Gentle or obnoxious, either way, ribbing worked pretty well on Aoba. He jolted a bit with a surprised noise, realized he’d been caught sounding something like hypocritical, and blushed. Well, maybe…maybe Aoba could get his courage up for that after he’d been settled for a while. If Declan liked it, could it be that bad? Surely he wouldn’t invite Aoba along if it were dangerous. He really didn’t seem the type.

Aoba kept those thoughts to himself in the meanwhile, though.

“You can still call it amnesia if there’s a part of your life you don’t remember,” Aoba murmured, the words coming out softer than he expected them to. They resonated oddly as he uttered them, like déjà vu or something like that.

There was a dull throb in the back of Aoba’s skull again, a reminder of the hit he’d taken back in the bar—and also that he was one dose away from out of his medicine. Aoba did his best to ignore it, focusing on Declan and Ghost instead.

“Well, either way, I’m glad you’re here. Wherever you came from, you were right where I needed you to be, and I’m grateful for that.”