orendalogs | IT'S YOUR DESTINY!!!

There was a long span of silence, of quiet contemplation, before Declan nodded, smooth cheek rubbing Aoba's shair slightly with the motion.

"I wish I could, too...I would try..." A sigh passed his lips, brows furrowing, expression strained, sorrowful.

"...But the Guardians are all that keep the light in this world. We're so few...abandoning my duty for what I want could cost lives. What I want...hn. What I want might come at too high a price. No matter my wishes, I won't sacrifice the needs and desires of others. I won't ask you to stay, and I wouldn't ask others to bear the weight of my absence. I...what I want doesn't matter," Declan finally relented, closing his eyes tightly, angry at the admission, pained by the fact that sacrifice was the Guardian purpose. He could give so much of himself to Aoba, if the man were there, but he couldn't follow him with a clear conscience.

"I can be content knowing where you go, you'll be happier."

The reply doesn’t surprise him. It fits Declan perfectly. It’s definitely part of why Aoba wasn’t asking, but merely stating. Confiding. He nods a little, there in the shelter of his arms, his hair brushing Declan’s cheek in turn. It’s an intense, present sensation, but painless.

He’d…be mad at himself if he drew Declan away from this important purpose of his, too. This is where the Guardian belongs, for the war that he’s waging and the people that he’s protecting, even if there’s a number of them that have no respect—no appreciation—for the wonderful person that the Titan is.

It’s that thought that gets Aoba to unbury himself a little, reddened but relatively dry around the eyes, and gaze averted lest he lose his nerve from something about their proximity. It diverts his thoughts from himself and back outwards, where he's more comfortable with them being. Declan’s face is still beside his own, rather than in front of, saving their voices from having to travel far to reach the other’s ears.

“While I’m gone,” he begins, words quietly keeping the hope that he can come back someday, “Don’t you dare listen to anyone that tries to put you down. You’re so…so much better than anyone who insults you could ever be. You prove it in everything you do and say, so…if you can’t believe it of yourself, believe it because you heard it from me, okay? You’re not ‘Decker’, you’re Declan, and there’s so much Light in you…you’re absolutely blinding.”

All that lavender again, the behemoth hunching, making himself smaller with Aoba's words, embarrassed and pleased. A hand raised, rubbing at his eyes, dry but stinging. It hurts, suddenly, the reality that he'd finally found someone that might care if he never came home, only to have them taken from his life too soon. Of course, Aoba wasn't dying, but if he never came back, wasn't it the same?

"I'm not Decker," he agreed quietly, sniffling softly, head still down. It lowered even more, resting his forehead on Aoba's shoulder. Blinding? Maybe, with all the white of him, but he didn't believe for a minute that his personality was in any way that impressive. Even still, it mattered that Aoba thought so.

"Can you stay long enough to see the moon and stars?"

Declan could think whatever he wanted; aloud, he agreed with Aoba, and that was what the man wanted to hear. Feeling the Guardian’s brow on his shoulder continued to shift his thoughts away from himself and to the other, and comforting him sat better with Aoba than being the one comforted did. Now his fingers moved, but it was comforting strokes, smoothing colorless strands of hair with his fingers.

At least he had a family to go back to, he thought, further adjusting the train of his thoughts. He had his Granny, and he had his friends. He’d even be glad to see Yoshie again! But Declan…even if he seemed to have people he got on with, like Mac, and people who liked him, like the Speaker, the bartender, Tess, and half a dozen others…well, he’d said it himself. He had no one to come home to.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he answered softly, with just a brief little wondering if that figure of speech still meant anything when the moon and stars were at stake. He didn’t dwell on it, though. He had to get home, yes, but there were still things he wanted to see with Declan before he went.

"I'm really glad you came here," Declan murmured after a time, letting himself, against his better judgment, be soothed by the touches. Had anyone ever stroked his hair? Part of him deeply wished he knew of his life before everything. Maybe he was happier then? Maybe people had cared for him and he wasn't alone. Now he was relying on Aoba, and the man didn't need that.

Still, he wanted to be selfish for just a moment, and he left his head there for a time. Eventually he had to sit up properly, his usually bright eyes glowing a little duller for the weight of his emotions.

"I shouldn't...have touched you without your permission. I'm sorry. You just..." He stopped himself, unwilling to say what was a lie to him, even if it was really more of a half-truth. He corrected, forcing himself to honesty despite the fear of it.

"...I...I just wanted to hold onto you, for a minute. Knowing you'll be gone...I don't like it. I don't want to be selfish...but I wanted to hug you. I needed a hug," the final confession shaming him. Hundreds of pounds of pure muscle, the ability to literally punch a head clean off a pair of shoulders, the responsibility to protect innumerable lives...and he "needed a hug". Pathetic.

Aoba even managed to forget, in a way, that he was sitting on Declan’s lap of all places. It was just another part of what was proving to be a big, comfortable package. The Guardian seemed in no hurry to move and Aoba was not inclined to rush him. It was…nice, to just turn off his thoughts and share this kindness with the big man.

What Declan ended up saying, when he finally shifted and spoke again, only reinforced that feeling. It brought a smile back to Aoba’s face, almost a laugh, but most definitely not one made at Declan’s expense.

“I touched you first,” Aoba pointed out, cheeks a colored by it, but the embarrassment factor was significantly lessened when he was saying it to reassure his friend. He couldn’t quite maintain eye contact for what he was about to add, granted, but the words themselves weren’t particularly hard to find. “…You can have all the hugs you want between now and me having to go. As long as it’s…just us around, I mean.”

It would be way too embarrassing if Declan suddenly hugged him in public! But in private (which also meant in front of Ren or Ghost, since their presences were mostly constant) Aoba imagined it would be okay.

“I…I might need more too, you know. So it’s a fair exchange.”

There the two sat, awkward but committed to their choices. Declan waited, listened, breathed. Finally he lifted his arms again, squeezing Aoba once more before leaning back with a long sigh, lips curved in a gentle, unsure smile. He would acceot this arrangement.

"I picked out some places. And there's a spot I want to check if we can't find anything in the library. A lot...well, most of it is at least a little dangerous, but there's no place I can't take you. But we'll go to the Moon first, since it's on the way out. Then Venus. After that the Reef. If we don't find anything at the library and my contact - Xur - doesn't have any information at the Reef, I'm going to speak with the Queen and see if she and her brother can help. I think...if we can't get you close enough with your way...we can use the gate in the Black Garden or Vault of Glass to get you home."

Pulling away from the close embrace didn’t feel like retreating, and that was nice. Aoba lowered his own arms, hands loosely in his lap, and still half-forgetting that he was in Declan’s. A rough awareness that he should get up was based only on the need to pack and prepare for the traveling they were going to do, though he didn’t imagine that taking very long. Well, on his end, anyway. Maybe they could go out for lunch, or dinner. Not anything fancy. Drinks and sandwiches at that bar, maybe. Although, kindly barkeep or not, the surrounding patrons might sour the experience, even if a weird part of Aoba wanted to-

…rub their faces in it.

Except, hold on. Something in what Declan said was enough to have Aoba giving himself a little shake out of his thoughts.

“Wait, sorry, what? Queen?” For what he’d learned of Declan’s universe so far, Aoba didn’t think he’d heard much about a queen yet. “You know a Queen? We’re getting royalty involved?”

‘If’, Aoba, Declan had said ‘if’, but that didn’t stop the man from starting to get a little worked up over the idea of someone with such an important-sounding title getting involved in his stupid little business! Nevermind that world-hopping time-spanning portals was significantly something more than stupid little business, but still!

"Uh...ah. yes. Sorry. There's...The Awoken, the offshoot race of humans that I'm genetically part of? They have their own society in The Reef. There's the royal family, Mara Sov and Uldren Sov. Mara...she's a good woman and owes me a favor or two and Uldren..." Declan trailed off, inhaling deeply and puffing a long-suffering sigh.

"...He's the person Mac is so obsessed with." Which made his infatuation all the more complicated. It was a well-known fact that Uldren Sov despised Guardians, in direct opposition of Mara's fascination and respect for them. Couple that with the fact that Mac was precisely the sort of person on the whole that Uldren disliked? It was inevitably never going to happen, and Declan wished his friend - and only technical family - could release himself from being emotionally shackled to that spot, but there was nothing to do about it.

"If the library and Xur don't have anything, Mara knows a lot about the Vex gates. They're time gates. If nothing else, I can get you back to your time. It's the least I can do," the Titan mused, glancing at Aoba's face before looking away, unwilling to follow the lead of his thoughts. He could just...quietly imagine touching cheek to cheek. Nuzzling, it was called? He had an urge to nuzzle against the other man and that was entirely out of line.

"You should pack. I'm going to go to the quartermasters and get weapons and gear. I'll get light weapons for you. You shouldn't have to use them, but if you do, they'll be easy for you. I have...a large collection." That he did. Embarrassingly so. Much like he collected ships, he collected weapons. Unlike Mac who picked things he liked and just doggedly upgraded them, Declan liked a weapon for every eventuality. He had a few with auto-targeting that would be perfect for someone that didn't use guns at all. And...

"Bring your dagger and anything else you want to decorate the ship. We're going to be there for a while. But...I need to know some preferences. Since there's a lot to take gear wise..."

And then he was all professional business, counting off kit details. There were primary, special, and heavy weapon loadouts. Primary could be auto rifles, pulse rifles that fired rapid bursts of a few rounds at a time, scout rifles that could be used for rapid fire or burst fire but were better ranged than either former, and hand cannons. Declan was notably favored towards hand cannons, his tone different when he said it, though he mentioned it probably wasn't best for Aoba with how heavy kick-back could be.

Special weapons were sniper rifles, fusion rifles that fired different types of concentrated energies, shotguns, and side arms. He mentioned he wanted to give a specific sidearm to Aoba, but it was ultimately up to what the man wanted.

Heavy weapons were more complicated in variance. Machine guns with barrel clips for ammunition, unloading hundreds of rounds, rocket launchers with all kinds of specifications, and most interesting of all, swords. He explained that swords were definitely a thing, but best left to Guardians, since they were infused with different energy wielded by guardians. Mac, he remarked, fancied himself a space-age knight, and dressed like a knight templar in the field, carried a sword, and used the equivalent of magic. Scientifically proven magic, but magic nonetheless. Every Guardian was unique, in the end, despite being products made for a specific purpose.

It was bewildering enough to hear that yes, there was a Queen, and she owed Declan a favor. Just. What. And Declan’s self-esteem was still as rocky as it was? Mac being obsessed with the prince(?) barely fit in as an afterthought.

Then Declan started going on about weapons. Aoba wouldn’t have been able to say just where exactly Declan fell on a scale of ‘thorough’ to ‘passionate’ about the subject, given how he was able to launch into such a vast description of items as he was, but the one thing he could say for sure was that he himself was totally lost.

“I-I’ve never even held a gun, much less fired one!” he exclaimed at the end, waving his hands in a ‘wait, wait’ gesture. He was still in Declan’s lap, too, being too stunned by the monologue to move in the meanwhile. “I’d probably shoot myself in the foot if I tried—or worse, yours!”

"I can be fixed with little more than a thought, and my natural healing is...extremely greater than human norm," Declan explained in regards to being shot. the rest, however?

"You'll learn on the go. I'll teach you. Ideally you'll never have to fire a round outside of a learning setting anyways, if I'm doing my job protecting you right. But in the eventuality something happens, I want you as safe as possible. That means the best possible gear and load-out. I can pick the weapons for you if you're worried about what to take...but...I really have to insist, Aoba. Even the safe places are still dangerous." And the last thing they needed was for Declan to be distracted worrying about every nick and scratch the other man might end up with. He was already going to be on high alert just because that's how he was.

Talk about not the response you want to hear: I’ll heal fast so it’s okay? The look on Aoba’s face is one stricken by the reply, especially so with the insistence that Aoba be armed anyway.

“Arming me with a weapon I don’t know how to use isn’t going to keep me safe,” he protested, but admittedly weakly, given that Declan insisted. If that was the stance he was taking, Aoba did not presume he might be able to sway him anyway. Still, people had to be trained for months or even years to be proficient at something like that, didn’t they? “If you’re insisting, I can’t exactly tell you 'no', but it sounds like a bad idea to me….”

With that said, Aoba finally saw about getting up from Declan’s surprisingly-comfortable lap, trying not to lean on the man too much but at the same time needing to use his shoulder as a brace as he shuffled himself up and got his feet back on the floor. Standing, and sighing, he looked down at Declan with reluctance, but not mistrust.

“I don’t know anything about any of the things you just described to me. I’ll get started packing my stuff, but you’ll have to pick the…'loadout' for me.”

"...I don't want you to haev to use any weapon at all...but my world, while beautiful, is very dangerous," Declan admitted after a while, saddened by it and more so by not being able to show Aoba a paradise. He'd tried to make the home life comfortable, to shower him with gifts and affection as best he knew how, but the world outside? Much as Declan loved it, it was ravaged and unkind.

"I'll go to the armory and choose things I think will work best. If nothing else, since we won't be far apart, just...think of it as carrying extra weapons for me? Never hurts to have more munitions."

That said, he inclined his head and pulled a gray hoodie on over his shirt, slipping out with a quick "I'll pick up something to eat."

It didn't really take him long at all to come back, a little over an hour at most. He thumped softly back into the apartment, tugged his shoes off, then gestured to Ghost, who used his transmat to materialize several weapon cases, a large briefcase-looking container, and an over-stuffed, slightly grease-stained, large paper bag.

"Gear and food, as promised," the man smiled vaguely, sniffing twice at the myriad aromas wafting from the sack.

"I asked around and got directed to a place that makes 'Chinese' food. I didn't know what to get though, so...I probably overdid it. The woman at the restaurant helped me big things. I hope you like rice and noodles because there seemed to be an awful lot," the Titan mused, eyes widening a bit at his recollection as the bag was filled.

Well…so much for going out for drinks and a meal, Aoba thought, wandering over to examine the bag’s contents—since he really wasn’t interested in ‘gear’ any more than he had to be. Yep, that sure was a lot of food, alright. Enough to cover lunch and dinner, easily, unless Declan particularly felt like indulging himself.

“Rice and noodles are staples back home, too, so I’m sure it’ll be delicious,” Aoba answered, starting to unload containers.

An hour had, in turn, been plenty of time for him to basically re-load the bag Tess had kitted him out with at the start. He’d included the crystalline dagger and, despite protests from Ren, the Prismatic Heart among the items he’d packed. He’d felt oddly compelled to do so, though maybe it wasn’t anything more well-thought-out than an act of defiance. He could say that ‘the hues of his heart’ sounded perfectly appropriate for someone like him, with apparent multiple sides of his personality, but he also just plain liked it, whatever it had done. Aoba though it stood out among his collection, much as the dagger did.

Maybe he’d been a magpie in a past life, heh.

Taking it upon himself to shuffle food to the table for proper eating, his own appetite enticed by the smells after having an uninteresting breakfast, Aoba finally submitted to glancing towards the other bulky, rather foreboding cases. “So…what did you end up choosing?”

Poking through the containers of food and selecting a crispy rangoon, Declan delicately bites off a piece, crunching away with a thoughtful expression.

"I picked out a sidearm, a scout rifle, and a rocket launcher. Scout rifles allow for precision shots and have good scopes, so it should be easy for you. The sidearm, Trespasser, is lightweight, has auto-targeting, motion-tracking, extremely reduced recoil, extended range, and burst firing. It's one of the best sidearms on the market, at all. I bought it from Xur a couple years ago when I was still training in the Cosmodrome."

Crunching away on the rest of the crab rangoon, Declan paced over, flipping open the weapon crates, fingertips running over the metal, wood, and leather like touching a lover. Unsurprising, considering how intimately familiar he was with all weapons. There was a smaller gun, the sidearm he mentioned, the two-handed scout rifle, and a large, surprisingly cutely decorated rocket launcher.

"The scout rifle is Vision of Confluence. It has snapshot sighting, excellent handling, superb target acquisition. Good effective range and recoil control, and can be switched to automatic if you feel confident with it. Otherwise it's great for single shot and short burst firing from a distance. Um, sort of a like...a short range, much easier to handle sniper rifle. Extended magazine and lighter weight makes it more effective, though.I didn't know if you're prefer a sniper rifle or not but...I don't actually own any. That's more Mac's thing," the Titan muttered, rubbing the side of his nose and looking a bit guilty.

"Um. The rocket launcher is Dragon's Breath. It's one of the best rocket-launchers...ever." He shrugged helplessly, patting the big weapon lightly. "If my current one weren't just a little better, I'd still use it. It's got extremely reduced recoil for a rocket launcher and can hold three rounds, which is a lot, since most can only hold one round at a time. It's got a massive blast radius, too. So easy to use. Point it in the general direction of what you want to hit, and no matter how bad your aim is, odds are you're still gonna get the target," Declan smirks faintly, arching a brow at Aoba.

"Easy to use weapons, hard to mess up. If you need to use them, you'll be fine, and if you don't, you're still fine. They won't blow up just being around you."

Declan may well have been speaking another language. Or rather, one that Aoba couldn’t understand despite the whole Chosen business. He spoke of functions and capabilities and there was a meaning communicated in them, but what good were the varying capabilities of the weapons if Aoba had never wielded one in his life? And there was more to it than just the physical act of carrying or shooting a weapon.

He wasn’t thinking it in words precisely, but it was there in an unsettled gut feeling: the understanding that carrying a weapon meant he was being told to kill. Self-defense Aoba knew and had dealt with, and injuring another to protect himself was one thing, but weapons were made to kill.

If someone comes at us, it’s them or us. That’s not a hard choice.

It wasn’t, it really wasn’t, but however rationally it had to be true, it wasn’t a necessity he had to be happy about. It even made it harder to appreciate how much Declan clearly appreciated the weapons themselves. They had names, even.

“If I’m carrying them, I’m carrying them for you. Not for me,” he answered, a duality of meaning that wasn’t lost on him. Settling at the table with chopsticks in hand, quietly appreciating the familiar utensils, he separated a portion of lo mein onto a plate before digging in.

He considered for a moment, opening his mouth to protest before nodding slowly. He could see the unease, understood it. He had never felt it himself, but he wasn't so oblivious not to recognize that not everyone existed for the sole purpose of being a battering ram or assassin for the Light. Some people had the privilege of being free from that responsibility, and he didn't want to take it away.

"For me then. I don't mind. I can protect you." As simple as that. He was used to sacrifice, and Aoba didn't have to do it. He would simply have to be more vigilant, work harder. He could manage; he would have to.

"May I have some?" he asked meekly, closing the containers slowly and wondering if he had overstepped some boundary he hadn't known existed. He left the box of space-ready gear closed, assuming Aoba had as little interest in it as he had the weapons. Maybe...his enthusiasm was offensive, somehow. He would endeavor not to discuss his hobbies in the future, he decided, tapping his fingers on the Dragon's Breath case a moment.

Aoba fell still in a most flattering tableau: noodles trailing out of his mouth, half-supported by the chopsticks, caught in the middle of quietly slurping them up. What was with that face? Why did he feel like he’d just kicked a puppy? (A giant white Samoyed puppy, specifically.)

Whatever Declan thought, Aoba did not think ill of the Guardian. It was just evidence of them being very different, from very different worlds, however well they got on despite it. He did not associate the man’s evident passion for his weapons with anything ulterior, such as thinking Declan by extension enjoyed killing. The thought of weapons in his own hands was simply an uncomfortable one, despite being sensible enough to understand their necessity.

So really, his confusion was quite complete. Why was he asking Aoba to share? There was more food than two people alone could need for a single meal and Declan had bought it, so technically it was all ‘his’. There was just the little portion that Aoba had taken for himself so far, for at least marginally politer manners than eating directly out of the carton.

Surely he wasn’t asking for a bite from Aoba’s plate specifically, was he? No way.

For no other reason than his own overactive imagination, faint spots of color rose to Aoba’s cheeks even as he finished taking in the bite. With his mouth full, all he could manage was a roughly-querying ‘mph?’ as he gestured at the carton with his chopsticks, awkwardly trying to sign an equivalent of ‘there’s plenty more, help yourself!’

Whereas Declan didn't see it as his, at all. He bought it for Aoba, and it was up to Aoba whether or not there was enough for both of them. Even if the Titan bought as much as seemed necessary to support two appetites, he still felt it best to ask. With the indication that it was open season, however, he wasted little time in serving up a plate, getting noodles, fried and white rice because he didn't want to miss out on either, some red colored meat that smelled sweet, some orange meat that had tiny seeds on it, some sort of steamed...pocket...thing...There was a great deal of variety, and Declan didn't shirk vegetables, scooping out broccoli and other things dripping in some unidentified brown sauce.

Then he opened up a pair of chopsticks and just...stopped. How...? Pale eyes slid sidelong, looking at Aoba's hand, trying to mirror the hold. Long white fingers fumbled, a crease forming between his brows as he fought to control digits that usually obeyed him without a thought. Why was it so hard to balance two sticks in one hand? Was there some trick to it he wasn't seeing?

"Aoba...are we supposed to eat this way?" Because it was worth asking, no matter how much he wanted to attempt it.

There we go. That was better. That fit the Declan that Aoba had come to expect. Even the fumbling with the chopsticks.

Aoba chuffed an amused sound, putting down his own and reaching over to assist. He put his hands around Declan’s larger one, repositioning chopsticks and fingers alike for him, something like Aoba imagined had probably been done for him when he’d been very young. Granted, Declan wasn’t anything like young, but wherever they were, it wasn’t Japan.

“Brace with these fingers, and move the top stick with these,” he explained, manually moving Declan’s fingers in demonstration before sitting back, picking up his own set, and displaying the motion himself. Then he chuckled, thoughtlessly using the convenience of Declan’s well-loaded plate to just stab a chicken chunk with the tips of the utensils and holding it up as evidence.

“Or just do it this way, I won’t judge,” Aoba offered with a grin. “We use chopsticks by default where I come from so I’m used to them, but you don’t need to struggle on my account, Declan.”

More interested in the hands around his own than the lesson being taught, Declan still managed a small sense of decorum, holding the chopsticks gingerly and struggling to emulate what Aoba tried to impart. Biting the inside of his lip, he considered teaching the other man to at least use the sidearm; it would give him the opportunity to hold Aoba's hands in turn - maybe even his hips...

Why was he even thing about that? Traveler preserve him.

"You did it, so it must have some significance to you. If this is how this is eaten, I should learn. Just because these places don't exist anymore doesn't make the culture any less significant," the Titan reasoned, squinting hard at the chopsticks as he strained to pick up a piece of chicken, eventually managing to get it to his mouth. The satisfaction over managing to do so was reason enough to keep trying.

"If I take you to the Crucible firing range to practice with a light weapon in a vontrolled environment where you can't possibly hit a living thing, would you consider that? If for no greater reason than learning firearm safety..."

Just because they didn’t….

Well, there went the cuteness of the moment. But they do exist, he wanted to say, though he silenced himself in reflecting upon the fact that if this was Earth’s future, then they didn’t exist anymore.

The portals he had passed through had changed time and distance on him, but up until this sudden moment, Aoba had imagined everything nevertheless existing simultaneously somehow. He was in the future, but he could go back home as soon as he had the right portal. But to anyone else, anyone who was not ‘Chosen’…the past, and all the people in it, were forever out of reach. It was…a very heavy revelation and shift in his manner of thinking to make, so much so that Aoba was kind of glad for the distraction of what Declan asked next.

Aoba sighed softly and then was quiet for a few moments afterwards, not averting his eyes but gazing towards Declan with a look that was reluctant and not happy, but not without understanding.

“…Yeah, okay,” he managed at the end.

"There are too many scenarios I have too consider. If you're alone, if I do something stupid and miss a blind spot, if Ghost is delayed recovering me. You may never have call to use any weapon at all, and with luck that will be the case, but if it comes to pass...your safety is more inportant to me than your sensibilities..."

He paused, expression pained by the words that to him sounded unkind no matter how he said them.

"I'm sorry. I don't like it. I won't force you, but it's a precaution everyone takes in this world. You aren't able to shield yourself with the Light the way Guardians are, so you're at risk. I...don't know what I'd do if something happened to you that I feel like I could have prevented. Especially when the whole point is to get you home safely."

“You don’t—You don’t have to explain it to me,” Aoba answered, awkwardly stammered at first, but without bite. Now his gaze dropped as he poked at his food to avoid seeing that hurt-seeming look on the Guardian’s face.

“I understand why you want me to be armed and I know you’re only looking out for me,”—and Aoba squirmed internally at that painful wording of I don’t know what I’d do—“but I’m never going to be comfortable with weapons that way. It’s not like I’ve never defended myself or hurt other people in a fight, but putting a gun in my hands is just…completely different. A completely different scale of fighting.”

War. The word was war. Not even the territorial fights that gangs like Dry Juice and Benishigure got into approached the level of war that embroiled Declan and the other Guardians.

“I’m not mad or anything, and I’m not going to say ‘no’ just on principle. I’m just not going to like it, either.”

But he did have to explain, because he kept pushing things Aoba didn't want. Whether it was for the man's own good or not, Declan still felt guilty about it. Especially since there was at least a nugget of ulterior motive there. He instantly felt disgusted with himself for thinking those thoughts, anyways.

"Guns don't mean killing," he added after a moment of thought. "You can fire warning shots, you can wound superficially just to give yourself time to get to cover. I don't want you to have to do anything you find morally challenging, either. If you're ever unsure, I make an excellent shield," the Titan pointed out, thumping a fist on his chest with a half smile and tilt of his head.

"And I can erect an actual impenetrable shield as well. So best case scenario, we never see combat and worst case scenario, you fire a warning shot and run. Either way, safety is important, so a quick rundown at the range is necessary. But after that, if you feel confident running, I leave that choice up to you. I'll defer to your judgment, Aoba. I promise, I won't force you to do anything, ever. Really, that includes carrying the weapons, if you're genuinely against it."

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