your forearms placed nicely on the table as you do so. 

You’re close. Too close for comfort. 

His brows furrow. His movements stiffen. 

“You’ll be there though, right?” Your smile hasn’t faltered as you stare into his eyes. 

Ratio is quick to answer. “As I said before, it’s mandatory.” The syllables of the last word roll off his tongue in slight annoyance. 

Your smile widens, and you cock your head to the side as you continue to stare at him, waiting for him to give it to you straight. 

He sighs with a touch to his brow. “I’ll be there.” 

All you do is stand up from your former position. placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, your smile never wavering. 

“Perfect.”

It is later that Ratio finds himself flipping through your chapter about the connection between math and creativity. 

“Math is beautiful. There is always a correct answer. That is what makes it so appealing to geniuses. You are either right or wrong when it comes to math. However, this is what makes it so incredibly boring. There is so little freedom.” 

He scoffs, lightly tossing the book on his coffee table. Everything he reads about you irks him to no end. You are intriguing, no doubt. However, it takes everything in him not to feel utterly frustrated with you. Every time he feels he finally understands you, you are there to refute his thinking, whether it be in person or in writing. It's mentally exhausting. 

Is this how his peers felt about him at university? 

A majority of the time, he sees you in group settings, conversing with your colleagues. He doesn't bother coming up to you when you are. But when he catches you by yourself, he makes an effort to come up to you. Not because he values your company, of course. It’s to see if he’s right about you. Nothing else. Naturally. 

Ratio passes you many times before the banquet. And every time he is met with a small, eager wave, smile. or conversation. 

Naturally, it’s the conversations that intrigue him the most. 

"Really? A manifesto?” He questions. You jump slightly at his sudden appearance behind you. Your pencil clatters on the large parchment before you. 

He’s startled you. It wasn’t his intention. He would apologize; however, the work before you intrigues him as he briefly glances over your shoulder. You’re mapping constellations during lunch. It’s complex but interesting. Another thing he won’t understand about you. 

You turn quickly, papers in hand. “I’m not sure I follow.”

His eyes snap back to you. “You most certainly do.” He huffs. Accusatory 

Although startled, you meet his gaze with a small smile and your full attention once you’ve realized it’s him. 

Ratio shakes a book in his hand, your book. A small frown presents on his face. 

“What did you think it was?” You turn back to your work. His eyes still only have the pleasure of seeing your back as you continue to use your comically large ruler. Your shoulders rise as you chuckle.

Ratio rests his chin on the palm of his hand. He doesn’t know what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t this. He doesn’t answer your question; instead, he asks a new one. 

“Why?” 

“Why?” You question. You chuckle to yourself.. “Why not, doctor?” You place down your pencil and ruler. “I thought you wanted to understand me. What I wrote years ago seemed like the easiest and straightforward way.” 

You were right once again. Giving him a book was the most clear-cut way of answering his questions. But something in him wanted more. 

“That day…when you handed me this book, you had said you had too much empathy.” 

“That I did,” you gesture for him to take a seat beside you at the long table. He obliges. 

Ratio folds his arms. “If that were the case, Nous wouldn’t have dared pay you any mind. Explain,” he demands.  

You lean back in your chair, your elbow propped up in the armrest. “I said I ’have’. Not, ‘had’.” 

He glares at you in curiosity. He expects more. He wants to hear more, and he knows that you can tell.  

You sigh and roll your chair, closing the distance between you and him. 

“I once was a dog. They told me to bark and I barked.” You scoot your belongings closer to his side and begin to continue your work. “Dogs don’t question why they are fed, or pet, or adored. They accept it.”

Ratio stares at you intently. 

“Even the most brilliant minds can be blind to their own chains that hold them down. We are human after all. Sometimes we are our own undoing.”

“What broke your chains?” 

“You’re mistaken, Doctor.” You lean just a bit closer to him. He can feel the warmth radiating from your body. Your eyes look him up and down playfully with a smirk. “I simply metamorphosed into a different dog. Whether it was something too big to be contained or too small to fit those chains is up for you to decipher.”

That day, by your side at that table scattered with maps of the stars, Ratio realizes that this is what was missing. This is what he wanted. Conversing with you was better than any book you could give him. 

So he continues. 

He asks question after question whenever he can get some time with you. Sometimes it’ll be in the library or your office, but most of the time it’s in one of the spare study rooms at the Intelligencia Guild, where you eat your lunch. 

Your lunch that you meticulously prepare the same every day and consists of the same meal—a sandwich, without the crust. Sometimes you change what kind, but he doesn’t ask about it. There are much better questions to ask. So, he asks them. 

“Why don’t you have a partner?” He questions one day. 

Your eyes quickly flicker to his amber ones, and in that moment, he realizes his grammatical mistake.

“A Lab Partner that is. A-uh colleague you work with.” He doesn’t dare look at you. He instead looks down at the sandwich you bring every day for lunch that rests on the table in front of him. No crust. As per usual. 

You pretend not to see his ears burn bright red. 

“The same reason you don’t have a partner.” You reply. “I’m too smart.” You punctuate your sentence with a quick wink. 

Your answers are always straightforward—to the point. He enjoys that. Another day, he asks you a different question. “You have a doctorate.” He starts as he crosses his arms. “Multiple even…Yet you go by professor. Why is that?”

You offer him some fruit before you answer. “Everyone knows I’m a doctor. Professor is a new title. I’ll flaunt it till I bore of it.” 

He can’t argue with your logic—so he doesn’t. One day, he finds you in your usual spot. However, you don’t greet him. You instead favor the stacks of paper that lie on the tabletop. Ratio thinks nothing of it. Deadlines for the quarter are coming up soon. It would do him some good to partake in the work he has to do as well. 

He sits down in his designated spot at the wooden table. He didn’t watch but instead hears your efforts by the scratching of your pen. The lack of talking bothers him not, but the unopened container beside you does. 

Not an unusual occurrence. After your conversation, you both would either start working or leave the room to attend to other matters

But this time it’s a bit different. You seem a bit stressed. Perhaps the new work environment has caused you a bit of discomfort. But it seems you’re handling yourself well. 

He moves his chair closer and reaches for the container. He knows what lies underneath the lid by the color—it’s your lunch, or rather, the sandwich you prepare every day. You don’t even notice that he takes it  

He opens it, but something is amiss. It’s there; however, the crust isn’t meticulously cut off. He arches a brow while reaching for a knife to cut it for you. Once done, he puts the knife back. He places the lid to cover the sandwich, but does not completely shut it. 

He sits back down. “You should eat something. Even an intelligent mind cannot run on ‘E, ’” he says. 

You look up a bit startled. It seems you forgot he even entered the room. 

You give a weak smile. He hates that he notices it. “I suppose you’re right.” 

You reach for the knife, but once you open the lid of the container, you realize there is no need for it. Realizing is already cut for you, you look up at the Doctor. He digs through his own lunch now. 

He feels your eyes on him and glances at you. “What? I thought you didn’t eat the crust?”

You stare. Silently. 

“What, you’ve magically decided to change your ways today? I can’t win with you, I-“

“No, it’s…” You continue to look at him, and his heart goes straight to his stomach. He felt strange as your eyes bore into his. Hot. Stiff. 

The corners of your lips reach your eyes once again. “I…Thank you, Veritas.” 

His eyebrows rise and fall, not expecting such outright gratitude. He tilts his head slightly and gives you a nod. 

 “You’re welcome, Professor.” 

⠀⠀ ***

The banquet is…

Entirely what Veritas expected. 

It's bustling with people; a social networking party disguised as a banquet. People eat, drink, dance, but most converse. 

He knew he shouldn’t have trusted your judgment. 

And you’re not even here. Ratio stands alone, observing others in a suit of velvet. It’s been weeks since he last saw you—weeks since he cut the crust off your sandwich and felt all hot and sweaty because of it. 

The quarter is over. Deadlines have arrived. And the workload has lessened significantly. 

You should be able to cut your own sandwiches now. 

There’s a tap on his shoulder. And when Ratio turns around, he’s frozen in place. You’re right before him, staring into his eyes with a smile. Your usual attire of blouses, blazers, and slacks is traded for something a bit more form-fitting. A shimmering navy blue dress with a silk shawl wrap in the same color. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. And he is ever so grateful for it. 

“You look dashing,” you give him a wink as you brush off his shoulder.

He nods to you. “And you look striking,” he compliments as he looks down at you. 

You both sit down, chat, and drink all while grazing on hors d’oeuvres. You tell him there’s a telescope on the roof of this IPC meeting hall. You two point out past colleagues, telling each other stories of their feats or lack thereof. Time seems to slow down as Ratio talks to you in a noneducational setting. 

But the bubble bursts, and time starts again as a glittering figure comes into Rato’s vision. 

“Beautiful professor. Long time no see. How is school life treating you?” 

Ratio looks the man before him up and down. His usual colorful attire is substituted for something a bit more formal, but still flashy nonetheless. 

You use your glass of champagne in an attempt to hide your amusement. ”You flatter me, Aventurine.” You stand up quickly to greet him, and Ratio follows suit. 

The blond raises his glasses to rest on the crown of his head. “Only the best for the new addition to the IPC family.” 

The Doctor watches as Aventurine reaches out for your hand, you give it to him graciously, and he plants a delicate kiss on it. His brow furrows slightly, but quickly relaxes. 

“You two… know each other?” Ratio questions, confusion blatant in his eyes. 

Aventurine laughs, seemingly at his perplexed expression. “Why of course, Doctor. With how much of a good investment she is…” Aventurine glances back at you. 

With a small chuckle, you wave your hand and turn your head in faux shyness.

”…how could anyone in the Strategic Investment Department not know the Star Lit Genius?”

“I do wish you would drop that title, Aventurine.“ You take a small sip from your glass. “I am ‘Genius’ no more.”

“Aww,” he whines as he pulls your hand a bit closer. Aventurine's thumb rubs small circles atop it, and he says your first name. 

Ratio watches your name roll off his lips. 

The way he says it is so flirtatious, so mischievous, so…seductive, that it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. It catches him off guard. He has read your name so many times, but has yet to hear it out loud before. 

”Is that better?” Aventurine questions with a wink. 

You turn to him with a daring smile. “Much.” 

Aventurine lets go of your hand, but not before giving it one more small kiss. “How about a dance with the professor?” Aventurine asks you, but then he turns to Ratio. “That is, if you don’t mind, Doctor.”  

Ratio's mind is startled by the sudden attention, but he answers nonetheless. “Have at it, you know I don’t dance.” He says as he takes a sip of his champagne. 

Aventurine's attention goes back to you with a smirk. 

“How could I ever decline?” You answer as you set your glass down with one hand and offer the other to Aventurine. 

You both take a quick, gleeful glance at Ratio, and then he watches the two of you go off to the dance floor.

 It’s electric. Captivating. The way you two fit each other. He watches—irritated—taking sip after sip of the alcohol he so greatly frowned upon previously for its tacky taste. 

You complement each other well–you on his arm. Or rather, him on yours. With the presence you exude and high standing amongst everyone else here, you practically wear Aventurine like an accessory. He looks just like a pretty face that makes you look even more breathtaking. The Doctor wonders how others would view you if he were the one on your arm instead.

He chokes. 

Startled by his own thoughts. He shakes his wandering thoughts away just as quickly as they came. He takes another sip of his drink to make sure they’re gone, but his eyes continue to steal glances through the crowd of the two of you dancing as he walks to find another area to sit down 

⠀⠀ ***

You are the one to find him once again—or rather, sneak up on him again. 

“Having fun?” You ask as you stand behind his seated body. 

He turns his head to look up at you with his brows raised in surprise. You smile sweetly and make your way around the lounge couch to sit across from him. 

It’s loud in here. The music that plays is calming but prominent. He can’t hear the click-clack of your heels that usually echo the hallways. But it’s more peaceful than the main lobby, where the dancing and loud chatter are going on. 

“It’s not terrible,” He responds, his shoulder shrugs in indifference. “Are you? Dancing must have been fun for you.” 

Your eyebrows raise at the question. “Oh yes,” you smile. “Aventurine is a very good dancer, but that comes as no surprise. Do you dance, Doctor?”

This question wouldn’t have startled him if you had not practically jumped out of the seat and lowered a hand to him, inviting him to the floor. 

He scoffs and stretches his arms across the backrest. “You don’t want to dance with me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

The Doctor looks at your extended hand and then back to you. “Well, for one, I’m no charmer. And two…I don’t kiss hands,” he says with a knowing smirk, subtly jabbing at Aventurine’s affectionate greeting.

You roll your eyes playfully and then meet his gaze. “You don’t have to kiss my hand to charm me. You saying yes would do that just fine.”

His breath catches as you just smile at him, your hand never moving from in front of him. He takes it quickly so that you can guide him to the dance floor—not wanting you to see the creeping blush that overtakes his cheeks. Not because of his eagerness. No, never that. 

Another calming song starts to play in the lounge, and Ratio begins to reach for your hip and hand as the first note of the piano starts to play. You place your hand on his shoulder and your palm in his. Your hand is warm, he notices; your gentle touch burning his body all over.  He finds some reprieve when you both start swaying, then a light step forward. 

The two of you dance for a while, but your eyes rarely meet. Sometimes he glances at you, and all you wear is a content smile with your eyes down. 

The Doctor decides to break the silence and speak. “You outwit me at times.”

When your head shoots up to look at him in response, his brain feels like it’s going to crumble. Why would he say that? It was just the first thing on his mind. Do people even talk while dancing? He saw you doing it with Aventurine. Maybe this is the wrong song to talk to someone while dancing. 

You let out a laugh—a laugh is a response to his statement—a laugh that lets him know that you know you do. 

Ratio lets out something in between a chuckle and a sigh of relief. “I don’t know whether I find it insufferable or…” He trails. 

Attractive. 

”Charming.” He settles. 

“Whoa ho,” you yelp as you suddenly lean backwards. “I’m charming to THE Veritas Ratio? What an honor, doc,” you tease. 

”Don’t let it get to your head.” He turns his neck to face away from you. But you give his shoulder a tight squeeze. 

“It already has.” You gleefully say with a smirk. 

He smiles subtly as he continues his thought. “My former self envies you.” 

There’s a beat of silence—and Aeons above does he feel like he’s said the most heinous thing imaginable. 

He watches as your eyebrows raise is surprise, and there’s an intrigued look that washes over your illuminated features. 

“But not your current?” You inquire.  

“No.” He answers, almost too quickly. 

“Why?” 

“Because I have realized I am where I belong.” 

You tilt your head ever so slightly. “Why is that?”

He shifts in his tailored suit. The question startles him, but he doesn’t dare to show it. 

I now like where I belong. And I don’t think I’d ever give it up, especially now. 

Especially with you here. 

At least that is what he would have said had you not cut him off.  

And if he had the courage. 

“You don’t have to answer that,” you reply quickly. Your eyes fall down again, almost as if you had sensed it was too personal of a question. 

Maybe he’s glad for it. He’d rather not sound sappy in front of you. However, when your head lowers down again, he swears he would say all that’s on his mind if only you would look up again. Look up at him.

So he answers your question truthfully. 

Well, partially. 

“I have realized I am where I belong because I can now do the things that I love.” 

He is at his fullest potential here at the Intelligencia Guild. 

You nod in response while continuing to follow his lead. “Is that why you didn’t like me at first…you didn’t think I belonged?” 

He shakes his head, and his hand squeezes yours slightly. “I hate seeing wasted potential.” 

That’s what he’s able to see. It’s his center. When he sees the potential in his students, it sparks something in him. Potential to learn—potential to teach. 

“How do you know that my potential is wasted here?” You cock your head to the side. 

He sighs and shifts in his seat. “That I do not know.” 

”I see… “ Your words trail off as you swirl your drink in your hands. “Do you think your own skills are wasted here?”

“I think I'm where I belong.” He reiterates immediately. 

“And I am not?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I told you why I belong. Do you not remember?”

“I do.” And he does. Your heart is why you belong. The same heart he swore you didn’t have. Your love for others, for knowledge, for growth. That’s why you belong. But the Doctor can’t imagine that he belongs somewhere where you do. 

“And if I were to leave…” Your voice snaps him out of his trailing thoughts. “Use my skills elsewhere. What would you do?” 

You take a moment to look him in his eyes. There’s no specific emotion on display, just a question—only a question.

There’s a beat of silence as he looks down at you. The song in the background no longer swells with emotion, but calms down. 

“I would bid you farewell,” he says. “…and wish you the best.”

”That’s“ all?” Your voice is quieter, timid. You look down once again, and the song slowly comes to an end. Your hands remove themselves from his shoulder and fingertips. The warmth that once set his body ablaze had become all too familiar. In the absence of it, he feels cold. You take a step back from him and smile weakly. 

“Pity.” Is all you say, and then your footsteps trail off and intertwine with the new song that starts to play.  

When you leave, his heart his racing. His face is flushed. Neck and palms are sweaty. Ratio stands there, confused and unsettled. He watches as your dress shimmers in the light. It twinkles like stars in a distant galaxy out of reach. 

Is that not what you wanted to hear? He had followed the script. What had happened? 

He had said before that any organization in the world would fight to have your skills. All you had to do was say the word. You could go anywhere, anywhere at all. And he would cheer you on, his colleague—his friend. He would do it no matter how badly he wanted to keep your company. No matter how badly he wanted to ask you more questions. No matter how bad (although he would never admit it), he didn’t mind serving you a freshly cut sandwich and seeing that look on your face. 

No matter how bad his heart really wanted you to stay and be mediocre with him. 

He would let you go. 

Perhaps what you asked was not only a question. 

⠀⠀ ***

This time, he finds you. 

But it’s not until he’s three glasses of wine in that he remembers where you might be. 

The night had gone on. He talked to other guild members, heard the mindless chirping of an elder professor, and signed a few autographs for some IPC members. He had used the first glass of wine to relax and think about what had happened whilst his hand held yours. The second was to get through the endless conversations that arose while looking for you. He had given up by the third glass, drinking it to untangle the weird knot that refused to leave his stomach. 

 It is while he’s talking to a former colleague that he remembers your earlier mention of the telescope on the roof of the building. He gives them a polite but eager “Excuse me,” and races off to the roof. He’s surprised to find out that your interest is not actually on the roof, but one of the many roofs of this outlandishly tall building. Turns out, reading placards on the wall while shoving through people with dim lighting is not for the weak. But when he finds the door roof he was looking for, the knot tangles more at the thought of you actually being there. And when he opens the doors, it doesn’t disappear, because you’re here before him, hunched over the eyepiece. 

The warm air outside hits him as he makes his way through the large metal doors and to you. His half-full wineglass is still in hand when he does. You turn back briefly to see who has found you, and then back. He can feel the wine fueling his emotions as he gets closer, a tingling sensation overtaking his body along with frustration. 

He acts on it. 

”I have decided, professor.” 

You quirk your eyebrow and wonder what he’s referring to. He sits behind you on the patio furniture. “The day I asked what broke your chains. You told me I’d have to figure it out. I now know.” His voice is sharp around the edges. He doesn’t know if it’s from the strange feelings inside of him or the alcohol that circulates in his bloodstream. He continues. 

“I have decided you have shifted into something too small to fit the chains you once wore.”

“Do elaborate,” you entertain him, not once looking away from the telescope you fiddle with. “I’m intrigued how you came to such a conclusion.” 

The tension between you two has been lifted from before on the dance floor. 

“You still have respect.” 

“For who?”

“For everyone. For science. For creativity. For yourself.” Ratio crosses his legs, continuing. “You are nimble. You don’t need to break a chain to be noticed…” 

Before, he would keep his words to himself. But the wine has given him some courage. So he spits out the truth. 

“You’re far too smart to put in such effort.” 

Your hunched form straightens at his words. You smile and finally look at him the first time since he’s entered those doors. “Then how smart are you for freeing your chains significantly sooner than I?”

He takes a sip of his wine and shifts in his seat. “I have a feeling I've only just bent them.”

You smile and walk over to where he sits. You’re closer this time. Instead of sitting across from him, you sit next to him on the patio sofa. You pick up your own drink you had been drinking, and lean back. 

You’re waiting. He knows you are. Waiting for him to speak first. He guesses that’s only fair since he came to you. So he speaks. 

And he’s unsure what comes out of his mouth until he sees your eyes widen. 

“I think I hate you, Professor.” 

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and turns to you. 

“Hmm…?”

“I hate you.” And then the words start falling out his mouth like there’s no tomorrow. 

“I hate how clever your tongue is.”

I hate how you outwit me 

“I hate all the questions you ask.”

I hate how you challenge my mind more than anyone 

“I hate how bossy you are.”

I hate how I crumble at your ask

I hate how my chest constricts when you’re near 

I hate how, after the hurtful words I’ve said to you, you still stare at me now with nothing but kindness in your eyes. All after I’ve said I hate you.

”I dislike you, Professor.”

You nod while folding your arms. You look up at him and scoff, though it closely resembles a chuckle. “And here I thought we were finally becoming friends, Veritas. Yet,  I’m still something you dislike? What happened?”

He notices how you refer to yourself as something rather than someone. As if you’re a subject to be taught. He knows one thing for sure. You certainly are something. 

He glares at you. As if you’ve done something wrong. You have. Your very being perplexes him. Your motives, although figured ou,t bring forth a feeling in him that he can’t describe. It’s a new feeling. One he’s never felt. He's wary of it. All that he knows is that he wishes he had more. 

“Oh, is that what we are?” You turn your head to laugh. Your smile is saccharine. “Colleagues?”

“I dislike you, Professor.” That is all that he can say in response. 

“But yet you drink with me.”

He folds his arms. “I sit here because. I wanted to understand you.As I’ve told you before. I dislike things I cannot understand.” 

You take a sip of your own glass and swirl the liquid around. “But you’re trying to understand?”

He freezes at your implication. He's trying to understand you. He’s trying not to dislike you. 

Ratio groans. “Why must you ask so many questions?”

“How do you think I became a genius?”

You shift your position and inch closer to where he sits. “I gave you that book so you could understand me…Veritas.”

The sound of his name makes his face heat up. 

“I gave you the answers to questions you might have not even thought of yet. And the ones you did ask I answered openly and honestly.” There’s a crease between your brows, and Veritas fears it may break him. 

You had given him the key to understanding yourself. And what had he given you? What had he shared? 

“Why does anyone ask questions, Doctor?“You look at him expectantly. 

He feels as if he’s been brought back to his youth. A schoolboy answering his professor's question. 

He tries to subtly gulp, and fails miserably—his face flushed. “To understand, Professor.” He practically spits out your title. 

You smile at his answer, and something in him breaks. Why had he said such things? What was he doing? He hated this feeling but craved more of it. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. His brows scrunched up. Face hot and red. He is. He’s sorry for everything he’s done. 

You shake your head, dismissing his words. 

“I want to understand you….” He looks down at you, his heart beating loudly.

There's tension once again. But not the way it was before. 

No, it's in a different way. In the way that he can smell the lingering scent of your perfume from how close you two are. In the way he can feel your body heat radiating off of you. In the way that this wine that he had drunk is making him think of the irrational possibility that you're getting closer and closer to his lips. 

He wants to move closer, but he can’t. The wine has given him some courage. But not enough. 

“Will you…let me understand you, Veritas?” 

You’re a breath away now, and all he can do is look at your lips and eyes. You grab his chin, your thumb skims over the skin there. 

And the wine must finally have its grasp on him. Because he mutters something he’d never thought he’d say out loud. 

“Please…” 

“Please do.” He practically whines. 

And then your lips are on his. One of his hands reaches for your jaw, the other your thigh, and he starts to think. 

He thinks of all the time he’s had with you. That he would let you ask as many questions as you like if it meant you understood his nature. 

Although your Star Lit title was thrown to the shadows, a title he fought for, yearned for, begged for—with every delicious swipe of your tongue across his lips. With every cautious, but eager, touch he lays across your body. With every clank of teeth, Veritas Ratio can feel himself slowly being understood by you. Geniuses lack empathy, you had said. It had to be untrue. Because the genius in front of him understood him. 

He’s panting now. He was tipsy before, but with the buzz he feels in his brain, he thinks he might be drunk off the taste of your lips. He breaks away to catch his breath, but quickly leans forward again to chase after you. 

Your hands go to his shoulders and hold him in place, preventing him from going any further. He looks at you with hooded eyes and tries to dive for another kiss. You stop him again with a small chuckle and rest your forehead to his. 

He watches you as your hand reaches for his face. Your thumb rubs affectionate circles into his skin. His skin is burning, and this suit doesn’t help at all. His face is flushed, and his mouth stays slightly agape to catch his breath. “Let’s wait until you’ve sobered up.” You say, not a hint of judgment in your voice. 

“I’m…I’m not drunk.” He counters as he reaches for your wrist and leans into your touch. 

“You’re not sober either.” You smirk. 

His head tilts downward at your true statement. 

“I want to see if you make the same decision later.” 

He understands. His hand that holds your wrist in place guides it to his chest over his heart. You feel the loud thumps of his blood as he does. 

You lean in once more and place a kiss on his cheek. His face goes even redder than before at your action. 

“Goodnight, Veritas.” You stand from your seated position and slowly make your way to the door; your eyes never leaving his. 

“Goodnight, Professor…” He hates to say it, but he does, because he can’t wait to make the same decision later. 

⠀⠀ ***

Veritas Ratio jumps awake to the sound of his phone buzzing. His head hurts and his body is sore. Although his condition isn’t ideal, his mind immediately replays the events of last night. You had kissed him. 

You had kissed him, and he didn’t shy away. His face burns hot red at the memory. He reaches for his phone, which continues to go off in his bed. 

And the messages he reads makes his face burn even more. 

No way

Was that you and the Prof last night!?

I totally saw that kiss. I was on a higher floor so don’t go all crazy

did u make the first move 

Who am I kidding. you never would 

He watches as Aventurine churns out more and more messages with inconsistent punctuation, spelling errors, and odd slang he doesn’t know. 

But then he gets a message from you. 

I had a good time last night. :)

Make sure to drink water, Doc. 

 A small smile forms on his face, and he realizes…

He did have fun. 

So when Dr. Veritas Ratio’s curiosity peaks, he will seek out information regardless of what stands in his way. It just so happens that the rumor of a Genius Society member abandoning their ranking to join the Intelligence Guild not only piques his interest but puzzles him quite a bit. 

Everything Veritas Ratio has ever done—ever accomplished was with intent. That’s just what a needle does. 

And as he reads the passage before him in the worn textbook he fished out of the bookshelves at his university, he intends to figure out your perplexing nature. 

“…and discovered five different constellations that are now crucial to Intercosmic Space Travel, earning the name of the ‘Star Lit Genius’ just after finishing her Associates.”

- Excerpt from Exploring the Starlit Genius

A fool. 

Ratio closes the bulky biography with a booming thud. The echo can be heard bouncing off the walls of his office. 

That is what you were. That is your nature. 

A fool is the only description he can think of as he sharply brings his fingers to his lips. Questions bubble inside him, but the one that escapes himself is, “Why?” 

Why would anyone do such a thing? The mere thought that someone could leave the Genius Society was baffling. Sure, there probably were some that had left, but that had to be Amber Eras in the past. 

It wasn’t ignorance it was foolishness. Perhaps he was right about Genius Society members having a rock up their asses. There was truly nothing that separated them from the mundane, such as himself. They were just as equally subjected to idiocy. 

But could you do such a thing?

You. A scholar blessed by Nous! Given a chance—an opportunity. 

He scoffs, his head jerking to the side as if catching himself in an act. 

He shouldn’t care. 

He doesn’t care. 

He’s over that. 

Ratio sighs and shakes his head. He doesn’t care. You were foolish, that’s all. It was nothing more. 

But who might this fool be? 

Ratio’s cold finger travels around the textbook's hardcover. He quickly flips through the pages. Frustration is evident on his face as his brows furrow the more pages he turns. 

Yet, there’s nothing. 

There’s not one picture of you—the fool—that perplexes his mind. Of course, there wouldn’t be. The Genius Society's “holy” standing wouldn’t allow that. So, he’ll just have to wait for the day he meets the deluded “genius.” 

“Immediately after finishing her Associates, the Star Lit Genius earned funds from the IPC for her findings, causing the young brilliant mind to venture more deeply into the cosmos.”

- Excerpt form Exploring the Starlit Genius

Time had passed and life went on. It had been a month since Veritas’ initial read of your biography. He had learned much. Such as your main fields of anatomy, pathology, chemistry and of course astronomy. Little details of your past are stored neatly in the back of the Doctor’s mind, but he has had no use for it. The new semester had started and as time went on he too started to carry on. Students plagued his mind instead, yet a star glittered somewhere near. 

“Dr. Ratio.”

It’s no voice he’s familiar with. Or maybe one he’s just not accustomed to yet. Most likely a new student in one of his classes.  

He doesn’t even bother to look up. Instead he continues to shuffle through his papers with equations and calculations of the new curriculum that he would soon ignore altogether in his lessons. 

He sighs. “Students are to ask questions during the appointed time.” His voice lacks any interest whatsoever. 

He was tired of students who seemed to think they were special. If anything, the unfamiliar voice is probably a student coming to butter him up before the semester starts to get on his good side. 

“Oh, I’m not a student.” Your voice isn’t familiar, but the syllables that roll off your tongue are ever engraved into his mind. His inner consciousness has read the name so much that he can envision the letters.  

Before he looks up, a smug grin shows on his face. Finally, he could put the foolish mind to the face. It was a gift, really. You, coming straight to his door. You had done all the work for him. 

But then he takes his first look at you. 

Veritas Ratio isn’t one to be rendered speechless, but his surprise is evident. His grin drops at the sight of you. Before, he had imagined that he should have put on his mask of marble to forbid his eyes from the sight of such a foolish person. But now his frustrations were fueled even more by the undeniable fact that a fool could look like…you. 

“Professor Alvarez said you would be the person to go to regarding any Physics textbooks,” you say, and Ratio comes back to reality as your voice vibrates around the large space. You stand in the wide door frame, hands held together in front of you. 

“Ah,” he chokes out. “Our new professor.” He quickly gets up to walk to the bookshelf behind him to rid the sight of you. His steps are light but eager; however, his back stands straight, and his head is held high. This was it? This was the fool he had read about? What a pity, he thinks as he climbs a few steps up the ladder of the bookshelf. Looks wasted on a simpleton. 

Ratio tries to change the topic of conversation while trying not to show his evident surprise. “Say, what does an astronomer have that warrants the need for physics?” He questions. 

You're quick to answer. “Well, the two are connected, I’m sure you’re aware.” 

He is aware—he’s well aware. But he’s also aware of his unwelcomed knowledge of your hatred for anything purely mathematical in any sense, especially physics, which you loathe the most. He even remembers the page clearly in chapter twenty-six, section fou—but that's beside the point. His ever-growing facts about you are a card he cannot yet play. He has only gazed at you for a mere eight seconds. So for now, he will keep his mouth shut. 

“I am,” he says confidently, a slight hint of offense in his voice. “Professors here, however usually tend to their specific fields rather than branching off.” His fingers trace the spine of the dusty books before carefully selecting one and then another. 

“One of my students is infatuated by the correlation of the two. It’s something that I had no interest in during my years of studying.” The sound of you shuffling your feet bounces off the walls. “I’m forced to learn now I suppose.”

“Whatever for? You’re no physicist,” he scoffs.  His hand lingers around a book as he debates himself in his mind. 

“To answer my students' questions, of course,” you answer without a second thought. 

A genius interested in the pursuit of other’s knowledge. Ratio’s frustrations physically manifest in the form of a silent sigh.  An anomaly you were. An Irritating one at that. 

He picks up the book.  

He doesn’t say anything as he descends the ladder—or when he walks to where you stand with an uninterested look on his face. He simply plops the books in your hands with a quick “Here.” Their weight jolts you down briefly. 

“Some of these are limited or editor's copies.” His eyes meet yours for the first time since you came in. “Do try not to dirty them.”

He turns to walk back to his desk, but the sound of your voice stops him. 

“Which is your favorite?”

Ratio turns to walk back to you as he looks you up and down. His fingers fish between the books in your arms, and he pulls out one. It’s encased in golden leather. He lifts it up to hold it out in front of you. 

Your hand grazes the hardcover. You look at it, eying the author. ‘Professor Emeritus.’ You look up at him with a hint of playfulness in your eyes. It makes him uneasy—like the breath has been sucked out of his lungs. But then you have the nerve to smile at him, and he can feel himself getting hot. 

“Thank you,” you say, and you turn away. 

His mind races. His heart beats a bit faster. It’s only when the click of your heels are out of earshot and when the doctor is trying to recover in his desk chair that he realizes he’s forgotten to tell you when to bring them back. 

“...the only way to transcend the limitations of the individual is to have an academic network of mutual learning.”

- Intelligentsia Guild 

He ignores you. 

That’s not to say he doesn't see you. Of course, he does. How could one not see you? It has turned into a game over the past two weeks. He must spot you first to make sure you do not spot him. 

So he does just that. 

He has no use conversing with a Genius Society member turned idiot. He simply gave you those books to help the students you were teaching, nothing more. 

So he carries on with his usual routine of avoiding you. Until, there’s a pile of books with ribbon wrapped around them at his office door. But there’s only three of them. 

Ratio quickly picks up the stack of books and unlocks his office door. When at his desk, he finally notices the note placed neatly between the book and ribbon.  

Thank you for letting me borrow these. They were very insightful. I have saved your recommendation for last. I will bring it back once I have finished it.  

He examines your handwriting—your signature—and how the way you write your A’s and H’s differ from him. 

As Ratio revels in the fact that you took his word at face value, he examines the books. His fingers caress the covers and flip through the pages.  

You made sure not to dirty them. 

“To grow and excel as a Scholar is to reconsider. A Hypothesis that is drawn due to stubbornness and ignorance is a hypothesis from no mind worth listening to.” 

- Professor Emeritus in “Attentive Beings” 

“Come in,” Ratio replies to the three knocks on his study door. This time, he looks up from his reading as soon as he hears the heels click on the polished wooden floor. 

You smile at him—book held in hand. 

He greets you with another disinterested look as he turns his head back to the papers in front of him. “Did you enjoy it?” 

“I certainly did,” you call out. Although he doesn’t look at you, he can hear you walk slowly around his office. He lets out a sigh as he writes down something. 

But then your heels click too close to the round table by the window in the corner of his study, and his mouth grows dry. He looks up as he watches you eye the books he had left open on the table, and put the book you had borrowed down. Your fingernails graze the papers slowly, and you turn the page. 

“You read about me?”

Ratio’s throat closes up at your question as he scurries to organize the files and loose sheets of paper before him just to occupy his hands. He puts a fist to his lips and clears his throat. “I simply wanted to know more about the new Professor who would teach some of my former students,” he affirms boldly. 

“It’s okay.” your eyes lift up from the pages and turn to him with a smile. “I read about you too.” 

He’s not surprised. He shouldn’t be surprised. Any good scholar would do that. But something stirs inside him still. His stomach flips from…excitement. This odd feeling goes unnoticed by you as the doctor quickly covers himself with his swift response “Is that so?” 

“Mhm,” you hum. You grab the book and slowly make your way closer and closer to his desk—to him. “You’re quite the mathematician,” you smile. “…and philosopher.” 

His arms fold and his eyes trail your figure as you approach. 

“So tell me, after reading this thing.” You hold up the book. “What’s your ‘philosophy’ on me?” 

He sits there in silence looking at you. 

“Please, Doctor,” you smirk. “Tell us your verdict on the new professor.” 

He’s still hesitant. But the look you give him is like fire on his skin, and he wants to rid of it. So he speaks. “Fine, if you must know.” He lets out an exasperated sigh. 

“You’re a fool. Through and through.”

“Is that so?”

“The evidence is clear.”

“Do elaborate, Doctor.” 

 He sighs again. What has he gotten himself into? “You’re an astronomer.” 

“That I am,” you smirk. Oh, he hates that smirk of yours. That smile of yours. That face of yours. 

“You’re an astronomer that hates physics.” Ratio stand subtly and makes his was round his desk to you. “Quite absurd actually.” He crosses his arms and you shift your body to look him in the eye. “You have no interest in anything mathematical when math is the foundation of all that ever was and will ever be.” 

“Mhmm.” And there’s that smirk again as you look up at him. 

“You’ve done mounds of research, and any organization would want you.” His voice is booming and stern as if he were lecturing one of his students. “Yet, you pick the IPC of all things to give your work to.” 

You're a star, you blaze. Yet you choose to be mediocre like him. It's infuriating.

You nod, and he takes a step closer to you. His brows furrow in frustration, and his finger points down at you. 

“And the cherry on top is that you’ve chosen to stray from the Erudition and-“

“Leave the genius Society,” you finish. 

Your voice strikes him. He flinches backward and his back stiffens. You’re toying with him. He wonders if it is something he’s opposed to. 

“Is that why you dislike me, Veritas?”

He’s opposed to it, he concludes. He steps back, and his arms go to his chest once more. “Dislike?” He lets out an exclaimed scoff. “I barely know you, Professor.” He lets the last word roll off his tongue like an insult. 

You hold up the book in your hands and read the title to yourself. ‘Exploring the Starlit Genius’ 

“Barely?” You ask. 

“Nonsense,” is all he can claim as he returns to his desk. 

You lean over it, your spread out hands creating a mess of his once neatly placed papers. “You make a conscious effort not to meet my eyes around here.”

Ever the observant one you were. But he denies it. “Our paths must have never crossed,” he explains. 

You tilt your head with a knowing look as you cross your arms. “Don’t lie Veritas.” 

A shiver goes down his spine. He doesn’t know if it's because it’s the first time he’s ever been called a liar or because you’ve just said his first name. It’s been a while since someone called him something other than “Doctor” or “Professor.” At least that's the quick excuse he can come up with on the spot to ease his jittery mind. 

He’s caught. He’s finally caught. So he defends his hypothesis. 

“I don’t like fools,” he states matter-a-factly. “I tend to stay away from them.” 

“But not from me?” 

Oh your tongue is clever. Not as clever as his, he reassures himself. 

“You seem to know a lot about me.” 

He’s red. He knows it. But he cant seem to find something to throw back at you. His quick wit is anywhere but in the present. 

“Is it because deep down you know I’m right?” Your face softens. 

He stays silent. 

“Out of all the literature about me, you’ve chosen that which  is not written by me.” You run your hands across the book's cover and place it neatly before him. “You’ve been reading the books with my name on them but have never picked up the ones that I myself created. Why is that?” You smile, but your face shows genuine perplexity. 

If he has an answer, he doesn’t tell you. He keeps it to himself. However, the question he asks in response is an answer in itself.

“Why did you leave?” His voice is low—broken even. 

Your smile turns into an expression filled with a touch of sadness. “You ask questions you know the answer to?”

“Don't you dare mock me,” he snaps.

“What else are fools good for?”

He’s silent as his lips purse in anger. There are a few beats before he responds. “Teaching.”

Your face lightens in surprise, and your original charming smile returns. 

He wants to know. He yearns to know. But when you finally give him his answer, he knows it will burn like fire. He’ll finally have a reason why the thing he fought so much for was not all it was chopped up to be. The younger years of his life–wasted to appease THEM—all for nothing. Although he had reached a place of contentment, there was a little boy still in him who wanted to keep his former fantasy alive. 

“The Erudition is something that consumes people as do all Aeons. You know this, right Professor?” 

What you say is common sense. He gives you no answer or satisfaction. But he continues to listen attentively. 

“All intelligent minds are selfish to some extent. The genius society is filled with people who will pursue knowledge regardless of the people hurt. This includes themselves.In order to be a person of pure logic—a genius…” You pause for a second. “…you must lack empathy to some extent.”

You turn to meet him, and he swears he’s never seen any eyes more beautiful and full of honesty than yours. “And I have too much.”

And then, at your words, something clicks in his brain. 

Another smile takes over your lips as you face your body towards him. “And I believe you have more than you let on, Doctor.”

He’s in silence. 

He says nothing because he can’t say something. 

You walk around to the other side of his desk where he sits. His eyes follow your ever move while you do so. Your hand unlocks the clasp of your satchel and disappears inside. When it comes out, a book appears before him. 

He takes it in his hands tenderly and then looks at the title. ‘Philosophy of the Stars,’ he reads to himself. Then his eyes wander to the bottom of the cover, and there’s your name printed in gold. He looks up at you expectantly. 

Of course, when his eyes land on your face, your expression is full of glee. “If you wish to learn more about me, I hope you’ll do so through a book with all of my own words.”

You say nothing more as you turn on your heels and leave his office. Leaving Ratio with a feeling of shock and emptiness. 

His hand comes up to his face, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He sits there in silence and realizes…

You are none of what he had made you out to be…

Not a fool. Not an idiot. Not a genius. 

But a kind soul. 

He realizes that he was good enough. That he was not a fool either. Just a young boy who cared. 

His eyes linger on the book you left him— the book that his hands refuse to put down. He opens it to the very first page, and he finds your writing in it and a note that slips out on his lap. 

For the mediocre Dr. Veritas Ratio. 

Your name is signed as elegantly as before. He puts down the book on his desk and picks up the folded note on his lap. 

Feel free to dirty this. But keep it clean if you wish to auction it. It will be worth more with both our names on it, so don’t undersell. It is yours to do with as you please.   

One thing Veritas knows for sure is that this book won’t leave his possession in all his years to come. 

“THEIR silence was deafening.”

- Genius Society–Erudition, Astral Express Data Bank

Dr. Ratio is sharp, precise, and calculated. He considers himself to be all those things; he is a needle. 

But if Dr. Veritas Ratio is a needle, then you are a pin. 

ty for reading. reblogs are appreciated <3