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It doesn't make sense. They don't make sense.
Aoba can't seem to sleep tonight. Even after a vigorous bout of lovemaking (he's not too embarrassed to use that phrase anymore), his mind doesn't seem to want to shut down. Mink had fallen asleep after cleaning them up; he's sprawled across the bed, relaxed and content, snoring a little, one arm hanging off the edge of the bed.
(They really need to get a bigger one. Or build a bigger one. One or the other. Aoba likes being close to Mink, but he doesn't like waking up half off the bed because they shift in their sleep.)
He got out of bed and got a drink of water, shivering a little as he hurried naked through the house. The fireplace in the main room was low, and Aoba paused to carefully toss another cut piece of lumber onto it, making sure it's secure. Last thing they need is for the place to burn down while they're asleep. Then he poured himself a glass of water from the sink in the kitchen, sipped it quick, hurried back to bed and tucked himself under the warm covers. Mink's arm came around him; Aoba settled in with a sigh of contentment.
And still he can't sleep.
When he's restless like this, he knows there's no point in staying in bed. He spent enough sleepless nights that way while he was searching for Mink, both back in Midorijima and here in America, that he learned the only way to deal with an active brain was to get up and do something else. But he's so warm, and the rest of the house downright chilly; so instead of getting out of this warm little nest, putting on clothes and trying to occupy his mind in some way, he shifts in Mink's possessive embrace and contemplates the man asleep beside him.
It still doesn't quite compute in his head, the fact that he's here. That he came to this place, found Mink again, made Mink accept him into his life. That they're -- lovers -- that he's committed himself to this relationship, that Mink has done the same. There's no logic to it, no reason. Aoba's thought that more than once, especially when he set out on this journey.
It wasn't as if they made any sense to begin with. After all, Mink originally thought of Aoba as nothing more than a tool to be used in his plans for revenge against Toue; if Aoba hadn't had the power to control others with his voice, the two never would have even met. And the way Mink chose to use Aoba wasn't exactly aboveboard, either; then again, they both hurt each other during that dark time in Platinum Jail, when Aoba got a bit too high off photonarcotics (even if Mink had taken him to the club to see what effect they'd have on him -- as if either of them could have known). Mink had used his body to try to control Aoba; Aoba came to after a painful encounter that had left him bleeding and unconscious to see Mink watching him with newly-wary eyes.
Mink hurt him, more than once, using violence in whatever form seemed the most fitting at the moment -- his fists, his body, even his words. Aoba didn't know why he hadn't simply hated Mink for it. He should have. There was probably some phrase for a person who felt sympathy for their abuser. Then again, Aoba didn't know if Mink even fell into that category. Not when Mink himself walked like a person already dead, waiting for the blow he knew would fall on him soon enough. The blow he intended to deliver to himself.
Maybe that was it, Aoba thinks now. As he'd spent more time with Mink, he'd come to see the depths of pain Mink kept locked away, rigorously sealed off in order to accomplish his mission. He'd even tried to run off to Oval Tower on his own, naively thinking he could somehow finish off Toue so that Mink wouldn't have to.
Aoba probably is too soft, probably always will be. Mink had accused him of being unable to think for himself; he hasn't been through the same horrible things that Mink has, not really. His parents might have left him, but he had Tae to raise him after they were gone, and they're not dead (as far as he knows). He still has friends back in Japan, though seeing them isn't as easy as going down to the main street in the Old Residential Quarter and hanging out. He's even developing new friendships here. Mink's teaching him more English, and with his diction improving -- and with Ren by his side to help translate -- he's finding it easier to get around, to find work, to help out here and there.
By contrast, Mink is still quiet and reticent, still hard as the iron that once encircled his neck and wrists. Aoba has to work to get anything out of him; smiles are rare, but Aoba's learned how to read Mink's glancing looks or the way he breathes out through his nose. Even his silences have weight to them. With Mink, Aoba can simply be, appreciating the stillness around him as he never could in Midorijima, which is noisy day and night.
He's come to enjoy being physical with Mink, too, which is another thing that shouldn't make sense. God knows Aoba would never try to explain any of it to anyone; Mink was a different person back then, but that's not an excuse. In any case, he's sure he'd be lectured about their relationship in all sorts of scolding voices, but he doesn't care. What they are to each other doesn't have to make sense. It wasn't a typical attraction, the usual sort of flirting or fumbling or teasing that led to more. Aoba doesn't think Mink would be as important to him if that was how it had been, anyway. They went through something together that changed both of them in deep, significant ways.
Maybe that's why he came after Mink, tracked him down, pursued him relentlessly until Mink finally allowed himself to be found. No one else could ever understand Aoba and how Platinum Jail had changed him. It wasn't about finding someone he loved -- though that had come along at some point, too, crept up on Aoba when he didn't even realize it. Mink had been too important to him; he couldn't simply let go of the connection he'd felt to Mink by the time Oval Tower came down.
Mink shifts suddenly, mumbling something incoherent in his sleep. A thin line of late moonlight, slipping through the curtains, outlines the strong line of his jaw, the clean sharp blade of his nose. Aoba reaches up to trace the soft light, then presses a kiss to Mink's cheek and lays his head down again. His mind is finally starting to let go of whatever anxious thought process had grabbed it; he thinks he can sleep now, at last. He doesn't mind that he hasn't been able to make sense of this thing between himself and Mink. It's all right, really. What matters is that they've found a way to fit together, the broken edges of each of them lined up to the other's in a pattern that shouldn't work but does, for them. He's found peace here in Mink's arms, and that's more precious than he ever knew it could be.
He closes his eyes, nestles his head to Mink's shoulder, and drifts into sleep again.