orendalogs | IT'S YOUR DESTINY!!!

Turning his head slightly, lifting it out of his hand, Declan considered Aoba for a moment. Running over their previous conversations, he could guess what the comment was in regards to.

"I think the short answer is no," he replied, leaning further down and resting his chin on folded arms. "The "means" are always pretty historically dirty," the Titan mused with a soft sigh.

"In war, it's about winning. Less moral factions in past battles would want to win no matter the cost, sacrificing arable land, young soldiers, precious places. They'd burn fields so other armies would starve, conscript their children to have the necessary numbers. War is an ugly thing, no matter what side you're on. At least the way things are, the cost was the lowest possible. No children died for this," he gestured vaguely at the city behind them.

"No fields were burned by the people trying to survive, no cities sacked, no ugliness. In an effort to protect everyone, the Traveler made the Guardians from nothing. There was no immediate cost to those that needed protecting. Now, centuries later, Guardians may have questions and may want different lives, but at least we live every day knowing that our existence is, on the whole, a matter of a desperate attempt to keep doing good. There was no loss of life...our lives were already lost."

...Aoba didn’t want to be doing this talk. Not having this conversation, but doing this talk. He was upset and distressed, focused more on what Ghost had told him, which had snowballed in rapid order by one unexpected confirmation after the other that the Guardians all died over and over, for reasons that Aoba so far could only see as either trivial or ineffectual. It didn’t matter that he knew it had to be more complicated and involved than that, but it was where his thoughts were stuck as if snagged by thorns.

Declan was trying to comfort him after being expressly told not to…or, granted, that he didn’t need to. Aoba wasn’t in the headspace to hear it properly, though he knew he could reflect on it later. He should just drop the topic before—

Something happened then, something unexpected only because Aoba didn’t yet know how to be alert to the signs. He heard our lives were already lost and it made him a kind of angry, except instead of remaining something low and quiet that he could keep a lid on until it died down, there was someone else right there with him that took hold of it instead. It was like a hand on his shoulder, a growled let me at this, someone stepping ahead of him—

Aoba’s hand came up, clenched into a fist, and struck Declan’s arm with the side of it. Not a punch but a blunted strike, born of a rather more literal urge to knock some sense into him.

A desire, if you would.

“Only because they were stolen from you!” snapped the golden-eyed aspect.

That was definitely not the response Declan had expected, though in retrospect he felt like he should have. He doggedly pursued what he perceived to be the right course of action and sometimes that wasn't the same path someone else needed. Mac had similar outbursts, though, and the Titan took the hit without any offense. In fact his expression was infuriatingly gentle and apologetic, accepting that he'd been in the wrong. Still, the comment was curious.

"I'm sure you're meaning in regards to us not having a choice about who we are when resurrected, hm? Because if you mean the lives we had before we were Guardians, I'm only speaking in terms of having already been dead. Not the lack of memory." He huffed a soft sigh, reaching up and rubbing his arm where he'd been hit. It was a gesture more of meaning than comfort; he hardly felt a thing. Though he imagined if Aoba had kicked him instead, he'd have been laid out.

"What if...we had terrible lives?" he asked, tilting his head and sitting up a bit to prop himself on his elbows again. "What if the people chosen were picked very particularly? The Traveler never did anything without deeper intention behind it. What if us being brought back, however shackled or trivial our lives may seem to others, what if we're being given the chances to have lives at all? What if we were wicked people? What if we were chosen to redeem ourselves and take a little darkness out of the world by being pushed into the light? I've had a lot of time to think about these things...though there never seems to be a very good or clear answer to any of the questions asked. But I will say this."

He stopped speaking for a moment, standing upright and turning, looming over Aoba to gaze down upon him with the most sincere expression he'd ever had yet.

"I will never, ever be ungrateful for this life of mine, because without it I know I never would have been in that bar and never would have met you. For as angry or sad as anything might make me about the questions I'll never have the answers to, the question of whether or not my life matters is a resounding yes. Your sheer frustration over all of this erases years of doubt about myself. You don't have to understand, but I want you to know."

Edited 2018-10-24 17:02 (UTC)

And all the man in front of Declan could say was:

“Shit….”

Desire could have fired back at all the rest of it, but then Declan went and finished with something so wholly sentimental that even he had to be taken aback. He shifted his stance, weight settled mostly over one foot, and looked up at the Guardian without a bit of intimidation for his size. There was a muddling going on at the moment, but the stare taking Declan in was unmistakably gold in the late afternoon light.

His expression wasn’t nearly so impassive, pulled at the corners of his mouth and furrowed between his eyes, but whatever thoughts Desire was going through, himself, the only one he voiced was a few moments later.

“…So then how much more do I have to throw myself at you before you just take me already, huh?”

"Take you where?" Declan blinked, head tilting in genuine confusion. It took him a moment before he realized he wasn't strictly speaking to Aoba-Aoba. So he had to reassess the question, clearing his throat softly. Ghost continued to hover where he'd been, though his eye was turned on the exchange below. He thought it best not to intervene for once. Declan could have used the back-up, not that he was going to ask for it.

"You aren't really throwing yourself at me, and I respect you very much. Besides..." He frowned slightly, cleared his throat and hooked a finger in his collar to tug at it. Why was he suddenly so uncomfortable?

"...Things like that....there's...boundaries...and...things..." His usual poetic eloquence was off the clock, Declan's face almost purple.

"You don't actually want that," he stated more firmly, more sure of himself once he collected his thoughts. If Aoba had those kind of feelings for him, he'd have said something, wouldn't he have? He didn't think for a minute how hypocritical the statement might be. He didn't say anything, after all. Then again, he kept his silence because he didn't think it was right at all to burden someone who would eventually leave. His feelings for Aoba were much more pure than Desire's interest in him. It all felt too one-sided. After all, he'd had time to look back on their interactions as a trio, and Aoba went at everything with so much more restraint. If things were different...

He considered for a moment, shaking his head eventually.

No point thinking about that. Aoba gently distanced himself and Declan was going to respect it. If nothing else, Aoba didn't want to be "taken"! That sounded extremely aggressive...

Taking Declan down a peg from his cool composure had Desire feeling pretty good about himself—until it backfired, anyway. His expression fell and evened out all at once as he put his hand back in his pocket, but his carriage was distinct from Reason’s. Shifted weight, slouched posture, the tilt in his head to regard Declan just a little off-center from directly.

“And who the hell are you to tell me what I want?” he demanded. “Or is the ‘life’ and ‘home’ you want to give me here a strictly no-touching kind of deal, huh?”

"...That was inappropriate of me, I apologize," Declan stated quickly, inclining his head briefly. Swallowing tightly and looking away over the balcony again, the Titan breathed out and gripped the railing. Honesty, honesty, honesty. Dammit.

"I never wanted there to be any misunderstanding between us. The things I give and offer, none of them are contingent on getting anything in return. Least of all some kind of pressured intimacy," the large man nodded slowly, cooling off again and tilting his gaze towards Desire.

"My affections are a burden I don't wish to pass on. You'll be leaving...it just seems cruel. Even admitting I know there's something feels like I'm doing something wrong," he mused, eyes rolling to the side in a look of distress. Failure.

"I can content myself with what I've had thusfar. It's...more than I've ever had before. Just being allowed to embrace you--" he stopped himself, looking down at his hands, fingers flexing and relaxing.

"What more do you want?"

“Um, you?” Desire shot back, with a tone that said he assumed all along that it was obvious, and a couple glances to each side as if he thought he might find someone there to exchange an ‘is this guy for real?’ look with. “How many times am I going to put my hands on you and tell you I’m coming back before you figure it out? For fuck’s sake.”

He said the last with more bite and frustration than anything else that had come out of Aoba’s mouth thus far, but it was still closer to an under-his-breath mutter than another snapped retort as he turned and wandered a few steps off, restlessness expressing itself in the urge to pace.

Fingers drummed on the railing. He knew what the other man meant. He was naive - stupid, even - in a lot of ways, but he was a grown man around many other adults who lived with a lot of "what if I don't live to see tomorrow", so intimacy wasn't uncommon, just unspoken. In his case, unheard of. Further complicated by the fact that Aoba literally had two minds about everything.

"I would never take advantage of you like that," Declan murmured, throat tight. He meant it. To him, not having the sentiment expressed by both sides of Aoba was the difference between commitment and caprice. What if he let himself believe this was the right course, out of his own selfish desire to be beloved of another, only to find out that he'd acted as though silence was consent? While part of Aoba might be interested, that wasn't all of him. It sickened Declan to imagine being a regret.

“Can’t take advantage of the willing, big guy!” came the return fire, a call across the balcony in contrast to Declan’s low murmur. “I can’t tell who overthinks things more, you or Reason!”

Slipping. The last time he’d been out, Desire had referred to his other half just as ‘Aoba’—a thing which had, along with the amnesia, obviously complicated viewing the man’s aspects as truly separate identities. But Desire was impulsive, reckless, and his own form of stupid as well. He didn’t plan ahead or act outside of immediate moments, but there was an underlying current between him and Reason that his more docile counterpart was only starting to catch on to.

But Desire wasn’t as aware of how it went both ways as he thought he was, either. He hadn’t been nearly so diplomatic in their Sly Blue days.

He paced his way right over to the opposing side of the balcony, turning to lean against it with a foot kicked up on a lower rail for additional support, glowering across the way at Declan’s broad back. Not just taking what Aoba wanted was uncharacteristic of him, and he did not enjoy being stymied.

A little Reason would have been a huge help just then, Declan struggling to cobble his thoughts together and make any measure of sense as to why the poorly worded propositions weren't enticing him, hardly noticing the slips. Sure, he probably would have liked some kind of intimacy, he supposed. He was a gentle man at heart and when not threatened or in battle, he wouldn't get rough in any way, so it wasn't as though he was afraid he'd physically hurt Aoba. It was...more complicated than that.

"Until I hear it from both of you, I won't even think about it," Declan finally stated, shaking his head and gazing down at the valley.

"I'm...grateful that any part of Aoba would consider me; there are many people better suited, and I'm sure back home there's probably someone waiting even if you don't notice. But I won't do anything to you. It's one body with two different opinions. Until you're in agreement I can't, in good conscience, even consider such things. I'm...not a good choice, anyways. For anyone." He only had the vaguest ideas, anyways, and the more he talked about it, the more his mind seemed determined to push it well out of reach, recoiling from the possibility.

Hugs and kisses, maybe? To him, touching Aoba was thrilling enough. What else did Desire want? Why was he protesting if he didn't even know what the man was asking? Was it fair to say no to him when he was part of Aoba? Wouldn't he have said yes otherwise? That thought had him staring hard at the distant ground, his distress clear on his face when he looked up, trying to convey in silence just how lost he was.

How had they gotten here?

"Is there a compromise?"

“If there’s a compromise, wouldn’t that mean you’re thinking about it?” Desire quipped with a snort, arms crossed now as he looked nothing more mature than petulant.

One body with two different opinions. So Declan didn’t view him any better than Granny did? Shit. He wanted acknowledgement as part of Aoba, which meant not treating him any different from Aoba!

“You don’t know who ‘Aoba’ is at all, either,” he spat, doing an excellent imitation of a moody teenager, misunderstanding Declan just as much as he was being misunderstood. It was tragic, how hard they were all trying, and yet so clumsily unable to meet anywhere in the middle. Declan couldn’t tell that there was nothing to agree on, and Desire was too irritated (read: hurt) to tell him. As swiftly as he’d come to rest there, Desire pushed up from the railing again, but this time turned away to depart it entirely.

‘Home’ wanted nothing to do with him, so he was going back to the apartment.

"Of course I'm thinking about it!" Declan exclaimed, turning just in time to see Aoba(?) sulking off in the other direction. Looking up at Ghost, who did his little shrug and was absolutely no help at all, the Titan hurried after the other man.

"How am I supposed to know all of who Aoba is if Aoba doesn't know who Aoba is?" he grunted, catching up with him and cocking his head, licking his lips in frustration. "You talk so negative about him. About yourself? I don't know...Either way, you obviously have different views, so why is it so hard to understand that I need to know this isn't just instinct or whim or whatever? Please--" he croaked, reaching out to grab Aoba's arms to stop him, only to let go immediately, pulling his hands back with a hurried expression of apology.

"Please don't be angry with me. I just want to understand. Help me understand?"

The temptation to pull Reason forward, to leave him to handle this mess, was incredibly strong. The problem Desire could already see in that, though, was that it would just make him miserable and probably retreat and then they’d all only be several steps backwards from anything like progress. It was supposed to simplify things when Aoba just spoke up and said what he wanted, dammit!

He stopped when Declan grabbed him, but didn’t turn around. “‘Obviously’?” he repeated the word back at him, snorting.

A long moment later he stuck one hand out to the side, palm upwards and loosely cupped as if holding something there as he said, “Reason.” He then did the same with his opposite hand. “Desire.”

Finally he turned those hands inwards, fingers spread and all indicating himself between them as he finished, “Aoba.”

There was a long silence that stretched between them, Declan looking at the two hands, then up at the other man, squinting as he clearly struggled to puzzle out what was being said. Okay, so...Reason and Desire...Aoba. Parts of a whole. Parts. Facets. Like...anyone. Like everyone else just. What...amplified?

"Oka~y..." the Titan mumbled slowly, dragging the word out as he reached up and scratched the back of his neck.

"Okay," he stated more firmly, clearing his throat. "Okay, if that's the case, you're just one person. I understand that. No different opinions--" Not that he was in a great headspace to parse that at the moment, "--no different wants. You're just, what...screaming wants instead of...gradually nudging them into view. Am I...getting this right?" Bless his heart, at least he was trying to understand.

"So you're saying that you're just Aoba. I can accept that. But...then why doesn't he--ohhhh..." Click. "Right, right," Declan nodded slowly, wagging a finger in the air in the universal 'a-ha' moment.

"Aoba somehow got all pulled apart and you're not even a little bit different people. Like a clock put together but parts got left out and it's still running somehow..." Not the greatest analogy, but it helped him, and was better than his first thought of furniture with missing screws. That seemed like a rude idea.

Of course that also meant he had to accept that he'd technically roundabout confessed his feelings. Maybe he hadn't precisely said so outright and he could deny it if he wanted to, but...best to focus on the matter at hand.

"...I still...wouldn't be comfortable...trying anything," he finally relented. "It feels like trying to pull something on someone that's half asleep. Maybe there's something there, sure...but how am I not wrong acting on that when even part of a person may not want it? You don't exactly act like you like Aoba. Which is sad now that I think about it because that's you you're talking about..." Consent, Desire. You might not care about it, but Scruff McDeclan, Chicago, Illinois, 60652 is a fine upstanding officer of the LAW. A half asleep person can't fully consent! He knows that. He read the handbook.

Declan was half-lucky that Desire even continued to stand there while he puzzled things through, but as a show of still being moody, he crossed his arms and didn’t turn around for even a word of it. The Guardian addressed the back of Aoba’s head the entire time.

“Fine, whatever,” he groused when, despite it all, Declan still only wound up at a different version of his earlier conclusion. “You won’t say it, Reason won’t say it, and I just gave it my best shot. Clearly none of us are getting anything we want.”

But without elaborating on what ‘it’ might actually be, Desire just started walking again, muttering something about as bad as Restraint.

"Say what? That I'm in l--..." NO NO. NO HE WILL NOT FALL INTO THAT TRAP. What Desire was talking about wasn't an emotional connection, it was a physical one. He just wanted...things. That wasn't the same as what Declan wanted. Aoba could say he never wanted to be intimate and the Titan would accept it and just continue silently flooding Aoba's life with care and affection. He could be contented with so little. Desire, however, clearly couldn't.

"What if..." He stopped himself, choking on the idea, heat crawling across his skin, face flaming. Desire said he wasn't willing to compromise...but...if Desire wanted something more physical there were options, weren't there? More...inviolate ways. And then he could have his more romantic love with...Reason, was it?

"...Nevermind. It was stupid," he muttered, boots thudding on the ground, long legged stride passing Aoba up easily. He was an idiot to even consider it. Desire wouldn't hear him out, he couldn't figure out a middle ground. Nothing was making sense. They needed to get into space and clear their heads, that was it.

There was something like a say that again as Desire went from the one sulking his way off to the one being left in the dust, but he maintained his own pace, stubbornly set on returning to the apartment whether it was first or second—until he had a better idea. So if Declan couldn’t figure out that Desire wanting him meant all of Aoba wanted him, there were other ways to blow off steam and tension. Desire stopped short, suddenly thoughtful. There was a whole bar full of barflies just itching for a fight, ripe to be given someone who would fuck their days up more than he imagined ‘Decker’ ever really had—

And that was when Reason, muddily watching everything progress, fumbled at him for a change.

“Oh for fuck’s—fine.”

And then gold was hazel, and Aoba, or whoever he was, was clamping his own hand over his mouth, along with wondering if he might not just die in place as he watched Declan stride off ahead of him.

Back at the apartment, Declan struggled to pack quickly, throwing his usually tidy and organized things into his duffel bag, ignoring the weapons and gear still sitting on the coffee-table. Aoba lagging behind had given him a few moments to sort it all out and really, he just wanted to throw himself into his bed, yank his covers over his head, and forget the whole afternoon. Tomorrow they'd be in space with a thousand distractions and he could go back to being the stupid oaf.

Stupid. So stupid.

Depending on when Aoba decided to show up he might see Declan cramming things into his bag, or find the man buried precisely as he intended, sheets and blanket pulled over his head like a massive child hiding from the boogeyman.

Aoba couldn’t even say he went for a walk. He returned to the balcony and paced in circles for half an hour or more, alone at first, and then with Ren. It went about as well as Desire trying to talk to Declan had been. And as for all that…to Aoba, it had been like a weirdly lucid dream. He knew—roughly what had happened. Maybe not the exact words, but the sentiments. A few choice phrases.

Enough to know that he had no idea how he was ever going to face Declan again, but for the fact that he had to.

So that…was his other side. It had been like communicating through clouded glass and an intercom with faulty wiring, but it had been there. He had something of a headache again, but it was minor in the long run of headaches he’d had in his life. Like muscles got when they were exercised again for the first time in ages. Standoffish, uncertain. A stranger in his own head.

Their head?

He crept in to a dark, quiet apartment, and did everything he could not to disturb the stillness of it.

He kicked off his boots and stretched out on the couch, afraid to even enter the bedroom proper once he’d dared a glance in and seen the heap of blanket-buried Titan. It didn’t matter that he had his own trundle, a literal space of his own. He didn’t want to intrude.

He lifted his headphones to his ears, turned them up, and did his best to sleep.

Neither one slept well that night, it seemed. Declan struggled to go down, failed, sat up, realized Aoba never came in, checked out the door, saw Aoba on the couch, retreated. Eventually he just exercised until he couldn't bear to anymore, collapsing in a sweaty heap. It was a bigger relief for more than one reason. In the morning, he rolled out of bed and into the shower, not bothering to come out of his room. If Aoba needed the space he was giving it to him.

In the early hours, Ghost coalesced near the couch, making a soft, cheery chiming noise like a polite alarm clock.

"Good morning Aoba! Declan is awake and in the shower. I wanted to make sure you had time for breakfast and a shower if you wanted them. Hmm. Did you like the gear Declan chose?" he asked, unsure if it had even been looked at. Not really his biggest concern since getting something else wasn't that hard, but he didn't want the other man to feel rushed when he and Declan both had such an...eventful evening.

Aoba’s music ran its course and he hadn’t set it up to repeat, so Ghost’s chiming had its effect, even if getting Aoba to wake up early was a struggle on even the best of days. It also helped that, though he had slept, it hadn’t been particularly deep.

He levered himself up, feeling particularly grody given that everything of the day before still clung to him, metaphorical and literal alike, only to get a sharp jolt of regret as Ghost’s question sank in and Aoba realized he’d failed to try it at all. That was supposed to be something he’d do yesterday, along with getting taught firearm safety…!

Spitting a little curse that wasn’t nearly so vulgar as the ones his other…side had been throwing around, Aoba scooted forward and reached for the folded attire upon the coffee table, grabbing a piece at random and shaking it out as he stood to assess its sizing. Though granted the fit would probably be perfect, just like everything else he’d been kitted, given Ghost scanning all his measurements. Upon properly discovering that the garment was white with blue and yellow accents, he was briefly stopped short at how perfectly his preferred color scheme it was.

Big guy pays attention to everything, went the muttering the back of his thoughts, somewhat more distinct now, and bringing a renewed flush to his cheeks. It was one of shame over anything else, though.

With the sound of running water to tell him that all was safe for the moment, Aoba started switching yesterday’s clothes for the fresh set of gear as swiftly as he could. He figured the least he could do at this point was confirm the fit. Pants weren’t hard. Neither was the underlayer shirt.

After that, things started getting confusing.

Declan's shower was short and efficient, the man eager to be on their way. He'd utterly forgotten trying on the clothes and firearm safety himself, in light of everything. In the shower he remembered, standing there and grousing to himself. He could just...let Aoba watch a video or something. he didn't want to learn, there was no sense forcing him. He'd be gone soon anyways, wouldn't he?

Of course that caused a pang of heartache the Titan wanted nothing to do with, so he closed his eyes and worked through scrubbing. Once he was dressed in his underarmor and had pulled on the jumpsuit layer of his gear, he finally came out, only to be met with Aoba trying to put on the gear he'd gotten and...well...at least the pants were on right...

"Aoba?" Declan cleared his throat, gesturing vaguely. "Do you...need assistance?" An innocent offer, no double meaning. Declan was at least mostly back to his usual self. He would ignore his feelings like he always did. That was the simplest and best route.

Aoba jumped like he’d been goosed, looking up and around with eyes back to their default shade of hazel, set in a face that was short on sleep but not red or discolored or anything like that. He saw Declan’s face and saw—nothing to mirror the way he was feeling all eaten up and twisted inside.

Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.

He ignored—himself. Not in a way that equaled unhearing, but just not acknowledging.

“I can’t even figure out what these buckles are for,” he said in response, voice soft and tired, but still waving an arm at his friend in a pitiful show of needing help indeed.

They were still friends, weren’t they?

"Overthinking. It's just gear straps. It all gets shrugged on and clasped. Here, let me help," he nodded, folding his hair towel over in his hands and setting it on the back of the couch before closing the space between them. Pulling the straps and belts off, the Titan turned everything around and shook it out, the lined taking on a more visibly torso-wrap shape, which he then hung over Aoba's shoulders and cinched around his chest and waist. After that it was the satchels and coat, boots, gloves and helmet. Naturally it all fit like a glove, but it needed to be comfortable for Aoba.

"Alright, how's that? Get a look at yourself?" he smiled encouragingly, gesturing to the bedroom where a tall dress mirror sat on one wall.

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