It was a good thing Declan could explain everything, because Aoba was just…speechless. He’d expected more shiny stones like the first one his host had brought home, but…all of this? To Aoba, they struck him as priceless artifacts far more than mere souvenirs! Samples of space dust? Fragments of enemy art and technology? A dormant combat AI?
And yet, alike to Declan, Aoba couldn’t help but admit that so many of the pieces were just plain beautiful, regardless of function. Neither Steelport nor Midorijima had ever put such marvels in his hands, to turn over and examine and feel the heft of how real they were.
He had to go home. He had to find his way back, to Granny and to Koujaku and to everyone else who would be missing him and worrying at his vanishing. He had to. But he also looked at these beautiful things and found himself sad that he did.
Sad that he would have to leave a world that had such beautiful things in it.
He sat with the Prismatic Heart in his hand and the rest arrayed across the coffee table, objects more suited to a museum than to being knickknacks kept upon a shelf, and found his free hand moving over to gently grip Declan by the arm. Not his hand, not with the weird little thoughts he was trying to avoid having, but more below the wrist. A friendly touch just seemed to be something more earnest to do than use only words.
“…They’re all incredible, Declan. Thank you. For…for thinking of me.”
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And yet, alike to Declan, Aoba couldn’t help but admit that so many of the pieces were just plain beautiful, regardless of function. Neither Steelport nor Midorijima had ever put such marvels in his hands, to turn over and examine and feel the heft of how real they were.
He had to go home. He had to find his way back, to Granny and to Koujaku and to everyone else who would be missing him and worrying at his vanishing. He had to. But he also looked at these beautiful things and found himself sad that he did.
Sad that he would have to leave a world that had such beautiful things in it.
He sat with the Prismatic Heart in his hand and the rest arrayed across the coffee table, objects more suited to a museum than to being knickknacks kept upon a shelf, and found his free hand moving over to gently grip Declan by the arm. Not his hand, not with the weird little thoughts he was trying to avoid having, but more below the wrist. A friendly touch just seemed to be something more earnest to do than use only words.
“…They’re all incredible, Declan. Thank you. For…for thinking of me.”