( He truly is the world’s luckiest little bastard. Aventurine leans forward, a sly grin spreading over his face. This is what he lives for, the rush that comes with the unknown and the thrill of the win before it fades back into nothing, an emptiness that can’t be filled.

What he wants is simple. Easy. It won’t even count if the good Doctor doesn’t want it to. )

Let me kiss you. You can even keep that handsome bust of yours on, Prof, so you can write it all off if anyone asks. I came onto you, I made you. You didn’t even kiss back.

( Another gamble. See how well he sets it up for Ratio to not lose anything? Doesn’t that make the man want to give him this one thing? )