orendalogs | IT'S YOUR DESTINY!!!

“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.

If he wants to talk about overthinking then we need to talk about yesterd—

God, not now, okay? Aoba stood patiently in place, eyes closed for a few tired moments before opening again, realizing he’d better pay attention so that he could reproduce this all on his own later. Declan’s hands were efficient and no-nonsense, tugging things into place with all the efficiency of decades or centuries or whatever the hell he’d been a Guardian for, but while Aoba didn’t feel anything untoward about it all, he was still more attentive than professionalism allowed for. It was in a melancholic fashion, though.

Everything felt fine once it was on, though the helmet was strange. It gave Aoba a weird and irrelevant flashback, but his sense of vision was—remarkably unimpaired, despite how it had looked before actually putting it on. He flexed his hands in the gloves, unfamiliar with the way they were reinforced by the various space-age materials, but wandered off towards the mirror. There was a little more heel on the boots than he would have gone for on his own, but the steps didn’t feel too awkward….

And he literally could not recognize himself when he looked in the mirror. Even all of his ponytail had gotten tucked inside and hidden away the protective layers. He looked like some Hunter Guardian, unidentifiably masked.

“Throwing coins to a cat,” he muttered, making experimental little movements. Louder, he said, “I’ve never worn anything like it, but…as far as I can tell, it feels fine.”

"As long as you're comfortable, that's all that matters. It's pretty simple and utilitarian," Declan called from the kitchen, gesturing at Ghost, who scrolled a holovid for him to quickly scramble a few eggs with some of the leftover rice and other things. It wasn't going to be that great, but...maybe whipping up a quick breakfast would lighten the mood? Please Aoba? Be a gesture of peace? Just be a good start to the day...

"Go ahead and take a shower while there's time? We should only shower in the ship while landed and that will be a little while."

“Will do,” he agreed, apparently on a conservation of words gain as he pulled off the helmet and shook his hair free, leaving it on the top of his un-slept-in bed before heading to the bathroom. Correction. He re-emerged to sidetrack back to the couch, pick up his other clothes from the coffee table, and then retreated to the bathroom as if that had been his intention all along.

The bathroom was still steamy from Declan’s shower. Aoba almost balked right then and there but then pressed on, stripping out of the gear with better ease than he got into it in the first place. Actually getting into the fall of hot water came as a genuine relief, and his following shower wasn’t quite so utilitarian as Declan’s own tended to be. By the time he got out again his body felt better, if not his head or his heart.

He dressed most of the way up again, returning to the kitchen with the helmet in his hands and the gloves inside of it for a makeshift carryall, damp hair loose around his shoulders to dry faster.

Declan quickly stopped what he was doing, trying not to look at all suspicious when Aoba wandered in and out of the main living-space, watching the other man pace back out before going back to struggling with the cooking. He ended up having to get more than a few things from the replicator to spruce up the meal because though he'd watched more than once now, omurice wasn't exactly something he was personally equipped to accomplish.

It wasn't pretty, but it smelled good, and he taste-tested it before setting the plates on the kitchen counter, turning them this way and that to try to show the best side towards the bedroom door so it would be the first thing Aoba saw when he came out. Sure, Declan could have just gotten the food automatically, but it wouldn't have meant as much. Effort mattered.

"Feel better?" he asked, since long showers meant, to him, a need for something more than just physically cleansing.

Declan only half-succeeded. He was the first thing Aoba saw, hovering at the table like he was. The plates of omurice were second, and the sight of them was just about a shot through the heart. Aoba looked from them, back to the Guardian, with an open look that did nothing to hide the awkward worry he was feeling.

There was still a muttering in the back of his thoughts, and even though it was just his brain he would swear there was pacing going on back there. It was so bizarre, how foggily doubled everything felt when he allowed it the attention. He’d even taken a dose of his medicine, at his reminder. It hadn’t silenced him, but he was quieter. Clearer, though. A distinct sound at a distance, rather than mumbling up close.

Can we at least try for a hug? came a thread of frustration, an almost shockingly simple request. Aoba wondered if it would even still be okay. They’d both—both, meaning Declan—needed them yesterday morning. Aoba had to admit he could really use one now, too, but wondered if he’d just have to settle for homemade breakfast.

“Cleaner, at least,” he answered, fumbling, knowing that he wanted to make things right again but uncertain of the procedure. If breakfast was already an overture, he had to match it somehow. He put the helmet down on a free spot on the table, fidgeting with his hands briefly, then deciding he’d lost the privilege to do anything but ask. “…Could I…have a hug for the rest?”

Could they just rewind everything to yesterday morning? Start over, try again? But if not…at least he’d know better where they stood, now.

The Guardian's head tilted slowly, uncovering his over eye as he looked at Aoba, wondering. The fingers of one hand tapped lightly on the table, the man obviously weighing things, uncertain. He was no less worried or confused, he'd simply told himself the best thing to do was to not think about the negatives. Though, if Aoba was seeking reconciliation...

Declan wouldn't decline.

Pushing off from where he'd been leaning, the Titan stepped in, arms outstretched before wrapping around the other man. It was a gentle, tentative hug, but no less warm for the care of it. Home, like he'd said.

"I'm sorry I'm so stupid, Aoba. I don't...I'm not always able to think everything the ways other people do. I'll try to be more understanding. I may not be that smart, but I'll get there eventually. I promise. Please be patient."

Aoba needed it so badly that once he realized those arms were indeed open, he didn’t just stand there to wait for them. He stepped forward between them, not just a polite little apology hug but actively leaning into him, cheek against chest and arms around that sturdy pillar of a waist. A shaky sigh of relief accompanied a leeching of tension from Aoba’s back and shoulders as he closed his eyes, taking in what he was still allowed to have. Home.

“You’re not stupid,” Aoba countered immediately, aghast to hear Declan apologizing to him of all things. “You’re perfect.”

It was Ghost’s word for the man, that one time, thoughtlessly borrowed but also truer than anything else Aoba could have come up with in that moment. Patient, forgiving, supportive. Taking blame he didn’t deserve. Making breakfast.

“You’re even putting up with me when I’m acting like—this. I’m the one that should be begging for patience. I’m not—” Fumbling, hesitating. “…Neither side of me is very good at expressing myself, it seems.”

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