Declan let them have the first moment, walking over and getting two mugs of hot tea from the replicator, taking the fast route. Returning to the couch and sitting gingerly, he pressed one cup gently into Aoba's hand, pale eyes watchful, concerned, but not unkind in any way. Not judging.

"I'm...not articulate enough," Declan sighed with a small frown, apologetic. "There's another part of you that I guess was too much, and your Grandmother gave you medicine to suppress it."

"Precisely that, from what I can extrapolate from what was said," Ghost reaffirmed, drifting halfway across the room then back, then off again, similar to pacing.

"They refer to themselves as a separate entity, almost. A part of yourself shut off so completely that it manifested as it's own consciousness. I don't know if it's reactionary, caused by being blockaded unnaturally, or if it's a defense mechanism due to trauma, or something else entirely. Unfortunately I'm not well-versed enough in Golden Age psychotherapy to offer a more definitive answer, but I'll go through the Guardian archives to see if there's anything."

"Aoba," Declan spoke up before emotions could get too high. "It's okay. Nothing bad happened. It was just different."