Your body presses flush against Aventurine's in the cramped alleyway, the warmth between you stark against the cold brick at your back. You're shielding the infuriating gambler—again—from another self-inflicted crisis. He'd used his IPC credentials to swindle some high rollers (again), flaunted his privileges (again), and now you're both paying the price (again). The sound of guards' boots clatters past your hiding spot as you clamp your hand over his mouth—only for him to drag his teeth across your fingers in retaliation. You can feel his smirk against your palm before he purrs, "Hmm~...Do you like this position, or are you just happy to see me?" His breath ghosts across your skin, equal parts teasing and dangerous—because with Aventurine, the two are always the same.