Friend. Hearing Declan actually use the word, when previously he’d been so hesitant to admit anything good about himself, just…suddenly Aoba’s chest felt all kinds of warm, looking up at the Guardian with a feeling that felt like pride mixed with maybe half a dozen other things, and the mix didn’t get any more distinct with the rest of what Declan ended up having to say.
“We’re friends.” Aoba absolutely had to say it. He wanted to share in that agreement, and reinforce Declan’s choice to finally use the word himself. “Of course I was gonna miss you. I would’ve worried myself sick if I didn’t have your calls to reassure me you were alright.”
He gave Declan’s arm a squeeze—it was like trying to grip steel rebar, geez—but after a little lingering, he took his hand back before he could (he thought) make the man uncomfortable by dragging it on too long.
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“We’re friends.” Aoba absolutely had to say it. He wanted to share in that agreement, and reinforce Declan’s choice to finally use the word himself. “Of course I was gonna miss you. I would’ve worried myself sick if I didn’t have your calls to reassure me you were alright.”
He gave Declan’s arm a squeeze—it was like trying to grip steel rebar, geez—but after a little lingering, he took his hand back before he could (he thought) make the man uncomfortable by dragging it on too long.