never needed a reason for keeping secrets from myself
who ; O'Brien and Chief
what ; and then someone caught someone else sneaking out of Spartanbase at 5 am.
where ; Spartanhaus
when ; directly after this
warning(s) ; POSSIBLY
[ In hindsight, letting himself stay the entire night probably hadn't been a good idea. Anyone could've come to check on Rookie, or he could've woken up completely sober, and either of those would equal a conversation that he really did not want to have right now. He's. Okay with doing what he did. A little sketchy to pass it off as a drug-fueled delusion, yeah, but in the end how different was that from either of them getting really really drunk and getting up to something they'd already tacitly agreed that they both wanted. It hadn't been Rookie's overbearing shyness preventing anything from happening.
...and granted 100% of that is just excuses and he will go cliff himself if Rookie gets upset about this, but somehow, he doesn't think that's how it will go. There'd been plenty of opportunities to stop and both of them had been embarrassingly eager. Or rather, O'Brien had been embarrassingly eager. Nothing Rookie ever did seemed embarrassing. Either way he'd been just as happy to continue and god knew he couldn't have been faking anything when he was high as a kite. It had worked out.
He'd told himself he would leave the moment Rookie was asleep, because that was the entire point of this. Distract the other ODST until he passed out, give him something easy and instinctual to focus on that wasn't screaming about spiders or war flashbacks. And he'd meant to leave. He'd so meant to. He's still not entirely sure how he ended up tucked against Rookie, the other's face buried in his shoulder and a careless arm thrown over him. Part of him had instantly freaked out because what if someone saw and part of him could not give a fuck right at that moment for how stupidly good it felt, and had persuaded him to just go back to sleep.
That was three hours ago and the sun would be rising soon and he needed to get out before all the military losers woke their asses up, so here he is sneaking noiseless through the hallways, barefoot and just in trousers and a shirt that's too big for him (Rookie's) with the rest of his armor rolled up in his arms between his real shirt and some other crap he'd borrowed, to keep anything from clinking or jingling. All he had to do was get outside and book it to the nearest building anyway, it wasn't like anyone would be following him.
He'd left one particular window unlocked, all he has to do is slip out and go--
...
...or spend another ten minutes fighting with the buttons on it because some asshat had come along and keyed it shut arghghghhfsd ]
what ; and then someone caught someone else sneaking out of Spartanbase at 5 am.
where ; Spartanhaus
when ; directly after this
warning(s) ; POSSIBLY
[ In hindsight, letting himself stay the entire night probably hadn't been a good idea. Anyone could've come to check on Rookie, or he could've woken up completely sober, and either of those would equal a conversation that he really did not want to have right now. He's. Okay with doing what he did. A little sketchy to pass it off as a drug-fueled delusion, yeah, but in the end how different was that from either of them getting really really drunk and getting up to something they'd already tacitly agreed that they both wanted. It hadn't been Rookie's overbearing shyness preventing anything from happening.
...and granted 100% of that is just excuses and he will go cliff himself if Rookie gets upset about this, but somehow, he doesn't think that's how it will go. There'd been plenty of opportunities to stop and both of them had been embarrassingly eager. Or rather, O'Brien had been embarrassingly eager. Nothing Rookie ever did seemed embarrassing. Either way he'd been just as happy to continue and god knew he couldn't have been faking anything when he was high as a kite. It had worked out.
He'd told himself he would leave the moment Rookie was asleep, because that was the entire point of this. Distract the other ODST until he passed out, give him something easy and instinctual to focus on that wasn't screaming about spiders or war flashbacks. And he'd meant to leave. He'd so meant to. He's still not entirely sure how he ended up tucked against Rookie, the other's face buried in his shoulder and a careless arm thrown over him. Part of him had instantly freaked out because what if someone saw and part of him could not give a fuck right at that moment for how stupidly good it felt, and had persuaded him to just go back to sleep.
That was three hours ago and the sun would be rising soon and he needed to get out before all the military losers woke their asses up, so here he is sneaking noiseless through the hallways, barefoot and just in trousers and a shirt that's too big for him (Rookie's) with the rest of his armor rolled up in his arms between his real shirt and some other crap he'd borrowed, to keep anything from clinking or jingling. All he had to do was get outside and book it to the nearest building anyway, it wasn't like anyone would be following him.
He'd left one particular window unlocked, all he has to do is slip out and go--
...
...or spend another ten minutes fighting with the buttons on it because some asshat had come along and keyed it shut arghghghhfsd ]