The bartender stifled a laugh, glancing at Aoba with a wink and grin that suggested he enjoyed the boy's moxie. Declan looked back to Aoba, squinting briefly before offering a very small, uncertain smile and shrug, massive shoulders rising and falling in an overall minute gesture. He supposed they had all earned it at some point or another. People liked to act like assholes when they were drunk and if Declan was around, he showed them the door and the error of their ways, simple as that. Granted there wasa lot more unconsciousness involved, but the end result was the same.

Injured pride made bitter men, he supposed, sniffing faintly and sipping his drink briefly.

"Little prick," someone muttered, drawing Declan's attention. His head slowly swiveled around, bringing with it the shrill scraping of chair legs on the floor as several patrons pushed their seats back, afraid they might have to cut and run. Cowards, the lot of them. All hot air and big talk, but the second poking the bear actually woke it up they were ready to cut and run. Lucky for them, Declan wasn't inclined to start a riot, focusing instead back upon Aoba.

"I like your hair," he murmured, blinking slowly before turning back to his drink. Nothing big said, no attempts at touching, not even a compliment, really. Just a flat statement, the Guardian pointing out a fact. He didn't elaborate, but saying he found the color very flattering or attractive on Aoba was bound to cause a stir, which wasn't his intention. He simply wasn't even a little good at opening conversation. He was responsive, but obviously shit at striking things up on his own. No doubt part of the reason behind his reputation of being more surly than he actually was.