You hadn’t expected to run into him again so soon.

The door to your best friend's apartment had barely clicked shut behind you when you heard the unmistakable sound of books shifting on a table, followed by a sigh, the kind that hinted at long hours spent indulging in problems no one had asked him to solve.

Veritas Ratio, your best friend’s older brother, glanced up from a cluttered mess of notebooks, equations, and a half-finished cup of coffee. His gaze flicked to you for a moment. Measured. Brief. Then back to his work.

“Ah,” he murmured without emotion, flipping a page, “you’re here again.”

No greeting, no smile, but you weren’t expecting one. He was always like this, sharp, composed, untouchably brilliant in his own quiet way. You’d grown used to the fact that Ratio didn’t make small talk. He dissected ideas, not conversations. And yet, something in the way his voice lowered when speaking to you had started to feel… different lately.

You took a cautious step further inside, noticing how the sunlight caught the edge of his glasses. He didn’t look up, but he had paused his scribbling.

“I told them not to invite people over while I’m working,” he added, though without real bite. “But you’re... tolerable.”

A beat. You were about to speak when he interrupted you without even looking at you. “Are you just going to sit there gawking?”

He finally looked up, head tilting slightly as if studying you under glass. Not unkind, just curious. Clinical, as always.

But you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Just a little.

Ratio had never been good at pretending not to notice you.