𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭 | 𝘈𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰 𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤

𝙮𝙤𝙪..

SORRY I HAVENT UPDATED IN SO LONG!

- " im not so sure if its hatred or love i feel for you.."

AVENTURINE POV
The days had slowly begun to blend together, a mix of medical routines and the occasional visit from Ms. Topaz. Her words continued to provide me with some comfort, but the loneliness still crept in during the quiet moments.  Everyday I felt neither fully alive nor entirely dead, just existing.

Over the past two months, many of my friends had come to visit me. Each visit brought a fleeting sense of relief that people would remember me. Yet, despite their best efforts, the loneliness persisted, a shadow that clung to the edges of my consciousness.

But on this specific day, it was someone that would constantly invade my mind.

The door busted open, and a man with striking purple hair entered the room. His presence was electrifying, a sharp contrast to the clinical stillness that had become my world. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized him – Ratio, a figure from my past who had always lingered in my thoughts.

"Well, well, if it isn't the brave Aventurine," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. His voice was just as I remembered – smooth, with a hint of irony that never failed to unsettle me.

"Ratio," I replied, struggling to keep my voice steady. "It's been a while."

"Too long, some might say," he said, closing the door behind him. He walked over to my bedside, his movements fluid and confident. "How's the hospital, gambler?"

I shrugged, a noncommittal gesture that spoke volumes. "I've been better."

He nodded, his expression softening. "I can imagine. Hospital life isn't exactly a thrill ride."

I couldn't help but smile at that. "No, it's not." 

There was a moment of silence, a charged pause that felt both comforting and disconcerting. Ratio had always had this effect on me – a strange blend of reassurance and unease.

"So," he said, finally breaking the silence. "What happened to you? The last I heard, you were off on one of your 'adventures'."

I sighed, remembering the events that had led to my current predicament. As I spoke, Ratio listened intently, his eyes never leaving my face. It was a relief to talk to someone who understood, who knew me beyond the confines of this hospital room.

When I finished, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful. "You've been through a lot," he said quietly.

"Haven't we all?" I replied, trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckled softly. "True. But still, you should take it easy for a while. Give yourself time to heal."

I nodded, appreciating his concern. "I know. It's just...hard."

His words, simple as they were, struck a chord within me. For the first time in weeks, I felt a glimmer of hope, a faint light at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

"Thank you," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, a genuine, warm smile that reached his eyes. "Anytime."

For the next hour, we talked about everything and nothing. He told me stories of his own adventures, regaling me with tales that made me laugh and momentarily forget my troubles.

As the afternoon wore on, the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the room. Ratio glanced at his watch and sighed "I'll be back, gambler."

I nodded, feeling a pang of disappointment. "I'll hold you to that."

With that, he turned and walked towards the door. I watched him go, a strange mix of emotions swirling within me. Relief, gratitude, and something else – something deeper and more profound.

As the door closed behind him, I felt a sense of peace that had eluded me for so long. Ratio's visit had been a balm for my soul.

Over the next few days, I found myself thinking about our conversation, replaying his words in my mind. His promise to return gave me something to look forward to, a beacon of hope in the sea of uncertainty. I began to take better care of myself, pushing through the pain and fatigue with renewed determination.

True to his word,  Ratio visited regularly. Each time, he brought with him a sense of normalcy, a reminder of the world beyond these four walls. We talked, laughed, and sometimes, just sat in comfortable silence. His presence was a constant source of comfort, a steadying force in the midst of chaos.

Slowly but surely, I began slowly to heal. The days no longer blurred together in a haze of monotony. Instead, they were marked by moments of connection, of genuine human interaction. I started to see the light at the end of the tunnel, the possibility of a future beyond this hospital room.