orendalogs | IT'S YOUR DESTINY!!!

Silver eyes gazed off thoughtfully for a moment, light tongue sliding over white lips. He sighed, pursing his mouth in a pout of indecision before nodding to himself.

"Alright. I'll make the jump most of the way and travel the last leg manually. If you want to see any of space at all we'll have to come out at least a day away from the planet, though. Jumps are instantaneous - point A to point B, but like folding space over. B becomes A...I don't know. I'm not very good at explaining things without a visual aid, but it's quick and you don't see anything. It's not something where you can look out the window and enjoy things as you pass. Um...anyways, I'll see you soon?" he asked, clenching his teeth after a moment of thought. Even he wasn't naive enough not to hear the hopeful tone of his voice.

Stupid.

As per usual, Declan tried to explain things and Aoba failed to understand, not from any fault of Declan’s and his attempt at describing things, but…it was like a bird trying to describe flight to a turtle, or something like that. Aoba guessed it wasn’t possible for Declan to jump to an hour or two from their destination, and didn’t want to sound more foolish by asking, so he didn’t.

How bad could a day in a small ship be? Maybe he’d be too busy gawking out the windows to even notice the time go by. It was possible. He was going to be traveling in space, and that wasn’t even possible for the common man in his time.

The obvious turn of tone in Declan’s voice caught his attention again, anyway, and Aoba would have sworn his heart did a funny little wrenching thing. Declan was a big puppy.

“Yeah, like I said, we’re on our way back," he reassured his endearing host. "Be there in twenty minutes or so, okay?”

"Uh...yes. Yeah. See you then," Declan mumbled, ducking his head and hiding behind his hair, though there was no one to see his face in the first place. The connection ended and he reached up to run a hand down his face, peering between thick finger to stare at Ghost who stared right back.

"What?" Declan rumbled, shoulders tense and eyes tilted slightly to one side.

"Nothing. I think it's lovely that you're actually talking to someone."

Again the man ducked his head, mumbling some incoherent thing as he turned away and moved off to tidy up around the home. He didn't really know what else to do if he wasn't getting ready for work so he did all he could in the scope of sharing a home. Including ordering a new bed which would, with any luck, arrive that evening before they had to sleep.

Making Aoba spend extensive time on the couch just seemed like a passive aggressive way of asking him to leave. While Declan didn't want to seem clingy or smothering, he really just wanted Aoba to feel safe, comfortable and welcome. So he ordered a trundle bed.

Seemed legit.

On his end, when Aoba cut the call it was with a chuckle that dissolved into a sigh. From his perch in his satchel, Ren tilted his head in query.

“Aoba. You neglected to tell Declan we have already located three portals in close vicinity to the tower.”

Aoba flinched at the…reminder? If Ren hadn’t been Ren, he could have called it an accusation, but….

“…I know,” Aoba agreed, rubbing his temples as he started walking once again. “But it’s not like I’m going to jump into one just because I’ve found it. There’s no telling what’s on the other end and…I’m just not ready to go through all that again. Eventually I’ll have to but…maybe Declan’s right, maybe we can learn something at those libraries.”

It was worth hoping, right? Even if Aoba had watched dozens of people walk right through the portals he’d seen, free-floating and spinning with their distinct light, and not in the sense that Aoba had walked through the ones he’d encountered. No one had seen them, no one had reacted to them. They’d walked through them like sunbeams, to no effect on either the person or the portal itself.

Nobody was a “Chosen One” like Aoba was. The portals didn’t exist to them.

He managed to stop by Tess again, trading back one of his coins for a bag of rice, but by the end of the transaction his headache was knocking hard against his temples—entirely unrelated to the woman’s manner of barter, for the record. By the time he made it back to Declan’s door and had pressed his hand to the sensor, Aoba had a distinct pallor and was looking forward to doing nothing more than crashing the couch for a while.

The door hissed open and Declan looked up from where he was reviewing a series of documents ported over to him as a pre-brief for his next major mission. It was a serious task on the wartable, handed down to him from the Vanguard leaders themselves. It was entrusted to him, widely known as one of the more loyal and dedicated Guardians, and when the door opened and he saw Aoba's face, Declan wondered if there was someone he could pass the file off to.

"Aoba?" the Titan asked, rising from his seat on the couch partly out of concern and partly as a reflexive gesture of politeness. He tapped the coffee table, dismissing the file display, and closed the distance between himself and the blue-haired man in a few short strides. Ducking his head a bit and peering at the other man with a small frown he gestured to the couch, reaching in without comment to take the things Aoba was carrying.

"Go sit down," he rumbled, voice a gentle command as he turned away towards the kitchen. He was on autopilot by that point, seeing Aoba in poor health putting him into field medical mode - something very few Guardians did, as all of them were maintained by their Ghosts and medical care was redundant for the undying. His focus came from whatever and whoever he had been in the past. Declan didn't question of discount instinct, however. He put the groceries down, went for a washcloth and soaked it, letting the water run over it while he pulled up his own network interface on the kitchen wall and placed a rush order on tea, tea necessities and basic human medications. Granted he overdid it there, since the likelihood of Aoba needing antibiotics was low, but better safe than sorry. Painkillers, fever reducers, antibiotics...tap tap tap, down the list. He should have thought better about outfitting his home for the needs of a natural human.

Stupid. Stupid.

"These headaches..." he murmured, chewing his bottom lip briefly as he squeezed out the rag then approached his guest, extending it in offering. "Do they happen often?"

Aoba had no interest in protesting. He was hurting and there was no hiding it. He let his satchel slump off his shoulder as he kicked off his shoes beside the door, and Ren hopped out to follow him as he staggered towards the couch. He stayed seated upright just long enough to pick his little companion up and cuddle him up to his chest before lying down, swinging his feet up into the space where he was remotely aware Declan had been sitting a few moments ago.

No matter. Aoba put his head down on the armrest and closed his eyes, wondering what he was going to do about these headaches of his now that he was truly out of Granny’s medication.

Declan’s approach cast a pleasant shadow through the light shining in from the window and was encouragement enough for Aoba to crack an eye open for his host. It took him a few moments to identify the washrag, but he accepted it with a warm feeling of gratitude—swiftly undermined by a sharp jolt through his temples. Groaning softly, Aoba draped the rag over his face so it covered his eyes and forehead both, and attempted to somehow will away the pounding in his brain.

It was probably just his imagination, but that almost seemed to make it worse.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, curling his fingers into Ren’s fur for comfort. “My Granny…she makes the medicine for them, but…I’ve been running out, using it up. I took my last pill yesterday.”

"If you had said something, we could have replicated it from an existing example. Since you already took it...' Declan trailed off, worried that there was something seriously wrong and that he was going to be unable to do anything about it. was it some important medicine for a serious condition?

"There is nothing physically wrong with him," Ghost spoke up quietly from where he'd been hovering and listening, scanning Aoba stealthily.

"Then what's the problem?" Declan demanded, doing his best not to let too much of his fretting seep into his tone. Mostly it came out like the low warning growl of a sleepy, poked bear. he was too distracted to notice.

"Psychosomatic symptoms?" Ghost suggested, earning a blank look of confusion from the Guardian. "Physical illness caused by mental distress," the construct clarified, and Declan sighed softly, releasing a tense breath as he shook his head and leaned over to carefully remove Aoba's shoes, finding it necessary to do something with his hands.

"Well, that makes sense, right?" the Titan asked, setting the boots aside and staring at the socked feet underneath with a thoughtful look. "You're under a lot of stress right now, aren't you?" he pointed out, reaching in again and gripping one of Aoba's feet, thumbs digging into the arch. No questions or comments, just doing it. Stretching the foot, pulling the toes. Pop. Pop. Pop. In lieu of medication, releasing natural endorphins was all Declan could offer until the ordered pills and tea arrived.

"If it isn't some kind of cranial abnormality, the most we can do is treat the symptoms," Ghost added, floating near Aoba's face briefly before drifting away, unwilling to be the cause of further headache's with his lights and sounds.

"It's not, right?" Declan asked, pausing to look at Aoba directly. "You're not sick and hiding it, are you? We have good doctors in the city...we just don't need them in the Tower."

Aoba would beat himself up over the consumption of his last pill later. There was no way for him to have known—though in retrospect, after everything else this future world could do, why shouldn’t it be able to duplicate a medication that Aoba had believed to be a formula unique to Tae?

But right now? After a brief jolt in response to the touch to his foot, Aoba was startled into a low groan as those strong fingers kneaded into his soles. He hadn’t been out walking for terribly long, but Aoba had never gotten the experience of a foot massage after being out walking for a while. It didn’t magically make his headache go away, but it certainly…gave him another source of sensation to focus on beside the pain behind his temples.

When Aoba didn’t reply—neither immediately, nor a few moments afterwards—Ren volunteered instead: “Aoba is not ill, although the cause of his headaches is otherwise unknown despite their chronic nature and the fact that they have never responded to any medication other than the one formulated by his grandmother. While his stress levels have been elevated over the last month, he has actually shown drastic improvement over the course of the last twenty-four hours—that is, the timeframe since escaping the Deckers and entering Declan’s care instead.”

“Don’t say it like I’m some lost dog,” came a blurry grumble from Aoba, his cheeks showing a bit of a flush below the cover of the washrag draped over his eyes. Even so, the young man was going distinctly limp but for a few toe-wriggles stretching out his freshly-popped joints.

Under normal circumstances Declan likely would have recoiled at the last words Aoba spoke, afraid he'd made some social faux pas again. His own social discomfort, however, was not nearly as important as Aoba's health, and he settled for hunching his shoulders and working the second foot.

"You don't get to complain," Declan rumbled, shaking his head. "You needed help and you didn't say anything," the Titan added, obviously quietly offended by the fact. He rubbed diligently none the less, trying not to feel as hurt as he did, knowing that most people would have behaved the same. No one wanted to be a burden on others, and no one wanted to be unwell. Aoba did what he did because he thought it was all he could do or thought it was the best course of action. Declan trusted that, even if it came to the same end.

"I ordered some basic medication and some tea. Don't worry about dinner tonight. I'll have something brought up and you can just rest. Alright? I'll make the tea when it--"

Bing bong.

"--I'll make the tea now. And you just-- Ren or Ghost, one of you answer the door, please --relax. You relax and I'll handle everything else tonight and if you feel better tomorrow we can have a proper dinner."

In the subtle range of emotions he was capable of displaying, Ren looked perplexed by the suggestion that he answer the door and turned a quizzical look on Ghost, considering the “more advanced Allmate” to be his own best source of understanding.

Meanwhile, Aoba allowed himself to be duly chided and mumbled nothing more than another “thanks, Declan” as he tried to sag into the couch cushions, slowly curling and uncurling his toes, then for some weird reason wondering if his head might feel better if Declan put those strong-gentle fingers to work at his temples and—

—put those hands to work somewhere else instead—

The fragment of thought came through on a bolt of red, causing Aoba to clench his teeth and tighten his fingers in Ren’s fur as well. What the hell? No, definitely not, definitely not, Aoba didn’t even know where that thought had come from.

“Aoba?” He heard Ren’s voice, concerned.

“M’okay….”

Silever eyes watched Aoba, narrowing with the spread of Declan's frown. He left the door and delivery to ren and Ghost, the construct explain to the Allmate that pressure against the door would open it, so all he had to do was tap it with a paw. The door opened and the delivery droid stepped in with polite greetings, following Ghost's instructions to take things into the kitchen. Bad timing or good, one could only guess, since more noise filled the small space they all shared when the delivery droids with the bed arrived right on the heels of the emergency order. Not sure what else to do, Declan moved up the couch and knelt down to cup his hands over Aoba's ears, large palms blocking out most of the noise and muffling the rest.

"Please, just leave everything and go?" Declan rumbled, his voice the only clear sound for Aoba. the droids excused themselves, Declan apologized and thanked them, and when the door was closed and everything quiet again, the Titan carefully withdrew his hands and looked at Aoba upside down from where he hovered.

"I'm going to make the tea. I'll bring a glass of water and the medications," he murmured softly, waiting only long enough for Aoba to speak or protest in some way before he would move to fulfill his words.

With the dishrag still over his brow and eyes, Aoba not only couldn’t see what was causing the delivery to involve so much noise, he didn’t realize Declan’s hands were incoming until they were cupped over his ears—the whole sides of his head, practically, given the size of those mitts. They were warm, and kind, and Aoba’s flushing only deepened, his heart knocking so strongly against his ribs that in the absence of most other sounds, he could hear his blood rushing through his ears.

Now, it wasn’t that Aoba didn’t know he was attracted to other men. It had been a long time, but in the past there’d been little things, like kissing and stuff like that. But: he’d barely known Declan for twenty-four hours, if that, and just…he could barely think through his headache, so why the hell was every other thought that he could think something weird and awkward???

—let me out I’ll show you why—

Declan got no protest, just a distracted little sound of acknowledgement. Ren’s little feet tap-tapped across the floor as he returned to sit at the foot of the couch, observing his troubled master with flattened ears. Aoba’s brainwaves were highly unusual…and home was likely a long way away. What would they do now without Tae’s medication?

Whenever Declan came back, he would find that Aoba hadn’t moved an inch. The only difference was the music thrumming steadily from the headphones still tucked around Aoba’s neck. Lifting his head would have taken too much effort, nor was Aoba certain he even wanted the gentle pressure of the earpieces on either side of his head, so by touch alone he’d turned them on so those familiar Goatbed beats could at least play near his ears.

Back and forth Declan went, handling things around the apartment, setting the electric kettle to going - he knew what to do, he'd just never needed to - and getting the water and medicine. The pill bottles he set on the table, the water he pressed lightly to Aoba's forehead to let him know it was there before setting it next to the pills. Then he was off again, checking the kettle - which wasn't on it's way yet - and breaking down the old bed to replace it with the new. The bed was actually less troubling for him than the tea, really. He had all the patience in the world for simple things, but when someone else was in distress that patience evaporated.

Tick tick tick, the minutes went by, Declan as quiet as he could as he thumped around in his bedroom behind the closed door, only peeking out to check on Aoba or the tea. Eventually the kettle finished boiling and Declan padded back out, a little sweaty from all the lifting and moving, but pleased with his work. Carefully pouring two cups and setting little loose tea balls into the cups, Declan returned to the couch, setting one of the cups near Aoba.

"Miss Levante sent this over. It's supposed to be good for migraines. It's got...uh...chamomile, lemon balm, feverfew....uh...um..." Declan faltered, silver eyes looking down into his own cup. Fortunately Gost picked up for him.

"Skullcap, passion flower and ginger root. It's a common herbal remedy and many of the natural humans in the Tower use it."

Declan nodded slightly, sniffing his tea before sipping it. He didn't have a headache, but he wasn't about to make Aoba suffer through anything he hadn't tasted himself. Fortunately, aside from being a tad on the mediciny side of flavors it wasn't bad. Maybe a little sugar or something would help, but he didn't want to add anything that might take away from the overall effectiveness of it.

"You just keep resting," Declan murmured, nodding to himself and taking another sip of the tea. "I'm going to finish up in the bedroom. Don't worry about dinner. I'll...order something for you. I don't need anything, remember?"

Declan fluttered around—if a guy as big as him could be said to ‘flutter’, anyway—but for the most part, Aoba did not move.

At one point, after a long stillness, he reached down for Ren. The Allmate nuzzled into the provided palm, then promptly curled up into sleep mode at a stroke between his ears.

At another, Aoba sat up just long enough to investigate the bottle of pills. After a chuckle, he took a dose and a nice long pull of the water, then lay down again. Adjusting the fall of the rag over his eyes and the headphones around his neck, he settled comfortably with his hands on his stomach and was still once more.

When Declan arrived with the tea, Aoba’s head rolled slightly in his direction in a show of attentiveness. Though it wasn’t as damp or cold anymore, the washrag was still draped over his eyes, and after the Guardian had spoken a smile crept across the portion of Aoba’s still-visible face. It didn’t look like Aoba’s usual smiles. Not to say there was something wrong with it, but it was a little lopsided, perhaps almost half smirk.

“The bedroom, huh?” he answered, voice a little deeper, a little drawling, as if Declan’s arrival had roused him from a nap. He even shifted, stretching out, and let his arms drape overhead, hanging over the edge of the couch arm. “Got something special planned for me in there, do you…?”

Edited 2016-01-14 03:09 (UTC)

"Yes," Declan answered honestly without an ounce of guile. It was so earnestly delivered that even Desire likely couldn't find the firmest of footholds on the statement. Declan was simply so forthright that making his words into double entendres was more difficult. He spoke as if what he said couldn't mean anything other than exactly what he intended it to mean.

"But you shouldn't worry about it. You should rest. Your health is important. When I'm done, I think it'll help. Mm...Anyways, is there anything I can do for you right now to help? Or would you rather go to sleep for now?"

Robbed of wordplay, perhaps, but Desire wasn’t going to be robbed of his sense of entertainment as easily as that. It had been so long since he’d been out! He’d been knocking at the walls keeping him from coming forward for three weeks now, ever since his other self had realized he was running out of medicine and started rationing them. Now it didn’t even matter that Reason had taken that last pill yesterday. Desire had pressed at him hard for the last couple hours, then let up—and Reason had fallen asleep almost immediately into the spot of reprieve.

It had been easy for Desire to nudge him aside and take his place here now. Unfortunately he was not immune to their body’s exhaustion and didn’t know for sure how much longer he’d keep the reins like this, but it was good to be out.

And this big white guy…. Of course Desire couldn’t see him right now, not with the cloth on his eyes, but he knew. Oh, he knew.

“Hmm…what if I asked you to put your hands on me again? Just not my feet this time….”

"I'm not sure I'd give a very good massage," Declan mused aloud, looking down at his hands briefly. Knowing pressure points was really something he'd learned in combat training, not caretaking. Really he was worried he'd done something wrong on the feet and was immensely relieved that his chance taken proved effective. Still, he was willing to help if he could.

Of course he didn't even have a whisper of a thought in his head that Aoba might ask for something inappropriate or intimate.

"What do you need me to do? It's a headache, right? Feet usually help with that, but I might not have done a very good job. Do you need me to rub your temples?" the Titan asked, offering as much as questioning. He shifted his position, clothing hissing and creaking in protest the way fabric stretched too tightly often did.

"Just tell me what you need."

It was almost charming, how innocent this Declan seemed to be. Or maybe it made Desire want to break him more. He wasn’t entirely decided just yet, but right now…Declan was so disgustingly nice…and Desire wanted some of that niceness for himself.

He’d been locked in the back of his own head for years, subdued by the medicines Granny had kept feeding to Reason. If anyone deserved a little spoiling right now, it was Desire, not Reason!

“Yeah…yeah, that sounds real good, big guy,” Desire agreed, pillowing his arms back on his stomach and smiling crookedly. His words continued to amuse himself, even if they were flying right over Declan’s head one after the other.

“C’mere and rub my head for me. Show me how good with your hands you really are.”

That seemed like a reasonable request, and though Aoba sounded a little off, Declan saw fit to attribute it to his feeling unwell. That was only fair, all things considered, and if he were completely honest with himself he might admit that it pleased him to have even the most chaste of physical contact with another person. Aoba could make all the demands he liked, as far as the Titan saw it, the blue-haired man was spoiling him and not the other way around.

Up he went and around, settling on his knees at the head of the couch, overlarge hands coming up over the armrest to press fingertips all over Aoba's scalp and hairline - only after he had rubbed his palms together and breathed into clasped hands to make certain they weren't cold or clammy. Rubbing gently but firmly, Declan tried his best to do what he imagined would feel quite nice in reciprocation, silver eyes watching his guest's mouth for any twitch or sign of discomfort.

"Is that helping any?" he asked quietly, not wishing to be too loud as he knew his voice had a fairly deep rumble no matter how he tried to manage the volume.

The answer Declan received was a low, throaty groan. His fingers kneaded at Aoba’s scalp, easing all those unrecognized muscles that took more strain in a day than a person tended to realize until getting the treat of a headrub—and more, all the nerves in Aoba’s hair went off like fireworks, practically screaming at the contact of Declan’s fingers. It wasn’t like he was yanking or pulling, but every oversensitive strand could feel him, taking the sensation much too far and registering it as pain.

Of course, it was pleasure all around as far as Desire was concerned, hence the sigh as he rolled his head back against Declan’s fingers to increase the pressure, himself.

“Shit, you’re good,” Desire purred, a flush settling over his cheeks that the compress couldn’t cool, the jolts in his hair-nerves jumping all the way through his body and to each extremity, making him feel warm all over.

Now this was what he was talkin’ about!

It was, in the end, too much for Declan. The Guardian rarely felt anything past the most common emotions and sensations, his body only pressured by an occasional rush of adrenaline. He had never been particularly aroused by a situation, never being liked or liking anyone enough for that measure of focus. It wasn't necessarily his rapidly growing affection for his surprise roommate, but having someone in his own quarters, taking up his space and filling the rooms with their own smells was extremely disruptive to the previously emotionally sterile life Declan had.

Moaning and rubbing against him were distinctly sensual acts, and even Declan wasn't immune to instinct and nature.

"I...I have to go finish..." the Titan mumbled, standing abruptly and backing away from the couch, horrified by the twisting warmth in his gut. The very idea that he would get even vaguely aroused already felt like he was somehow violating Aoba's trust!

It hadn’t lasted nearly long enough for Desire’s like, but bodily exhaustion and medicines and endorphins all worked against him. Declan’s abrupt retreat sent one last rip of sensation through his hair as the Titan yanked his hands back, and Desire was left all but melting into the couch with a deep sigh of pleasure.

“Finish me is what…” the vague mumble might be heard as Desire lolled his head to the side, resting his brow against the back of the couch as that urge to sleep as deeply as Reason currently was finally got its hooks into him. Maybe he could have fought it, maybe he could have even lifted his head and looked and recognized just what, exactly, had Declan so flustered (and been pleased all the more for it)…but right now…oh, hell with it.

He’d just…have to mess with the big guy more…another time….

He wasn't stopped and that was no small blessing as he thumped his way back into the bedroom and sat there staring blankly at the work he was doing. Suddenly he questioned everything. Were his intentions pure? Was he being selfish? Was he being indecent? Was it more important to place himself in the path of temptation and overcome it, or was he supposed to avoid it altogether?

He knew what his few friends would say, Mac in particular. That loud-mouth...he'd tell him to go back in the other room and stay hands-on.

No. Not acceptable. He was a host. A compassionate stranger. A stranger in general, which said something on it's own. Aoba was just tired and in pain, Declan told himself. There was no way that the blue-hiared man wanted anything to do with him outside of being grateful for his help. People didn't "like" Declan. Not like that, anyways, and Declan didn't have those feelings or needs, either. He was a Guardian, he was an expendable tool of combat. He was not a man. Not anymore. Not for a long time.

Grunting to himself and hunkering down over the bed again, the Titan put himself back to sensible tasks. In short order he had finished building the new bed, tested the rollers on the trundle and deemed it all safe. Tucking fresh linens onto everything and enjoying the calm that had come over him through honest labor, Decland gathered everything up, put it all away in it's proper place, set the old bed pieces aside for pick up by commissary the next day and headed for the shower. That done and himself freshly pressed, he felt much better and in fact had even forgotten his earlier distress.

That was, of course, until he walked out of his room and saw Aoba on the couch still. Swallowing quietly and turning away, the pale behemoth focused on food again, fumbling in the kitchen to make something edible for Aoba, because the man needed to eat if he was to have the necessary strength for recovery. At least, Declan thought that was how it went. Mostly he just did what Ghost said when it came to people and interactions. Feeding a guest wasn't much different. Fortunately there were at least left-overs to microwave back to some semblance of edible life. That, and he was able to make a nice, cool glass of water without incident.

Aoba slept well into the early evening, his natural lazy tendencies compounded by his multiple sources of stress and exhaustion (some of which he was more aware of than others). There were soft, grumbling noises from him as he began to stir, confused at first by his inability to see before he remembered the compress and tugged the now-dry cloth off his face.

He looked rather pathetically bedraggled as he sat up, his bangs crinkled in odd directions from having been moistened by the compress and then drying again, and his ponytail was bedhead-afflicted, too. Aoba’s face was almost zombielike at first, but then something a little more like clarity seeped in and the eyes looking out at the world were hazel.

He smelled cooking. His stomach gurgled tentatively.

When Aoba sat up Ghost made a little humming noise to get Declan's attention. He was just doling out bits of food onto a plate so it wasn't a bad time at all. A moment later he set the plate and a glass of water on the coffee table, careful not to clink anything too loudly.

"There you go. I hope this is alright," the Titan mumbled quietly, standing up and backing away a step to loom there uncertainly.

"I didn't know what else to do so it's only leftovers and water, but I didn't want to make anything that might make you feel even more unwell, so experimenting was...not a good idea," he shrugged slightly, clasping his white hands together in front of himself and twisting them uncomfortably. He was afraid without realizing it; afraid that Aoba would comment on the moments before. He could still feel the warmth of Aoba's skin on his fingertips even then and his unease made him unsure of how to even move and speak, so the best he could do was wait for a cue from the blue-haired man.

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