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CHARACTERS: All
WHERE: Bearings
WHEN: Day 052
SUMMARY: Aoba's late to get back from the party with intel that may not matter anymore.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary.

[ Visions of the fund raising party are still in his head, dreamlike as he struggles to wake himself from a heavy sleep. From admist the swirling lights and silken fabrics, there's a sense of urgency. He needs to reconnect. Fragments of memory are flung haphazardly through the network, frantic and scattering. Shards of a broken ice sculpture slide across a ballroom floor, cold, worried.

A string quartet mixes oddly with an off-rhythm beat as his thoughts try settle back into some semblance of order. Thud, thud - his pulse and the threat of a headache mix with the memory of a dreamed up applause in a theater. One not his, but of the man whose mind he entered that night. He had tried to get the information he found out to at least one other host, but there's no recollection of success in his half-awake state.

Finally, a connection is established. A somewhat coherent thought, as he jolts up- ]

Goram Saffit is in contact with H+H1...!

[ He's a little late to leaving the party and joining the current time. A groggy look around his empty room and the pristine state of his bed are a clue. ]

Ugh... I'm afraid to ask, but... how long was I out?

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[ No rush. Except just a few hours later, Aoba's made a few rounds through the other hosts, and knows he'll be going on another infiltration mission that very night with Sam. Maybe he should rush a little, and resolve whatever this is. The cloudy anxiety hovering between them like morning brain fog.

Perhaps that's why Aoba decides to make coffee first. He puts a pot on before going to see Sam, reaching out with his mind as well as his hand when he knocks on Sam's (and Clint's?) bedroom door. ]

Sam? I have some time before we go. I made coffee...

[ He waits outside the door, a full cup for himself cooling in his hands with the smell of more lingering in the kitchen should anyone want some. ]

[ There's a faint curl of affection that bleeds out from Sam, a not quite intentional response to the offer of coffee, but he doesn't try to hold it back. There's a sense of confliction in him, because he doesn't want to cause Aoba any more anxiety than he might already have, it's just...

Well, if it was someone, Sam would have already been in their face about what he saw in Shiro's mind. Instead, he pulls open the door with a brief smile, standing aside to gesture Aoba in. ]

Come on in.

[ Rey is still unconscious in the bed, lost to her coma and the steady beat of the monitors she's hooked up to. There's a nest of blankets to one side that probably makes it obvious where he and Clint have been sleeping, Clint's uniform laid out neatly over the chair next to his bow and quiver on the desk, and Sam's flight pack waiting for him at the foot of the bed. There's a moment after he nudges the door shut where he hesitates, unsure how to approach this, but then just goes for to the point. ]

I saw what happened with you and Shiro at the party.

[ The room is no larger than any of the others, so with three it's a bit cozy. He wasn't expecting to see Rey taking up the bed, since a comatose host normally stays in their own space. But then... if she's brood, it doesn't take much to understand why Sam would want her near. If he could have the rest of Adara so close, he would too. His face falls when he steps inside and sees her. ]

Is she... ?

[ But Sam cuts straight to the topic. The main reason he wanted to talk is... that? Aoba is briefly surprised before his expression falls again with the recent memory. ]

Oh. Yeah... I think most people there saw what happened. There was a lot of staring...

[ It's not a fond memory to go back to so soon. The feeling of shock and humiliation from Shiro's yelling are still recent - accepted, understood, and forgiven, but no less painful to recall. He twists the mug of too-hot coffee in his hands, swirling it but not drinking. ]

I... already thanked him for how he helped me. I really messed up.

[ There's a mental response, rather than a verbal - the sense of uncertainty, a low level of concern, a vague undercurrent of helplessness. She'd fallen asleep the same time that Clint had, but when he'd returned, she'd stayed under. She's not brood, or at least not Sam's, but she's Clint's, and so here she is.

He can do nothing but monitor her for the moment, though, and his focus is on Aoba, shifting uncomfortably at his response. Sam hadn't actually seen it when it happened, just in Shiro's mind, but he hadn't wanted to throw Shiro under the bus like that. There's still the urge to sooth, to try to comfort in the face of bringing up a painful memory, but it's cut with the anger that Sam hasn't let bubble up yet.

It'd be so much easier if he could just cross his arms and go 'what is it, that we're both men or that we're not the same race?' Except he can't, because neither of those are things he wants to think about Aoba. ]

Depends on why you think you messed up. Kind of an extreme reaction to have, for what it was.

[ His anger must be deeply hidden. If not, Aoba would be in a panic. For now, he just nods in guilty agreement. ]

Yes... i-it was an accident, though. I was just caught off guard by... I guess you already know.

[ Of course he'd know. Shiro could have replayed the scene for him all too easily through the symbiote connection. As if every stranger in the ballroom staring at them hadn't been bad enough, as if apologizing and admitting this to Shiro already wasn't enough either, now this- now he has to admit it again. ]

I'm sorry, Sam. I-it's just... I don't really let myself to have those kind of thoughts so freely- ah!

[ A few droplets of coffee splash over the brim and burn his skin. He hadn't realized his hands are shaking. ]

[ It'd been too much like jumping to conclusions without all the answers, which Sam hadn't wanted to do with Aoba. He'd refused to let himself feel anger until he'd known if there was a reason or not, and he's pretty damn good at bottling for all that he tries not to.

And it turns out it was a good thing, because Aoba's reaction strips out any anger he might have had, anyway - Sam's going with his first assumption, before he saw the events of the party. That Aoba's pretty much in the closet.

He reaches out, wrapping his hands over Aoba's around the mug to steady them and brushing the drops of coffee away with his thumb. It's a faint struggle to hold back his symbiote ability from healing the burns, but it's brief, and he manages it with little trouble. At least all his practice has been good for something. ]

It's like that where I'm from, too. Not everywhere, but there's a lot of places where it's a bad idea. Most of my life's been like that.

[ The trembling in his hands eases as Sam's fingers slide over his skin to hold them, and for a moment, Aoba's focus is lost. Sam's are strong and steady hands. They remind him of Koujaku's, with their smattering of scars across the knuckles, but still large and capable. He'd felt himself growing attracted to those hands once or a dozen times, whenever he watched his friend smoking on the balcony of his bedroom. And a dozen times, he smothered the idea.

The memory is shared unconsciously. A man in a red kimono breathes smoke out into the night air. He turns to look at Aoba with a grin, and for a second there's the a shock of fear like he's been caught admiring his friend. So instead of allowing the feeling to flourish, he squashes it with firm reminder that he's just being weird, that it's not a normal feeling. He throws out a casual joke instead, a teasing insult...

What's more is the man looks strikingly similar to Shiro, with the same kind of scar across his nose. He'd loved that scar too, but- ]

No, not love, I'm not-

[ He takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes tightly. Exhales slowly as he comes back to the present, finally hearing Sam's words. ]

S-sorry. It's... yeah, it's not normal to have these thoughts, where I'm from. I know it's okay here, but... I'm afraid of others hearing them.

[ Somehow, it's still always a surprise when he picks up little snippets of memories from other people, despite the fact that it's happened before both intentionally and unintentionally. He's still not used to it.

Surprise or not, it gives him a little more understanding into Aoba's reaction - and maybe why it'd happened with Shiro in particular, though that's not somewhere Sam's going to go. He doesn't call attention to the memory itself, because he knows Aoba hadn't meant to share it and it's not like he's gonna pry more.

But he doesn't move his hands from Aoba's and it's a little more than making sure the mug doesn't spill again. It's just support, calm and steady. ]

You are normal, Aoba. There is nothing wrong with you.

[ It's not like he expects Aoba to get more comfortable or less afraid with it just because Sam said that, it's just... far as Sam's concerned, words like that can never be said enough for those who've been taught that who and what they are isn't okay. ]

[ Sam's words are more soothing than the warmth of his hands and the full mug of coffee combined. They reverberate over his mind with a sense of relief and an aching desire to believe in them. It's exactly what Aoba wants to hear, so much that at first, it hurts. His heart jumps to his throat and tightens there. Instead of breathing deeply, he holds his chest still. If he speaks now, just after hearing that, he'll break down. ]

That's... all I ever wanted to be.

[ A mental answer is all he can manage for now. That, and remembering to put up his mental walls again. It's a struggle to shield Sam from his overwhelming mixture of emotions when his walls, being made of static and music, jitter as nervously as his hands start to again. He should put the mug down, before he does something else clumsy and spills it on them both, but he's frozen. ]

[ Sam breathes, in and out, letting anything that escapes Aoba's mental walls wash over him. It's easier than the times he's done something like this with Bucky. Whether it's because Bucky's a broodmate or because it's mostly been the times the Winter Soldier threatened to take over, Sam doesn't know, but it means he can open up his own mind a little.

Just enough to let his sincerity out, the firm conviction that Sam believes - you are amazing exactly as you are - mingled with the quiet rush of wind and the echo of a steady heart beat that flavors Sam's mental link.

When it's clear that Aoba's a little too frozen, Sam takes the mug from his hands. And then sets it aside before gently pulling Aoba in for a hug, hands warm and low on his back and voice a murmur as he repeats himself. ]

You are normal, just the way you are.

[ He thought he had resolved this with Shiro. He thanked Shiro for protecting him at the party, apologized for the way he acted and the commotion caused, and even admitted his deep desire to think as freely. They had both been able to move on so much more easily.

But Sam has cut down to his core and revealed the root of his anxiety, and Aoba is left to piece himself back together in the face of more acceptance than he's ever experienced. So much, he doesn't know what to do or how to feel. The obstruction of the coffee is removed, and before he can hold back, his eyes are wet and pressed against the shoulder of Sam's sleeve. His throat is still tight but he remembers to breathe, slowly. Something is tugging at him painfully, but the emotional high is making it difficult to rationalize. He hates crying in front of others - especially in front of men. He hasn't since Koujaku encouraged him not to when they were kids, after he'd been called a girl and had his hair pulled-

Ah, his hair. That's what's hurting in this entanglement with Sam. He'd been too emotional to notice, but now that he's calming down, the pain is fresh in the endings of his hair. He sucks in a breath and pulls back a bit. ]

Tch- ah, Sam, my hair-

[ The feeling grounds him again. He quickly wipes his eyes so he can see again, and carefully pulls his hair out of the way. ]

S-sorry. I have... nerve endings in my hair, so it hurts when it's touched.

[ A shuddered sigh, followed by a soft intake and a weak chuckle. After all this, after hearing what he so wanted to hear about his thoughts and desires, there are still parts of him that are so far from ordinary. ]

Heh. So much for being normal...

[ He chuckles mentally over the connection as well, although... it's not as nervous as his voice is, and not as controlled. The soft laugh emerges from some part of his mind he wasn't thinking of. He just shrugs and continues to dry his eyes, gently avoiding any more contact with Sam, afraid he'll break down again. ]

[ Honestly, Sam's more than ready to just stand here with Aoba in his arms for however long it takes. He's no stranger to thinking you've got something settled and done with only to find there's something deeper going on, and having it come back to haunt you. He radiates calm, best he can, murmurs you're okay, but before he can tell Aoba to take as long as he needs, Aoba's pulling away.

With one of the few excuses that'd actually make Sam let go, which he does with an apology and all right, yeah, definitely some curiosity. Though that fades a little at what Aoba says.

There are other things about Aoba that'd give Sam pause before something like hair with nerve endings - the golden eyed version of him that seems to hate Sam, for one, but Sam is still treading lightly there. And anyway, maybe it means Sam's definition of normal is a little askew, but it doesn't change anything that he'd just said. ]

Did I not just say 'just the way you are'? Hasn't stopped being true.

[ And he's just as sincere in that. What he really wants to do is pull Aoba back in again, only this time being more careful of his hair, but he can tell that Aoba's avoiding contact with him. He settles for letting all of that bleed out over the mental link. ]

It's okay to cry, you know. No one here but you and me, and I sure as hell ain't gonna judge. Usually made me feel a little better, letting it out.

[ He appreciates the calm demeanor and the sincerity radiating from Sam, but Aoba can't help feeling a bit embarrassed for crying. It's still in his nature, engrained firmly into him. He lets his temper flare from time to time in front of others, but never sheds tears. He nods once his face is dry again and finally looks up with a genuine smile, his eyes rimmed with more redness than usual but happier than before. ]

Thanks for saying so.

[ His face relaxes again as he breathes in deep, and exhales slowly. Something Ren would've told him to do were he still at Aoba's side, always reminding him to remain calm. ]

I'm alright. We have a mission to focus on soon, so...

[ So he can't be so emotional or focused on himself. Not right now. Reflection on what he's admitted and Sam's acceptance can come later. For now, they have to worry about the will of the Nest. ]

I have to keep a clear head in case I need to use Scrap again.

[ Sam echoes that deep breath, in and out, and he spends a last few moments continuing to radiate calm before he pulls back, lifting up his mental walls again. ]

Duty calls.

[ Still, he reaches out to rest a hand on Aoba's shoulder, careful of his hair, and give it a soft squeeze. ] You ever want to talk to someone who might know a little about what it's like, I'm always here. [ It's a little different circumstances than when he usually offers this kind of thing - Aoba isn't one of his veterans from back home, but this is still something difficult they have in common, and Sam can't help but see it as something similar. ]

Let's get back down there, before they decide to leave without us?

Yes.

[ He nods once with the statement, but then... he hesitates to leave. His emotions are still so mixed, what with all he just admitted. They should get going, like he said. The others probably won't leave this early without them, but-

Before Aoba turns to go, he suddenly reaches for Sam and wraps him in his arms, his eyes shut tight against his shoulder again. It's... a little awkward, but warm and sincere. He holds for a few seconds, desperate to ingrain the moment in his memory. His heart is beating fast in his chest. He lets go again before it threatens to burst. ]

Thank you.

[ It's whispered aloud, but rings clear across their symbiotes. He then hastily picks up his coffee again, a bit red in the face but smiling as he turns for the door. ]

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