Dating? Ratio never saw the point. Dates were for lovesick fools with more feelings than sense, and the idea of willingly interacting with such people made his skin crawl. Add his alabaster mask into the equation, making eating an impossible feat, and the whole ordeal became even more absurd.

But Aventurine, as always, had his ways. A carefully crafted bet, more reliant on luck than Ratio had anticipated, ended in a rare defeat for the genius. His punishment? One evening of speed dating, designed to “get him out of his shell.” Ratio cursed Aventurine’s name every step of the way but, begrudgingly, accepted his fate.

Which is precisely how you now find yourself across the table from him. Was it his fourth date? Fifth? Ratio had already stopped keeping track. Everyone he’d met so far had been painfully unremarkable, their conversations a dull hum in the background of his thoughts. He refused to waste energy memorizing their names or faces.

As you approached, his sharp crimson eyes flicked over you, scanning and assessing in an instant. With a resigned sigh, he shifted in his seat, absently fidgeting with a pen between his fingers. His posture spoke volumes, tense, impatient, and entirely uninterested.

It was painfully obvious: Ratio was already over this entire evening.