orendalogs | IT'S YOUR DESTINY!!!

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.

Aoba blinked a few times at the sudden appearance of food right after he’d just begun to feel the want for it. His attention drifted upwards from the plate to its deliverer, and then followed a couple bleary moments as Aoba put himself together a bit more and assembled his awareness of the situation.

Ultimately, Aoba’s tired features resolved themselves into the same warm smile he’d turned on the Guardian several times already. It was a more tired version of it, perhaps, but no less genuine than the ones before.

“You sure you’re a soldier?” Words tumbled over his lips, thoughtless. “You’re a natural at taking care of people.”

Aoba leaned forward, picking up the plate and balancing it on its lap. Leftovers were perfectly acceptable, his stomach giving another bit of a rumble as Aoba murmured, “Even your hands…I don’t even remember falling asleep,” before putting a bit of food in his mouth and chewing.

Yep. Still good.

"A soldier's whole purpose is taking care of people," Declan pointed out, shrugging slightly as he watched Aoba for any more signs of illness. He stiffened slightly at the mention of his hands, glancing down at them briefly before shaking his head.

"You weren't well. I'm not surprised. Sleeping on the couch probably isn't helping all that much so...well..." he cleared his throat, reaching up with one hand to scratch the side of his neck before gesturing to the bedroom door.

"I finished what I was doing..."

Aoba blinked up at him again, turning his head to follow Declan’s gesture towards the bedroom. He gazed for a moment, discerned nothing obvious, and looked back at his host blankly.

Desire was the one who had heard—and commented upon—the fact that Declan had some project in the bedroom. Aoba had no clue.

All it resulted in, though, was a puzzled, “Doing? What were you doing?”

"Building," the Titan replied, looking towards the bedroom thoughtfully. After a moment he shrugged, pacing back towards the kitchen and getting himself another glass of water, gazing down into it with a long sigh.

He'd already committed, no sense chickening out.

"If you're going to stay here for any length of time, you can't stay on the couch and us using the bed on a timeshare will inevitably overlap. I know you'll insist on taking the couch in those instances but you should really get as much rest as I do. Your job is no less important and if anything, your health is more important than mine. So...you have a bed, too. Sort of. Mostly. It's one of those...sliding ones. A trundle, I think it said...and there's a few drawers under it as well, so you have storage space of your own."

A trundle…bed. Aoba had to think a bit and a little harder than usual, but with most of his headache settled down into groggy exhaustion he eventually pulled up the mental image to match Declan’s description. And then, head turned to still keep his attention on his host and rescuer, he just had to stare.

“You got…me…a bed….”

A bed. Clothes and food and putting him up for the night, offering the use of his home because he wasn’t often in it—except now he was, taking care of Aoba every time he turned around, addressing needs before Aoba could even think they might be there to be asked…and now he hadn’t even let Aoba “timeshare” his bed for one night before going and getting a whole new…trundle bed.

Not even like a rollaway cot or a futon or an air mattress, but a bona fide piece of furniture bed.

And Declan had told him all about those ‘shader’ things before and invited him to change the color of the rooms….

Aoba was seriously starting to feel like he was moving in and he hadn’t even been here all that long!

This. Guy.

Aoba was embarrassed and touched all together, not knowing what to say…so once again, he said the first dumb thing to come to his lips. “…That’s it. I’m going to start looking for where you’re hiding your wings and halo, because you seriously are an angel.”

He didn't really understand the reference, Christianity - like most religions - being long forgotten in the new age of reason. That, and Guardians didn't get to spend a lot of time poring over history books if they weren't Warlocks. Titans were...simpler. He did understand that Aoba was once again pointing out what to Declan was common decency. Going the extra mile was another standard of most Titans; they didn't understand limits or doing things half-way, and when you were as generally good-hearted as Declan, that principle took on whole knew meaning.

"Was that not alright?" he asked, squinting slowly and tilting his head to the side, silky white hair hanging like a moon-colored veil.

"It just didn't make a lot of sense to me. You're a grown man, you shouldn't be stuck on a couch for more than a few days, and if you're stuck here for long enough to seek work, which you already have, then it seemed like you ought to have a bed. But I don't have a spare room so...I just did the next best thing."

“No, it’s fine, it’s just…I mean, you’re….”

Declan said these things so matter-of-factly, almost like he took it for granted that this was what you did to help someone. No second thoughts, all-out, all charity and asking nothing in return….

And Aoba wasn’t in the best state to be very articulate right now. He looked down into his bowl of leftovers and tried.

“…The only people I can think of who’d go this far for me are my granny, and a friend of mine who’s known me since we were small. You only met me yesterday. You’re just….”

He didn’t have fancy words for it. In the end, Aoba could only say it plainly, looking back at the Guardian again.

“You’re a really, really good guy, Declan. …Don’t ever listen to anybody that says otherwise.”

That was harder to hear than it should have been, causing the Titan to color faintly and look away, shaking his head in wordless denial. He didn't see where anything he did made him a particularly good person. No better than anyone else, at any rate, and certainly not deserving of any praise. It just seemed felt like that was what he was meant to do. It never occurred to him that despite what he did being right, some people found good deeds to be tedious and not worth doing if no reward were involved.

"W-well...you have a bed now. It's yours. You're still welcome to use shaders and spruce things up a bit to your liking. But I just thought it was the most sensible thing to do," the large man mumbled, shifting his bulk uncomfortably and longing for an emergency mission call.

Beep beep beep.

Speak of the Devil.

"Incoming message from Commander Zavala," Ghost announced, Declan's gentle white gaze hardening suddenly as he gave a curt nod. Even if he'd been idly wishing, a call that late was never good news.

"I have to go for a while. Probably a mission. I'll contact you and let you know," Declan relayed as he thudded around gathering his gear and tugging things on. No sleep for him, it appeared. No proper meal, no proper rest. He spent his shore leave taking care of someone else.

"You have access to my account if you need anything and you can call me as much as you need. It may be a few days...I don't know. I'll finish as quick as I can. I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer..." he paused at the door, frowning between his communicator and Aoba.

"Are you sure you're okay? I can send a medic in to do an evaluation? I don't like leaving you when you're not well..."

It was painful, the way Declan shook his head that way. Aoba struggled to put his thoughts in a decent order, but it still occurred to him that this went way beyond ‘humble’. It was something a lot more than humility—and not in a good way.

What on Earth had to happen to a guy this strong and kind to leave him so emotionally meek? Or was it really just the kind of person that Declan was, with nothing to blame for it but his own nature?

But Aoba didn’t have time to try and keep convincing him, except between one moment and the next something started to beep and then suddenly Declan was moving around in a hurry. Now he looked more confident. He didn’t look hesitant or timid in the least, but Aoba got a sinking feeling in his stomach and the plate of leftovers no longer had his appetite to appeal to.

By the time Declan was dressed, geared, and at his door ready to go, could do little more than stare back at him in dismay.

“I… yeah, sure, okay. Go ahead. Couldn’t hurt,” he clumsily agreed to the offer of a medic, though really, he found himself more inclined to it by that worried expression than for any thought that a medic might be able to help him. But hey, this was the far-flung future, so maybe it would be worth a shot. Mostly, though, he didn’t want Declan to be off on a mission and distracted by worrying over him.

“Just… come back safely,” Aoba went on to add, far more worried about his new friend than himself. I’ll be here when you get back, went through his thoughts, but what he said instead was, “I’ll be here waiting.”

There was a long pause then, Declan stopping in the door and turning slightly to look over his shoulder at Aoba. After a moment, he took his hand off the frame and stood there gazing at the other man, blinking slowly a few times, studying.

He had never experienced ( to his current life memory ) the sentiment of someone wanting him to return home, nor wishing that he didn't have to go. While certainly too early in their meeting to form any deep bond that could be considered credible, it didn't mean things couldn't simply click. Something suddenly did for the pale behemoth, and he silver gaze soften a moment, a mix of confused gratitude.

"I'll come back. I promise. If it would make you feel better, I'll contact you occasionally when I'm on missions. A lot of surfaces in the place are adapted for communication and things." He pauses, thudding back across the room and double tapping a gloved finger on the coffee table, bringing up a display on the glass. A flick of his wrist threw the main screen up into a holographic display. Another flick and it was on the far wall.

"It's integrated almost everywhere. When I call, if it doesn't go to your own communicator, you can just answer it anywhere in here. I'll have a medic come by...see if they can synthesize your medicine somehow. Take care of yourself, Aoba." He stood up with a nod, walking back to the door and adjusting his bag before pausing again, looking over his shoulder with the vaguest hint of a smile, nodding again, then heading out and down the hall, feeling lighter than usual.

It would be two weeks before Declan could return.

The first night, an Exo medic came calling, a sweet-voiced woman robot with gentle hands and extraordinary patience. Jolene-9, she said, tapping details into a datapad and gathering as much health information about Aoba as possible. She puzzled to herself over the genetic coding; nothing like she'd ever seen before, but with the wide array of life in the universe, she kept her questions to herself and focused on looking for any obvious health abnormalities and traced what she could of what little medication still sat in the man's blood. She asked questions about his circumstances and what the medication was for so far as he knew, and set about synthesizing what she could based on the details and the corroborating chemical information. Eventually she gave him a needle-free injector and told him to call when he used it to let her know the results and she would keep tweaking it until something helped. Meanwhile it was just a waiting game.

Declan called that evening just before sunset, gauging it likely the best time to catch Aoba at home but also awake. It was a video communication, his face covered by a mirrored glass front to a smooth helmet. In space, he explained, turning the view so Aoba could see out the ship cockpit that Declan was in orbital drift over Saturn. Beautiful didn't begin to describe it. He explained that he had a mission he couldn't talk about in case the call was intercepted, apologized, then simply sat there for a bit to talk about mundane things Aoba might come up with, obviously pleased just to have anyone to call in the first place. A little while later and he had to go, a call coming in from someone named Cayde.

"Good night, Aoba. I'll call again when I can." And that's how it went for two weeks, Declan checking in when it was safe between things, sometimes having his call burst into by commanding officers like Cayde, who turned out to be a very personable Exo that was less "boss" more "bro", and a man Declan referred to as his "cousin" Mac Journey, another Awoken - though a Warlock, not a Titan - with far more vibrant coloring and a personality to match. That individual made sure to clarify that he and Declan were genetically distantly related, but with no idea in what way. He also openly and unabashedly flirted with Aoba, though obviously more to get a rise out of his team-mate, who spent a great deal of the conversation hiding behind his hair and blushing in embarrassment.

When things were extra quiet, Declan would call alone, using video to show Aoba the things he found beautiful; the sunlight playing off the green seas on Venus, the red plants and white stone plateaus of Nessus, the roaring blue-black oceans of Titan. All with promises to show Aoba one day, of course. Events finally got too heated for calls, and it was Cayde that leaned in, promising to make sure "the little Titan" got home safe. Eventually he did return, the door to the apartment hissing open as a tired-looking Declan thumped in and dropped a massive pack by the door, leaning on the frame to tug his boots off while Ghost zoomed in and bobbed around the space, looking for Ren and Aoba.

The Titan kept his promise.

Aoba might have been just as confused as Declan, really. Maybe it was something more subconscious, like a fear of losing all this kindness and relative comfort after he’d been stuck with the Deckers so long. Maybe it was just an ingrained softheartedness. Whatever it was, it felt like a victory when Declan stepped back inside long enough to show him how the communicator screens could be expanded and shifted around the apartment.

Urgent or not, maybe it really wasn’t so bad of a mission. Aoba had trouble imagining someone being able to call back home every day if some kind of war erupted back home.

What was going on back home, anyway? Aoba had already been gone for a month, and nothing in the Guide’s message had told him (that he could remember, anyway) that time wasn’t continuing to flow just the same in his home era. Was it too much to hope that falling through that first portal had been like hitting a big ‘pause’ button on his normal, mostly safe, only occasionally irritating life? Could the world he’d come from still be aging even though he supposedly wasn’t?

Two weeks was a lot of time, but at the same time, it absolutely flew by. Aoba wasn’t kept bored and idle, after all, as if he nothing to do but waste away and worry.

Medical examinations with Jolene-9 were just a drop in a bucket. Aoba found himself with cause to use her injectors—and report on the results—only thrice in that time. As weird a feeling as it was, to go days at a time without medicating, all he could decide and admit was that the future had more effective medication than his home time. Granny had done everything she could for his unique systems, but Declan’s world was years—and probably timelines—apart from theirs.

He had no way to know that some nights he was up and about anyway, strolling the balconies of the Tower and drinking in the world with golden eyes. Desire found himself… oddly mollified by the medications, but not quite buried. If anything, it was more like the holes he’d punched in Reason’s barriers were being shaped into guarded doors, rather than completely sealed up again. As if the robot-woman’s medications somehow truly healed, despite her not knowing what she was healing. Despite her scans continuing to insist nothing was physically wrong with Aoba’s brain. Desire could still break through, and that was still the way he was strongly inclined to after being ignored so long, but when it came to experimenting with carefully leaning those doors open while Aoba was asleep… well, results were results.

His days were busy, but at the same time, only felt like even more drops in some vast bucket he couldn’t even see the bottom of. Tess did indeed take him on for courier jobs to help him earn his keep, but after a few days of puzzling his way around with Ren and the maps Declan’s Ghost had given them, Aoba had finally conceded that… maybe upgrades were the way to go. He’d held off out of concern for his ancient little Allmate and a worry of him no longer matching up with the technology back home, until one moment where it occurred to him: he was acting as if the next portal he tried might magically dump him back in the Old Residents District when the chances of that were, in fact, infinitesimal. Upgrading Ren might not just benefit him in this world, but in every other one he’d have to pass through.

So Aoba ran routes, earned money, coordinated with recommended Exos for custom parts that cost all his money, and worked on Ren. He also spent time in the library that The Speaker had invited him to peruse, though he ultimately learned little of any use. Mostly he was just left confused and small-feeling, ever more distant from home.

Declan’s calls home, without any real conscious recognition of it, became the closest thing Aoba had to a feeling of stability and regularity. Even though it was foolish, Aoba sometimes even allowed himself a delusion: Declan couldn’t possibly be in danger in such beautiful places. It was comfortable to update his new friend on the things he’d spent the day on and ask about the sights he was seeing, as if he were doing nothing more threatening than vacationing for a while. Even the people that sometimes interrupted his calls seemed too at ease to cause stress. Even the overly flirty one, who ordinarily would have grated on Aoba’s nerves to no end. Oh he was still grating in a way, earning dry you’re a familiar sort look from Aoba, but the wayward wanderer’s eyes usually drifted back to Declan anyway, watching the Guardian’s embarrassed expressions with a softer sympathy.

The day that Declan returned home, it would be to an apartment only barely changed. Because the Guardian had seemed, to Aoba, to want him to make use of the shaders, he had finally taken the time to play around with what he’d found until the apartment had added some gentle blues to its existing grays. Accents, rather than taking over the place completely. Aoba and Ren themselves weren’t hard to spot at all. Both were at the little table by the couch, the latter in sleep mode while the former worked over his latest hardware installations. Aoba, himself, had applied shaders to his clothes that rendered them the bright whites and cyan shades he’d worn most back home, but he heard no one’s entry because he had his headphones on and drowning out the world with Goatbed beats.

Though the changes were only subtle ones, Declan liked them, and liked the implication of consistency and stability that Aoba taking an active role in making the space his created. He paused when he realized the other man was adrift in his own world, working diligently on his companion. Instead of immediately making his presence known, he made a soft sound to pull Ghost back and they retreated to the bedroom, putting things away and climbing into the shower for a much deserved scouring.

A little while later the Titan padded back out on bare feet, wearing heather grey sweatpants and nothing else, a small towel around his neck draped over his shoulders, catching any leftover dampness from his hair. His body remained the massive wall of muscle Aoba had seen peeks of under shirts and armor; the white skin made him look like some Mr. Universe mock-up of Michelangelo's David, and the way Awoken skin literally shimmered, Declan was a lot more stunning than he knew. Of course the people he traveled with weren't the sort to compliment him or have personal interest outside a soldiers generic camaraderie.

When he saw Aoba still tinkering, the Titan went to his gear bag and pulled out a satchel loaned to him by his Warlock friend, holding it under one arm. Then he had Ghost send a notification to the blue-haired man's coil, the communication alerting Aoba with a plain text.

Are you busy?

He waited standing behind the couch and over Aoba, smiling faintly before following up.

Can you see if I left anything behind the couch?

Not a duplicitous person in any way, it didn't mean Declan couldn't have a tiny bit of fun at Aoba's expense. Not that he could say why inspired him to something so frivolous, but he wanted to surprise the other man.

It wasn't as if he believed Aoba would be excited to see him in particular, but the gifts he'd collected might be an enticement.

Aoba never imagined Declan would do anything but let him know as soon as he was on his way home again. Why would it go any other way? The Guardian was so considerate, as prompt as he could be... and with the door only letting people in with permission, Aoba never imagined someone might sneak up on him, either. He was enjoying relaxation, safety, and the world outside the loud music he played was currently unthreatening.

The blip of his Coil on his wrist was barely a distraction, a bit of vibration rather than sound. Aoba didn’t know Declan was behind him to witness him tapping the message just a moment after its arrival, a prompt reaction rather than an overly excited one. Still, that polite little are you busy? prompted a chuff of amusement from him, some idle little expression to himself of that’s just like him.

Something behind the couch? Aoba’d been alone in this place for two weeks now and had been pretty careful about keeping things tidy and not letting and clutter spread from the pieces of work he kept doing. If something had been back there this whole time, wouldn’t he have noticed already? Well, better to check and—

Aoba’s arm went up and back first, to brace himself on the couch for a simple pivot and backwards-leaning peer over, but he only got partway through the motion before his periphery registered something very large and very white and his calm turn became something far more startled and jerkier as he completed the motion. His attention whipped up to Declan’s face first, his expression going through shock, amazement, and delight all in very short order.

“Declan!”

Aoba’s only response to the harmless little joke was elation. He was home! He was home already! Aoba hopped up from the couch in a hurry to greet him, but it was only when he was upright and a few steps into the motion that he finally realized Declan was barely wearing anything, and something about this fact was far more than Aoba could ignore outright. It didn’t… embarrass him, really, because that would have been dumb, but… geez. Why did he manage to look even bigger outside of his armor than in it?

He was… beautiful, really. Statuesque. Not that Aoba really had any business making an opinion like that, but, there it was.

It slowed him down, but only put a hint of color in his cheeks that he didn’t even feel happening as he wound up about halfway around the couch, a hand down on the backing of it. Maybe Aoba’d been on the path for a ‘welcome home!’ hug, but the lack of clothing stopped him. That would have been a bit much, for sure, but although Aoba stood a little awkwardly, it was with an excitedly fidgeting energy. A ‘I’m happy you’re home but I don’t know how to express it’ sort of thing. Words just scratched the surface.

“Welcome home!”

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