orendalogs | IT'S YOUR DESTINY!!!

"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.”

"No one is perfect, least of all me," Declan replied with a soft cluck of his tongue. Spreading a big hand wide, he rubbed up and down Aoba's back, as comforting as possible, the other hand resting between the man's shoulders and pressing, firm but gentle.

"You have so much more on your plate than I can even begin to understand, Aoba. I think under the circumstances you're doing admirably. I can't imagine being torn from my own world and time, thrust into others at random, forced to adapt time again, then finding out that your whole life you've been deliberately fractured, and worse, you have no explanation for any of it and no one to ask. Aoba...a lesser man would be crushed under all of that. Have more faith in yourself. You're really quite impressive."

That said, punctuated with a few solid pats, and Declan nodded towards the food.

"Now you have to brave my cooking. I doubt there's a challenge you can't face."

See? He was even humble, therefore he was perfect. The movements of Declan’s hands brushed Aoba’s still-drying hair, but not once did he flinch. Maybe he was still a mess on the inside, but at least he was still a safe, not-being-left-alone mess.

But the pats and the indication of the food seemed like an invitation to part at just the right time between ‘rushed’ and ‘overstaying’, so despite some reluctance, Aoba eased back with a tired but not ingenuine laugh.

“If you can survive my cooking, I don’t think any of us have anything to fear,” he managed, smiling up at the Guardian with a poorly-voiced softness in his eyes before finally lowering his arms. It was a gaze he ultimately had to avert, anyway, in order to set himself into his usual seat to address the prepared breakfast. It looked far better than some of Aoba’s early attempts at the dish, and still smelled good.

"But I like your cooking..." Declan murmured, mildly confused. Shrugging it off, they sat and ate, the Titan occasionally casting the odd look Aoba's way, worried about his mood and health and any number of variables that came from such a curiously tumultuous man. Aob's mood swings made Declan feel pretty good about his own; he no longer considered his anger issues that much of a problem. At least they were triggered pretty specifically.

He broke the silence periodically, explaining the certain protocols and itinerary involved with the trip, lined out where they would be staying (landing, really, since they would stay on the ship when not exploring), and expressed some small concern regarding food on the ship. Guardians not really having to eat meant replicators weren't installed, so Declan had to place a supply order. They would have food as designated by the quartermaster options, but he didn't know what it might entail. Mostly frozen foods, for which he apologized. That said, though, they were ready to go as soon as Aoba was prepared. First stop would be Venus because the Moon jump had to be post-posed. Generally a no-fly zone for any but the most experienced Guardians, Declan had clearance to take Aoba there, but the Hive had swarmed recently and they needed to find a designated safe-zone, which hadn't been posted yet. It was fine, he mused, since that meant they would get to spend more time at the Ishtar libraries on Venus.

Cleaning up breakfast and packing all their left-overs from previous meals to have throughout the day on the ship instead of breaking immediately into the food stores, Declan, Aoba, Ren, and Ghost were soon off, strapping themselves in to leave the atmosphere and take a Seragaki into deep space.

"The first break and first jump are the worst, I'm told. Once we get out of atmo I'm sure you'll adjust fine. There's all kinds of amenities on the ship, including gravity, but I'll shut it off at least once. You should get to experience zero G. You ready?"

Whether he was aware of it or not, Declan really knew how to make a person feel…at least closer to normal. Comfort, reassurance, and then basic to business as usual without being dismissive of it. Even that entity called ‘Desire’ in the back of his thoughts simmered down to just the occasional grumbling, as if Aoba found himself in a place where he didn’t want much more than he was already getting. (Was that even how it worked, to have one’s mind divided this way?)

Aoba might have remained fairly subdued after that, but it was recuperation rather than regression. He was attentive to Declan speaking and gave answers where he could, meeting his gaze on occasion and never avoiding it. Frozen meals weren’t going to be a problem, he promised. After being stuck with the Decker gang in Steelport and having nothing but junk food and energy drinks thrown at him, he was never going to resent anything that was still real food, frozen or otherwise. More privately, Aoba reflected on how it suddenly made sense that Declan didn’t need to eat. He was dead, after all.

But it was still so hard to think that of someone who was so warm….

Then the moment was upon them. All their packed-up things had been loaded onto the Mariner, Aoba was clad in every piece of gear (sans helmet) he’d been given, and—this was it. They were going into space. Aoba was still kind of anxious about it, but not nearly so much as he’d been when the idea had first been proposed. Maybe he was just at emotional capacity after everything else, or maybe it just felt normal given how routine it was for Declan himself, but Aoba only felt jittery instead of truly afraid or panicked. He was strapped in, Ren was alert and in his lap, and space awaited them.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he agreed, a soft smile hopefully helping to compensate for another relative lack of words.

Nodding once, Declan turned and nodded to Ghost, who drifted to one side, activating controls in the capacity of co-pilot as the Titan flipped switches and tapped in their flight plan. Most of the flying was autopilot anyways, but the first atmo breach was always impressive, so he took the controls over himself.

The ship coasted out of the hangar, Amanda waving at them as Declan followed the blinking lights and the gesturing robots.

"Just breathe normally and relax. The pressure is minimized in current ships. It shouldn't feel like more than...going uphill in a car, from your era," Ghost remarked as the ship turned, drifted around the Tower, tilted up, and then flew forward with increasing speed. Less like a slingshot, more like any vehicle gaining momentum, only they were also gaining altitude.

It took no time at all for them to break through the different levels, from mountain air to clouds, up to pure, empty blue, higher to where tiny bits of debris not yet burned up on atmosphere entry clicks and clattered off the ship, then into the Thermosphere where the barest curvature of magnetic flow creature the aurora borealis in the distance. The ship shook, vibrating briefly as they escaped into the exosphere, pulled out of the Earth's orbit and then they were free in space. Just like that, none of the terror of possible explosion, none of the rattling and falling apart of ancient terran rockets.

"Look," Declan whispered, tappping the screen and letting the ship drift casually, turning it around so they could watch as Earth slowly took up less of their vision and could eventually be seen as a single whole. The gravity was still on for the moment, but he wanted Aoba to see the beautiful thing everyone was fighting for.

Aoba could have responded that he’d rarely been in cars, much less ones going up anything resembling a hill, but all he did was nod and sink his fingers into Ren’s fur a little more. Though his little companion had been of even fewer words than himself since yesterday, the comfort he could take from holding him was not refused.

And then…upwards.

It was so unlike the way that space travel was always portrayed in movies that he’d seen that it almost didn’t feel real. A few shakes. Some quiet ‘tinks’ that didn’t even last long enough for him to think the ship had lost some important piece of itself. No nausea, no vertigo. The windows might have been nothing more than highly advanced television screens, or the whole thing might not have been anything other than a simulation in Rhyme. Clouds gave way to stars on a black field, nothing to give him any point of reference or sense of scale.

Not until Declan turned the ship around, that is.

Aoba had never imagined the Earth could look so small. Simple understanding told him that it wasn’t really, and he only had to puzzle at the strange sphere nestled up against it for a brief while to realize that it was the broken shape of the Traveler. So the City was right there. The place that dwarfed the whole of Midorijima, the singular settlement that was all that remained of Earth’s civilian populace, reduced to nothing at all.

He exhaled quietly, heart suddenly heavy.

Declan watched Aoba from the edge of his vision, most of attention between that and the readouts. He knew, to some degree, what Aoba was feeling. Everyone felt it, looking back on Earth, even the Guardians technically young to the strife. Inhaling deeply, he flipped a few controls over and turned slightly in his seat.

"Earth is fertile ground, and the Traveler is a seed of hope. From that place where it planted itself, someday the whole of civilization will blossom again. Don't look and see the tragedy, Aoba. Look at what we protect and let yourself feel light-hearted. You trust me, don't you?" he asked, tilting his head and pointing out the window at Earth.

"I will protect this for you. Forever. I will protect the memories of the past and one day, your home will be full and rich again. I promise."

And Aoba thought: what did he really want to come back for?

He observed the Earth, the blue and green whole of it, and how the Traveler itself had gone from a tiny moon directly overhead of the city to a tiny neighbor clinging to the planet's atmosphere. Declan spoke of hope, and it wasn't that Aoba disbelieved him, exactly, but suddenly he called himself into question.

He thought of his own journey, the passage of portals. If Declan found him an expedited way home, then to Aoba it was nothing more than a long walk to complete the circuit from the past Midorijima to the future City. Were his thoughts too trivial? Was he just... infatuated? Was coming back to this war-torn version of the Earth even worth it?

Did he want to come back here only to be protected?

Aoba rubbed his fingers together quietly, very conscious of the second-skin fit of the gloves, of the Hunter's gear shaped to his body. And he thought about the absurdity of his life back home, working as a desk clerk in a junk shop on an island he could never leave.

"You have so many more important things to do," he found himself saying, apologetic in tone. The scale of everything Declan had done, was doing for him, seemed so much vaster now. "... Thank you for the time you've spent on me."

"I...think my time spent on you has been one of the most important things in my life," Declan murmured, staring out the window at the shrinking Earth, rubbing his own fingers together, unconscious of the gesture. He wanted to make a fist, but kept easing himself out of it, refusing to let tension breed silence.

"I've certainly never been happier."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject