windfall | light a cigarette, i'll watch as it burns

light a cigarette, i'll watch as it burns

[ Knocking. The roar of ammunition fire in his ears. Blasts of heat and debris sticking to his face, dust crusting in his eyes. A delirious and delicious taste, sweet red like pomegranate, like Aki's skin scraping open in his mouth.

Denji doesn't talk much about what happened that day.

Not unusual, since he doesn't really talk much about any of what transpired prior to meeting Nayuta, either. Or about how sometimes he can still sense, not even hear, but sense a phone ringing in the distance, its pull like a spiral cord that's gone taut, that's trying to make its way back home and if he follows its trail, he might just find someone familiar on the other end of the receiver.

No, he doesn't tell anyone all that, because, see, the last time he did, Kishibe had just hummed and looked at him, the kind of look Denji would get from adults whenever they caught him picking through the dumpster for his next meal: pitying. Then, he'd shook out a flask from the inside of his coat and said, "Sometimes it's better for the line to go dead, kid."

Weird response, right? It'd made Denji go silent, think a bit. And after a while, he hadn't liked that so much, so he'd changed the subject to something inoffensive, like complaining about how much Nayuta's so much better at arcade games than he is, but Kishibe had cut him short at that point to go take a call.

Naturally, Denji had followed.

It's a little sad that a man in his silver years is the only person he can confide in, but Kishibe's not a bad guy — and that's coming from someone who generally hates men. Then again, the guy doesn't show his gaunt face around these parts unless he absolutely has to, which is probably by his own design, so it helps that he's never around long enough for Denji to get sick of seeing him. Up until that conversation, his absence wouldn't have been something Denji paid notice to. It'd usually take weeks and months and Nayuta asking where the funny, drunk geezer who always sneaks her hard candy is for him to see past the everyday chaos of being Tokyo's friendly neighborhood Chainsaw Man.

But as Denji creeped closer, overhearing some words but not registering most of them, a dangerous curiosity brought him to the edge of his hiding spot. What the hell has this dude been up to?

And then he'd froze.

"So the Gun Devil's position has been compromised. Initiate a tactical retreat."

Afterward, he hadn't done anything for a solid week besides go to school, kick some devil ass and stare vacantly at a pair of eggs frying in the pan for dinner each evening. Predictably, Nayuta had rapidly gotten sick of the menu. So before he could make his eighth pair of fried eggs, she'd scaled up his back and twisted his earlobes until he begged for forgiveness.

"Stuuupid! Dummy! Get a hold of yourself!" Nayuta raged on. "No more acting weird, or else I'm putting doggy kibble in your cereal again!"

She was right. He needed to get a hold of himself. Yeah, he was dumb, but that didn't mean he had eggshells for brains. He could still do stuff in his own way.

In the following weeks, Denji spent his time hounding members of the Devil Hunter Club for all and any relevant knowledge pertaining to devils. From rumors about recent devil sightings, to insights into things like the theoretical mechanics behind how long it took for certain types of devils to die in Hell and be reborn, to mathematical equations projecting the survivability rate of fiends based on the velocity and quantity of violence…

Of course, he only understood about three-percent of anything at any given time, but one detail of interest shared by some gloomy, pig-tailed girl stood out to him. According to her, a mysterious amount of devils had been slain in the Kabukicho district, none of which had been reported by either civilian hunters or Public Safety ones.

Anyone with half their wits would be able to easily determine that this wasn't a reasonable lead, but for Denji? He could feel something trilling out to him. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Where'd she say the place was…?

[ Kabukicho.

Read any tourist pamphlet and it'll tell you the district is littered with kitschy attractions during the daytime, perfect for a good photo-op with friends and family alike. At night, though, only lies the seedy underbelly of Tokyo. Inebriated salarymen, hawking hosts and hostesses, flickering neon signs advertising late-night panaceas for the ills of mundane living — it's the type of wonderland no goofy teenager should be wandering about alone, yet here he is. Kinda sucks he isn't there under funner circumstances, but whatever.

Denji squints down at the map hung in his hands. If his intel's any good, which is debatable, he should be headed for the area circled in red, right behind the adult cinema. All he has to do is keep straight, then take a left somewhere… about… here. ]

What the — [ His steps come to a sudden halt. ] It's just an old, empty lot?!

[ He idles around for a moment, nudging at an unused pile of construction materials, but nothing so much as gasps alive or tries to maim him. He should be happy about that, technically, and just retrace his steps back. Go home before any cops give him grief for staying out too late.

Then, a ghoulish little squeal trickles out from the entrance of one of the back alleys, too real and too nearby to be misconstrued for anything other than a dying devil. Something else is singing out to him, too. Tugging at him to come closer, closer.

The thing about Denji is that he always comes where he's called to. So he makes for it, doesn't care if he's chasing after a shadow or some trick of the light.

The blood and innards of the devil are nothing but glistening streaks against the ground by the time he arrives, but the only thing in his sights is the darkened shape of someone's silhouette up ahead. He can't make a single distinguishable thing out about them, but every hair on the back of his neck standing, excitement and sickening hope bubbling over in his stomach.

He can't resist. His voice booms out: ] Hey, hey, hey! Leaving so soon?

[When Denji ran his chainsaws through him, Aki dreamt he was in the snowy landscape of his childhood.]

[Hurry up! was what his brother kept calling. He stood there with his gloves in his hands, staring back at him, their home beyond him. All in one piece. Idyllic. Picture perfect. Fit for a postcard. Hurry up! Taiyou whined again, even shaking his arms in his puffy jacket.]

[But Aki couldn't move. His whole body felt weak. When he looked down to see how bad it all was, all he could see were bullet casings littering the ground around him like a shadow. When he rose his head, he was there.]

[Kishibe was the one who first met with him when he woke. Told him everything - well, in that way that Kishibe tells anyone everything. Short sentences, shorter answers, but Aki didn't need many. He understood a little too well what had happened to him. Understood how he had his arm again, stitched on as if made from something less human. It felt cold to the touch for weeks, blood failing to circulate. As if blood could flow through metal. At some point it grew warm, though, warm enough to use and anchor himself with. His vision came back, too, eyes no longer so bloodshot and sight less grainy. Yet when he looked at himself in the mirror, all he saw was him.]

[Find the rest of me, he had said, or rather, imparted. The devil didn't actually speak. It had a mouth that dropped open like a guillotine, let words out but never allowed any in. If Aki questioned him or argued, he would laugh like a child, cocking his head to the side and grinning with razor teeth. He could never see his eyes. Aki doubted he had any.]

[With the government owning the Gun, the contract was beneficial. They took him in, promised to protect him. Promised him they would aid him in the fulfilment of the contract. Why wouldn't they, after all. When Aki tried to kill himself the first time, they patched him back up. He had no other contracts - no Future to tell him what would happen, no Curse to end his life sooner. They all left him upon death, just as was in their deal. Both sides held up their ends of the bargain. Now Gun sat in his heart and grinned from muzzle to hammer.]

[Did I kill him? he asked Kishibe at some point, but Kishibe just downed his entire flask, not saying a word. His silence said enough. He never asked again.]

[Even as the nation exploded about Chainsaw Man, Aki didn't watch. He never requested news about the world, never asked to watch TV or read the paper. He did little aside from what he was asked, his head folding into the mouth of a pistol and his arms sprouting sights and barrels. His work went fast. Devils never stood a chance against Gun. The pieces would melt off of him into puddles of sludge and a man in uniform would nod at him, escort him back. His feet would slosh in the mud of cast-off casings and he would sleep in the back of a camper van until they unloaded him somewhere new. Always somewhere new.]

[In the city, where he's been for a few weeks, he thinks, it's different. He hunts mostly for the fun of it. Like a dog taking down ducks, the excitement is hard to ignore. The mess and destruction soothing in a sickening way. It's relieving to feel powerful. Without changing his head, his fingers can turn to little revolver cylinders, folding in on themselves when he fires at smaller devils as they scurry and squeal like pigs. Before it was an unequal fight, using Public Safety devils to fight devils, using swords against beasts. But with Gun it's different. Gun places the weight of the metal squarely in his hand. Gun shows him the satisfaction of the trigger pull.]

[He turns the instant he hears a human, the rounds melting into mud below his feet on the asphalt. As he continues through the alley, covered by overhead units and a sign advertising a love hotel, he pulls his hand back into shape and reaches to tug his jacket sleeve over it. Never humans, is the one rule he asked for. Never a human. He will never kill a human.]

[The voice he hears isn't fully human.]

[It takes him a moment. Gun rolls in his chest like he's feeling sick. He keeps walking but his steps slow. He has to meet Kishibe tonight. He knows they're moving him tomorow - heard the man in uniform mention it. New location, new routine. It's the same cycle, over and over. There's no reason this time will be any different. There's no reason to make it any different.]

[For some stupid reason, though, he looks back.]

[His hair is the same. Face the same. Mouth set in a grim line - the same. His eyes are still blue, shaded in the dark of the alley. They're wide as they look toward the voice, suspicious and doubting. But maybe...]

You?

[It comes out of him like a truck over gravel. Wheels uneven but driver desperate.]

[What kind of ghost has come for him today?]

[ He should speak. He should move. He should listen to one of the commands his nervous system is hissing at him: run away, run ahead, grab Aki, yell, apologize — do something other than just fucking stand there, rendered stupid by the whole unreality of the situation. But an even greater, even truer, instinct compels him to hold still, because Aki could be a truck, a freight train, and Denji still wouldn’t be able to move, wouldn’t even try to avoid collision if it meant he could keep staring, cross-referencing the person in front of him with the one in his wispy memories.

The one who died. The one he'd killed, skewered, left behind for the others to clean up.

It’s him, though, he thinks. It has to be, even if there are subtle differences here and there — he’s got both arms again, there isn’t a sword harnessed to his back — but those things are negligible. Aren't they? ]

Ah, uh…

[ Of course, his vocabulary chooses to up and vanish now of all times. Not that he'd had much of one to start, but the timing feels especially traitorous, like his own brain abandoning him when he needs it most.

This is what he wanted, isn't it? To see him one more time, prove his suspicions correct to Kishibe. Without a question this is what he wanted, and yet his head feels airy. As if with one look, Aki's fired a bullet straight between his eyes at point blank range and now there's a cold draft wafting into the place where all his cognition takes place. He keeps teetering between numb and fevered with disbelief, then back again, a sickness with no balm, no good prognosis. The symptoms worsen as he drifts forward, ignoring the squelching of dead tissue coming from beneath the plastic soles of his shoes.

There's a strange quality to the way Aki addresses him, but it's not something he thinks twice about. Prefers to see it as recognition, rather than the more painful alternative. He won't open that door, not yet. ]

Yeah, me. [ Soon as the words are rasped out, his throat prickles. Constricts. With what, Denji doesn’t want to find out. Coughing lightly, he clears his throat. ] I mean, who else would I be? Don't tell me you were expectin’ someone different to show up.

[ Not quite in reach, but Denji should be close enough now for Aki to notice he's taller than he once was. Nearly eye-level, really. But other than that, he's mostly the same, too: maybe he traded in his Public Safety uniform for a gakuran, but it's still barely within dress code; his teeth are still pointed; he's still looking at Aki, totally unguarded. Maybe a little astonished. ]

…You're really here.

[His image of Denji hasn't changed in the intervening year. Aki remembers him clearly, the kid with sharp teeth, blond and wild hair, pinpoint eyes. He remembers how tall he was, his weight - from when he would grab him out of the way of something or push his shoulder in a semblance of annoyance. His height, when he would lean around Aki to look at a menu and demand taiyaki with an excited cheer. Misreading the kanji on roadsigns, pointing out things randomly that caught his eye. He remembers what he smelled like. The way he rolled his sleeves and fiddled with his tie.]

[This Denji doesn't match right. He's taller. He's put on weight - mass and not muscle, like he's eating well. He's in a school uniform, opened down the middle like he used to wear his Pubic Safety uniform. He's holding himself differently, too. All in little ways Aki wants to use to reject him, say he mistook him for someone else. But the more he speaks, the more he recognizes him, and the more his heart starts thrashing.]

[He's dead. He's been dead for - he doesn't know how long. He can't remember how long it's been.]

[Unlike Denji, not once did he doubt that. If he survived, then Denji had to have died. If Aki was still here, then Gun won.]

[So why is he there, a high schooler in an alleyway of Kabukicho?]

[He doesn't realize he's moving forward until he sees Denji growing closer to him, Aki's eyes wide and pupils pinned. He reaches out with his left arm as if to grab him but doesn't, the same arm falling to his side like the holstering of a rifle as he stares across at him.]

[I hate crying in front of this kid, he thinks to himself with frustration, remembering the guffaws from the two of them as Aki wiped his eyes at the end of a movie. It had just been nice, at the time. To see a family have a happy ending.]

Denji...

[He looks lost. Staring across at this kid who should be dead. Eyes threatening him with stinging salt.]

You lived?

[ Denji is silent.

It’s an easy question with a very easy answer. But accompanied by that expression on Aki's face, like he's on the verge of utter collapse, like he might scatter from his view completely if Denji doesn't respond right — a faint twinge of apprehension curdles in his gut.

The truth is, Denji's seen him looking glassy-eyed and unsure like this before. Unmoored. He still remembers those last few months together. Aki, with his single empty sleeve hanging there as he struggled to keep the cutting board from moving during dinnertime. Some days, wincing out of nowhere from an unseen aching attached to where his arm used to be. Most days, walking out the door like it might be his last time.

But above all, he remembers not being able to do a single thing to help. So if Aki's looking for reassurance from Denji now, and Denji's really the only one who can give it to him, then he wants to be good. He wants to do that for him, he thinks. ]

Stop kiddin' around.

[ Weak, no bite. It isn't said with any genuine contempt, at least not while he's still fighting against that lump in his throat, and now too, against the accelerating thrum of his pulse in his ears. To him, the sound's no different from the kick-start of an engine, could even be Pochita trying to give him some last-minute courage. ]

I'm right here, aren't I? See, pinch me — or I can pinch you, I don't care.

[ Where Aki had hesitated to cross that final distance between them, Denji doesn't. Just like that, without thinking too hard about it, he takes hold of Aki's left arm, warm and solid, with far more gentleness than he ever knew he had the capacity for. Eyebrows squishing together, he tries hard not to frown immediately — the contact isn't the issue here, it's what he touches: the arm isn't sinewy or manufactured, like a regular prosthetic would feel, nor is there any evidence of the cold artillery from their last battle.

His fingers pincer at an unblemished, unscarred place at Aki's wrist, and what folds is skin. ]

Look at that. [ A mumble to himself. Marveling, almost. ] Alive.

Edited 2023-07-15 17:16 (UTC)

[Denji bridges the gap and Aki feels his hair stand on his nape, a sense of terror he hasn't felt in years. When he dreams of ghosts they don't come near him. Of course Denji would be different - but then he reaches down so easily and grabs his skin, pinches his - ]

Ow - [Of human habit, he pulls his hand away. A year ago, he may have smacked Denji up his head for that. Today, he stands there with his arm risen to his chest, blinking. Contact.]

I killed you.

[He says it like a question. Didn't he? Isn't that what happened? Both Power and Denji were there that day in that scene. He saw Denji crouched over Power and then never once saw either of them again. Nothing survives Gun, so there's only one - ]

[His eyes widen suddenly.]

Then, Power - [Not once has he heard anyone mention the blood fiend, not in overhead reports or even ones he was given directly.] And, Angel - [Him, he can't remember where he was. Doesn't remember what happened to him. He remembers him in the hospital and that they rode a bus together. That's it.] - They're...?

[He's reached out to grab Denji as he speaks, his hand around his elbow to keep him close as if he's afraid he's going to bolt.]

[Who else was there...? Who was there that day? Isn't he forgetting someone? But forget that for now - How is his memory this wrong? How is Denji before him if he saw him blown in half? What about all those people? The apartment? It doesn't make any sense. He knows there was death in the air that day. So...]

If you didn't die, who did?

You, doofus!

[ He blurts out without meaning to, stressed by the questioning and all of a sudden feeling the narrowness of the alleyway. One year later, and he still can't seem to examine that stuff from back then without the inside of his skull turning to porridge. Not the tasty kind, either. If not for Aki's grip, he would have jerked away in alarm, skidded his heels back. Instead, he settles for letting his gaze plummet to the ground.

This isn't how he wanted to air out what happened, but now he has to keep going, doesn't he? If he really has no idea, then… Denji doesn't notice his back teeth are grinding until he's already looking back up again at Aki, resolved or resigned. Who can say. ]

And I'm the one who killed you. Get your facts straight.

[ If he were someone else, he probably would have been able to navigate his responses a little more delicately, but this is Denji we're talking about. He only knows how to bluster forward. ]

Power and Angel are gone. [ Mercifully, no details, because he thinks Aki might actually cry on the spot. His lips clamp tight for a moment before adding: ] And Makima, too. A lot of crappy things happened, alright?

[ Obviously, his answers leave much to be desired, the type that'd only incite further questions, but with such enormous implications from these alone, maybe Aki can appreciate being spoon-fed just the bare bones for now.

Because, as luck would have it, it's then that, from the entrance Denji had used to get this far, an authoritative voice shouts, "Hey, what's going on back there?"

The glow of a flashlight emanates from a fixed point behind them, but doesn't quite reach where they're currently standing. Denji's back shoots straight up, and this time, he fully wrests himself away from Aki as his head whips in the direction of the call. ]

Ah, hell, not the fuddy-duddies! C'mon, we gotta go. This way —

[Denji killed him? Aki stares at him like he's insane. This is the worst ghost he's ever dealt with. How the hell...]

[Before he can say any of that, though, Denji drops the news he already knew and any fleeting hope that he had for a moment is gone. Of course. Aki doesn't outwardly react until he mentions Makima and then his eyes widen in shock. For a moment, he can't believe he forgot about her. It comes rushing back at her name - the beach, the contract, the - ]

[And then suddenly they're being shouted at and Denji seems like he wants to run. Aki looks momentarily confused at him (why would Denji be running from the police?) before he stops him with a hand on his arm and raises his voice toward the light.]

It's me.

[When the officer shines the beam on him, it lowers in an instant. He comes toward them and asks if he's finished for the day, but Aki keeps his hand out over Denji, like a parent holding a child back during a harsh stop in a car. Less keeping Denji from jumping forward and more keeping him blocked from any danger.]

I need to talk to Kishibe.

[The conversation is brief, mostly because the man tailing him for the day has very little authority on the matter. They come to an agreement via radio that seems to say that the Gun can continue to lie low for the rest of the day with his former... (the officer looks at Aki who fills in the blank with coworker) coworker, until they can get ahold of his contact. Aki isn't exactly able to make decisions about where his body goes most of the time, but while they're trying to keep him laying low, his promise to stay in a civilian home for a bit seems to be more than acceptable. He's not sure why. Maybe it's the way he keeps holding onto Denji by the elbow, as if he might bolt away from him. As if, when not in his sight, he's at least within arm's reach.]

[As they're driven back to whatever address Denji provides, Aki finally speaks to him again, something that's been bothering him.]

What are you wearing...? [Did he find it at a thrift store or something? Comparatively, Aki is dressed in similar clothes as he always has while at work - collared shirt, dark slacks, sneakers. No tie or jacket, but still.]

[ Perhaps as expected, Denji doesn't get what's going on, doesn't get why Aki keeps him leashed to his side. Still, it's not as if he shakes him off; in fact, he's a little relieved that they don't have to immediately part ways so soon after meeting again. Although it's hard to tell from his current disposition.

From the snatches of conversation overheard between Aki and the officer, Denji's understanding of the situation is that he's safe from an overly long lecture from his principal at least, which is really all that matters to him. Oh, and that he's going to have to setup another futon once they arrive at his place… That matters to him, too, but for hugely different reasons. Reasons that make his knee jiggle more and more frenetically the closer their vehicle draws to the apartment.

It's Aki's question that drags him out of his distracted stupor. Denji blinks, not sure if he heard right at first, before then casting a slantwise glance his way, expression puzzled. ]

Hah? What, you never seen a school uniform before? [ …For some reason, both of his arms cross his chest, hugging his jacket nearer to his body. ] I'm not giving it to you, so don't even ask.

[ Okay, Denji. ]

I don't want it, stupid.

[It's amazing how easily they slip back into this sort of thing. The look Aki gives Denji for saying that is wilting. Deeply annoyed. As if Aki would tell him to pull it off and hand it over. Who does he take him for?]

You're going to school? Really. [That's what he can't picture. The boy with chainsaws coming out of him and covered in devil blood sitting quietly in a classroom. The image is too easily rejected in his mind.] Are you living alone? And - [Since they're driving pretty far...] Why were you in Kabukicho?

[Not the place a high schooler should be. Aki sounds like he's the one who's going to be giving him a lecture for that, but he doesn't. Instead, it's clear there's something else on his mind with all of this, something that takes him a moment to finally say.]

Who is taking care of you?

[ In Denji's mind, the same dude who hurled him into a pile of trash and spat on his freshly issued Public Safety uniform the first day he stepped foot into Tokyo probably wouldn't be above stealing his new one, but that's neither here nor there… ]

I get by on my own just fine, thanks! Sometimes I even wake up in time to get to class before lunch. [ Give him a break, he's still getting used to this whole structured learning curriculum concept! ] Plus, I've got tons of fans now that I'm a superhero.

[ But notably, no mention of friends. ]

Augh, why're you being so nosy?

[ He's griping, but there's something, ah, warming? About this. About having someone worry about him to this extent again. ]

I wasn't up to anything bad in Kabukicho. I was… [ Fleetingly, all the weeks leading up to tonight flash to mind. The preparation and research just to find one person is something he might have played up or held over anyone else's head, but it feels weird to admit to Aki in particular. His eyes shift to the passing sights out the window. If you look closely at his reflection, it's clear he's just pouting. ]

Followin' a tip on something. No big deal. What were you doing there, huh?

[ There's one last thing he's pointedly not saying, but he won't be willingly ripping off the band-aid on that one until they finally arrive. ]

[It's one thing after another that shoots Aki's heartrate up. Everything Denji says stresses him out even more. He's only sometimes getting to class before lunch? He has fans? He's a superhero??]

What are you...

[And then he asks why Aki was there and he finally looks away, stares out the window with a deep frown. Annoyed. This isn't about him - Denji is the one running around in sketchy areas as a teenager. Talking about being a superhero... What the hell is he on about?]

Just devil hunting. [He's not lying, there. Answer given, he turns it right back around on Denji as he feels the car slowing at their destination.] You shouldn't be in an area like that. You should be focusing on school - You're not still in Public Safety, are you? Is that what you mean? [There's a twinge of discomfort as he says that, hopes he's not. If he's in school, then surely he's not. Surely he's left all that behind. That was what Denji wanted, wasn't it? To live a normal life? The car pulls to a stop at the curb but Aki doesn't move.]

You're not... putting yourself in stupid situations, are you?

Nah…

[ There's a part of him that considers testing his luck, leaving his answer at that and letting Aki decipher for himself which question it belongs to. But he's not that much of a jerk, he knows why Aki's trying to catch up to speed. Denji's just as curious, would probably be asking as many questions, if not more, if Aki'd let him: where he's been, what he's been up to, why the hell he looks so newly minted when he was left in shreds amidst the rubble of their old place. With so many rifts in what they both do and don't know, they'll eventually have to do a proper reconciliation of their accounts. This much is only a stopgap. ]

Like I told you already, I can take care of myself. Public Safety's a real pain these days, so no, I'm not with those guys. Too uptight. 'sides, there's more important stuff to take care of.

[ Speaking of which.

With a lift of the handle, the door on his side comes open and Tatsuki Apartments appears in full view — from the outside, the building is a grade below modest, a two-story thing that just barely passes fire inspection, but the premises are well-maintained at least. Utilities, so-so. The property manager is a nice, older lady who drops off fruits and produce at their door every few weeks, leftovers sent from her sister, she always tells him, so that pretty much makes up for everything else wrong with the place.

He likes it here decent enough, but no one would have ever guessed it by the tense hunch of his shoulders as they see off their driver. He fidgets with his collar, tugging at it as if to air out some of the sweat building up, even though the night is relatively cool. ]

H-Hey, listen, before we go up, I gotta tell you: I have a — a roommate, sorta. It's complicated, but we gotta follow her rules.

[ The absolute irony of this conversation, given the amount of household guidelines and personal boundaries Denji crossed, and at moments actively resisted, in his time living with Aki… ]

You can't enter any of the other apartments, you can't open the fridge without permission, and, uh, what else… [ He trails off, counting his fingers and reciting the same ones he'd just said, like maybe it'll jog his memory. ]

— Oh, that's right. You can't get too close to me in front of her.

[There's a sense of relief that Denji isn't working with Public Safety any longer, but Aki can still see the tension in him. He assumes it's due to himself, knows he's asking too many questions, but he doesn't care. He spent a year mourning him and wishing he was dead due to what he'd done. Now Denji is sitting in front of him telling him to stop being so nosy? Like hell. He gets out of the car and briefly talks to the officer, accepting a slip of paper with a phone number on it before he drives away. Aki looks around the neighborhood, judging it, considering it, whether it's a good fit, but then looks to Denji when he speaks up.]

[The image Aki gets from his description of his roommate is a crotchety old lady who's specific and overbearing. Maybe it's a guardian of sorts. Someone cooking his meals, or doing his laundry. Aki looks dissatisfied with the description he gives, and the rules, until he gets to the last one.]

[What the hell kind of rule is that? ...Surely that sort of thing will be nullified when he introduces himself. Surely it's just a protective measure against anyone taking advantage of someone like Denji. Someone who's already been taken advantage of all his life. Aki isn't like that, so surely he won't count. He still looks peeved by the rules he gives him, mentally noting they're leagues stricter than the ones he had in his home that Denji flagrantly disregarded, but... But for right now, maybe he'll believe that Denji has matured. Is a rule abider. Despite finding him in Kabukicho.]

Alright. [It sounds like he's saying That's silly. Judgmental, but accepting.] Who are you living with? A teacher? [Probably not, if he's always late to school.] Whoever it is, I'll talk to them and explain who I am.

[...Why would he even try to enter any of the other apartments? If this is Denji's home life, is he actually on the track to having a normal life like he wants? Like Aki wants for him? He pushes the paper into his pocket and follows Denji's lead, still looking judgmental but at least staying a few steps behind him rather than holding him by the arm like he actually wants to. Like he might vanish if he doesn't.]

A teacher? [ His eyes incrementally widen around the edges in reaction to Aki's guess. Scandalized. ] No way, that'd be the worst! [ Can you imagine Denji being forced to complete his homework the instant he returns home? The horror? ] She's a student like me.

[ Well, not exactly like him. A few qualifying additions to the picture he's painted of Nayuta so far would probably make a world of difference to Aki's first impressions. Unfortunately, foresight has never been his forte. ]

Watch your step there. That one isn't bolted all the way down, so you gotta hop over it.

[ All they're doing is going up the rickety stairs and making a turn to arrive at Denji's unit, and yet he doesn't even bother pretending to act inconspicuous about looking over his shoulder every so often to make sure Aki hasn't lost his way. Like that'd even be possible. Maybe it's because he's feeling the absence of his touch more than he'd like to admit, enough that it's hard for Denji not to be the one to stretch a hand over and hold onto the cuff his sleeve or something.

But he doesn't, because that's dumb, because he needs to focus on patting his pockets now that they're at the door instead. Figure out which one the key fob is in. Yeah, that's what he needs to do.

It's as he's about to scrounge it up that it becomes obvious he needn't have exerted the effort. The door swings out on its own abruptly with a reverberating clatter, and standing there behind it? A young girl, her hair still in a familiar braid at this hour for whatever reason, wearing pajamas dotted with a creature from some popular anime. It appears to be an orange fire-breathing dragon.

The ends of Denji's mouth curve, trying to look like a smile rather than the grimace it is. ]

I'm home, Nayu — ggck!

[ "What took you so long?!" Not letting either of them pass into the apartment, her head buries deep into his stomach, painfully — a purposeful surprise attack, no way, no how about it! But then her tiny arms encircle his waist in a hug so tight he can't really be mad. Denji's hands rest upon her shoulders as he twists, shooting Aki a look crossed between panicked and apologetic. ]

Crap, just a sec —

[ "Huh?" Nayuta's nose wrinkles. Her face turns to stare at their guest, suddenly assessing. Gauging a threat. "Denji, I thought I told you we had enough pets at home. Put that one back where you found it. He stinks." ]

Edited 2023-07-17 00:00 (UTC)

[A student... Is he living with a classmate? This whole situation is so weird, but Aki supposes that Denji having a normal living situation wouldn't suit him, anyway. He follows along, watching the step he points out, all while keeping his eyes glued to him, staring him down in a way that would make most people uncomfortable but Aki doesn't care. Even still, seeing him talk, act Denji-like in fiddling with his pockets, explaining stupid stuff like a rickety step... It's just not right. He shouldn't be here. He's supposed to be dead.]

[But then the door slams open and Aki watches a little girl suddenly slam into him, pajamas on, yelling at him like he's an absentee father. Aki steps back a bit from surprise but what surprises him even more is the sudden sea of dogs panting at the door, looking around at the action like they get dinner and a show. He's about to ask what, exactly, is going on when the child suddenly labels him as stinking and being a pet. He stares at her with an incredulous look, obviously offended. What in the hell is this kid talking about? Why does Denji live with an elementary schooler? And why are there so many dogs?!]

I didn't think your living situation could get weirder.

[He doesn't know why his heart is racing. He doesn't feel fear, but he doesn't feel adrenaline, either. There's no way to really talk to Gun unless Gun feels like it (and even then, he's not really talking to him, just kind of absorbing his weird thoughts) but the sensation he gets is that he doesn't like the kid. There was nothing when it came to Denji that Gun had any reaction to, but this one... This one, Gun seems antagonistic toward. He does his best to ignore it while explaining who he is while the kid keeps clinging to Denji.]

I used to work with him. He's - [He's what. He's what? They weren't friends. Nothing like that.] ...He was my junior.

[...It's close enough. He only got Denji to call him senpai a few times, but it's still correct.]

[ As unwelcoming Nayuta is deliberately being, it's not outright hostility. If the way she keeps rubbing her eyes against the hem of Denji's shirt is any suggestion, what wariness she feels toward Aki isn't going to win over the costs of staying up past her bedtime, much to his relief. Even the Control Devil has her weaknesses, and one of them is that she's usually snoring into Custard's coat by nine.

Cheeks puffed out, Nayuta cranes her neck, looking up at Denji for confirmation. ]

…Yep, what he said!

[ As if to drive the point home, Denji steals another look at Aki then. Nonchalant, like he was my junior isn't sticking in his brain like a cancerous tumor, difficult to eradicate and growing with each passing second. It isn't an inaccurate description, but it is one that begs the question of, well. What are they now? With rank and necessity no longer variables to contend with, does that just make them two coworkers who grieved each other? How awkward is that… ]

The guy's pretty much homeless right now, so I can't put him back. He's staying for the night. [ And before she can get a word in edgewise — ] If you're nice to him, I'll letcha have extra syrup on your pancakes tomorrow.

[ Negotiation tactics. Exactly like Aki taught him.

Nayuta's very much the same breed of food-motivated gremlin as Denji, easily bought off by the promise of junk, so even while her gaze curiously switches between Denji and Aki, he already knows she's taken the bait long before she releases him. "Sure, whatever… But you have to actually make the pancakes. No frozen ones!"

Perking up from where they'd been spectating, the dogs shuffle apart to make way for Nayuta's retreat back into the apartment and into their bedroom. Some of them follow on her heels, while the others linger back to sniff at Aki's converses. ]

Anyway, I know it's weird. [ Denji nudges their wet snouts away with a foot, making room for the two of them to finally enter. It's a smaller space, but Nayuta and he manage to do a good job of keeping it cleaner than expected, save for when either of them have a school project or something. The comics are all shelved, there are dishes still drying in the rack, pet toys stuffed in a crate. They've got plants, though one is sadly wilted. Everything has its place there — and maybe Aki could, too, for a time. ]

But livin' with you was just as weird, right?

Home--

[Aki shuts up before he can sound too outraged. He isn't homeless. What the hell does Denji think he's been up to for a year - scrounging through dumpsters? He's not homeless.]

[...Well, he supposes he doesn't have a home, in the traditional sense. But he's still not homeless.]

[He manages to stay quiet through the rest of the exchange, ignoring the rolling feeling in his heart that feels like... like what. Indignance? Is he just feeling what Aki is feeling? For now, he pushes that away, tries his best to ignore the sensation. He watches Denji use the abilities he watched him hone with Power, coaxing with food, and it's only then when Nayuta looks his way in one of her many back-and-forths that he sees her eyes. It triggers something in him, something familiar... But before he can see them any closer to confirm, he feels one of the dogs start sniffing at his shoes and looks down in surprise.]

[...Doesn't he recognize this dog?]

[When the kid finally heads inside and Denji pushes the dog away, the rushing feeling in his heart is starting to give him a headache. He feels weird, here. Something weird is going on in this apartment, and it's more than the fact that Denji is living with an elementary schooler and a pack of dogs.]

[And a cat. His eyes briefly widen when he sees Meowy, who doesn't move to greet him. All that litter scooping may have been for nothing in that respect, but in his own way, Aki does look a little relieved to see her. He looks around the rest of the apartment as Denji speaks, tugging his collar to try and stifle the strange feeling running through him. It all feels weird. Maybe he's just tired - using Gun does use a lot of blood, after all.]

I don't know about that.

[If it was just as weird as this. He watches the way all the dogs seem to follow after the girl, trading between taking a look at the new person in the home and trotting back into what Aki assumes is the bedroom. He blinks in recognition at that - this apartment is small. Really small. And he essentially invited himself here to stay.]

...I'm not homeless, Denji. [He'll start with that. He's still mostly in the entryway but he doesn't take off his shoes. He doesn't look at Denji, either, instead staring at the two plants. One wilted, the other standing tall.] You said you had that devil in your heart, didn't you? That it saved you from dying. [He still remembers the name. Has to, since he heard the way Denji mumbled to him in the middle of the night.] Gun did the same to me. The government is taking care of me for now, until they can extract him.

[He knows that won't happen. He knows this Gun is too weak for that. But he says it like it's even a viable thing to work towards.]

[ Denji's listening. It doesn't look it as he shucks his shoes off, lets his jacket and backpack land somewhere off to the side, but he's listening. He meanders into the kitchenette to grab a glass, and Meowy stretches out from her spot atop one of the upper cabinets, daintily hopping onto his shoulders, but he hears every word. Filtered tap water rushes out, but it feels like his head's the thing that's overflowing.

So Gun's like Pochita. So Aki's like him. How does he feel about that? How should he feel about that?

…The faucet's too loud. He shuts it off to hear himself think.

Back then, they didn't always tell each other everything, some stuff didn't need saying, but what Denji did know with utmost certainty was how much Aki hated Gun. It's not something he ever hid, though the amount of moments it came up in conversation steadily lulled with time. Then, after that one meeting with Makima, the one about war and how they'd be coming to blows with the other countries, all that hate had abruptly gone flat. Lukewarm and fizzled out, like soda that'd spoiled from sitting out for too long. Gun was just another weapon, another vessel for humankind's self-realized calamity. The reveal hadn't meant much to him, but it had to his stubbornly composed superior.

Aki doesn't look it, but he's a crybaby through and through. For him, things like this… ] Must've been hell.

[ That's saying something, considering they'd both been there and back.

Returning to where Aki remains standing, stiff and unmoving, a pale specter who's followed him home but can't bring himself to haunt it, Denji can feel the stirrings of anxiety flip-flop in his chest. He's holding a glass of water with medicinal tablets for stomach pain tucked under the bottom because Aki's been looking fucking constipated this entire time, but suddenly it's not the condensation hanging off the glass making his hands clammy.

He can't remember. Did he lock the door? Not that a lock would stand a chance against a hybrid, if Aki's claims are true, but it still doesn't hurt to check for his own peace of mind. Maybe if he yammers, that'll distract Aki and he can reach behind him to feel the handle — ]

Uh, I dunno what to think about that government stuff! The military's been hangin' around Tokyo a lot more and it feels weird. Things have been different. [ He hasn't handed over the glass yet, so the water swishes around against the lip, a few droplets falling down the side and into his fingers as he squeezes an arm behind Aki to feel for the knob lock. ] But, y'know, if what they're doing means you're still here and not anywhere else, I guess I'm glad?

[The way Denji putters around, to his view, isn't too unusual. In some ways, it's relieving to see again. The way he avoids looking at people sometimes. He realizes he's coming toward him with water and thinks for a moment he got it for him, wants to say something about him being a good host... But through the bottom of the glass he can see some sort of medicine, like a tablet, and his stiff expression suddenly crinkles as he meets Denji's movements near parallel. He leans his head when Denji reaches around him, then moves the other way to let him around and meets his opposite lean at the same time. ...So annoying. He's trying to get a look at his face.]

Are you not feeling well? [Aki reaches out with the back of his right hand to feel his forehead, trying to see if he's feverish. He remembers doing this so often it became normal, but the moment his knuckles makes contact he flinches it away like he was electrically shocked. He hesitates. Like he isn't sure if he should. Like Denji might burn him somehow. Or - more likely - like he might burn Denji.]

[But that's stupid. And he knows it is. In the moment that he stays flinched away he steels himself, almost clenching his hand, then forces it back on Denji's forehead, palm out this time. Petty, in a way. Demanding, in another way. He doesn't even realize he was trying to reach for the knob.]

Bwuh?! Wha — [ Immediately, the water jumps up in-between, splashing Denji's own face and, by that same token, the whole arm of Aki's sleeve. Meowy, who'd still been riding the nape of his neck, leaps just in time to avoid the uproar. Really, he should know better than to be shouting at this time of night. ] Huuuuh?! You're the one who's — who's sick! I should be the one checking you, asshole!

[ Denji doesn't jerk back, whether that's because his self-preservation is a thousand times jacked up from knowing firsthand what it's like to live inside an inferno, burnt to cinders, the entire inside of his mouth raw with ash — or just because this is Aki, and the palm of his hand is overbearing but balmy. Pleasant enough to lean into, if he actually closed his eyes and he let himself. A very real temptation that passes through his mind for a split second, stupid and unasked for, and as if to swipe it away, Denji's own hand disappears from where it'd been reaching for the door, coming up, and then smacking down into the center of Aki's brow.

Isn't this nice? ]

That's why you've been all sad-looking, right? You ate something rotten and now you're trying to hold your shit in until you can make it to the toilet!

[Since when is Aki sick? He's about to ask him what the hell that means when he suddenly gets water poured on him and smacked in the head and he blinks in shock, both offended and confused and now wet. Why the hell does Denji think he's about to shit himself?! Why is he so disgusting?? He hasn't changed a bit. He should hate him for it.]

You dumbass - [He has half a mind to smack him back, if not for the hit then for the way his sleeve is now drenched with water. Thankfully, maybe, for Denji's sake, he relents, settling him with a harsh glare instead that just adds to the sickly expression.] I'm not constipated, what the hell is the matter with you? I just -

[...He's not explaining this. It's stupid. Even he doesn't understand it. Aki moves around him at last, tugging his sleeve and trying to pat it dry with the other.]

Don't say something so disgusting. And stop shouting - You've got that kid in there.

[Who, thankfully, hasn't reappeared. He realizes he's staring at the doorway to the bedroom, the closed door locking off that mystery. He faces Denji again with a frown. For now, he'll bypass the shit comments. This takes precedent.]

What's with her, anyway? Since when are you living with a child?

[ Guess it'd be since I finished eating Makima…? The answer bursts to mind right away for once. Probably because it'd never vacated its place there to begin with, stored away from center stage but always watching from some back corner.

Denji almost lets that one loose from the get-go, word for word, until he remembers all those times Power would spoil the end of the movie before he even pressed play on the VCR, and rethinks it. Fine, it's a win for chronology today. Sighing, he drops into a slouch, starts heading toward the low table without making eye contact with Aki. ]

…Bah, have it your way. I'll tell you about it — all of it, but her deal comes later. Just siddown, already.

[ The half-full glass and medicine are set down now, both of which are free for Aki to take, judging by how they're positioned in front of the unoccupied seat cushion. Which is, well, their only one. Denji doesn't join him yet; since he's still lightly drenched, he takes a swift moment to rub his face into the scrunched up neckline of his shirt, the hem of it riding up — it's a little canine-like, reminiscent of the way a wet dog might roll around against a towel after a bath. He even gives his head a little shake to get all the damp strands out of his eyes. ]

Well, after you died, or got adopted by the feds, or whatever you said, it was just Powy and I. [ He finally sits, then, kinda awkwardly planting himself down on the ground. ] You set us up there good, so, um, thanks for that.

[Aki follows him to the small table, sitting down on the offered mat which he only realizes is the only one once he watches Denji sit down a moment later. He starts to lean over to tug it out... then decides against it. Denji has already gotten annoyed at him. Not to mention, if someone did that to him in his own home, he would be embarrassed on top of the annoyance. So he sits back down and waits for the explanation.]

[Which... gives him an odd feeling, to hear. He had thought that money went nowhere. Actually, until this moment, he'd barely thought about it. Didn't want to think about how he'd been planning out his own death for so long only for it to come in the worst way possible. Even Future's prediction hadn't adequately prepared him. Nothing could have.]

[Under his breath, he mutters,] Powy and me. [If he's in school, he should know the grammar now. His eyes move around the apartment, but he doesn't otherwise say anything about the money he left him.] So you two found this place. [Then neither Power nor Denji were killed by him, like he had thought - yet Power is still gone. He wants to tell Denji to hurry up and get on with it, but instead he finally takes the offered water and has a long drink. Not touching the medicine, though.]

[ The correction strikes him as so expected, grating yet comforting, he nearly breaks and says something snide back, because falling into their usual cadence is easier than speaking about this stuff — but nah, he's been stalling and twiddling his thumbs long enough now. He owes Aki this, he gets that much.

So after a moment of staring at his distorted reflection from the glassy, grayed out surface of the television, he starts treading, picking his way through the muddled fragments of what he can remember. ]

Yeah, and we still did missions, still went home and took a dump, still ate good enough food and snoozed right after. Things were basically the same, y'know. Only you weren't there to get pissed at us, which made everything feel basically not the same, too, if that makes sense.

Then, one night, things weren't so good. Just felt real cold and bad and messed up outta nowhere, so I left Powy at home, but I couldn't get myself fixed no matter what I did… That's how Miss Makima found me.

It felt like fate. Destiny, like she was s'posed to find me there and save me. And that felt nice, better than eatin' a whole platter of eel. Better than eatin' two of them!

She took me back to her place. That was fun. I… I really liked barking for her.

[ He pauses to wet his lips, his mouth dry and resembling the texture of grain the more he speaks. It's funny, he didn't think he'd make it this far without feeling like yanking on Pochita's tail and burying his bladed fists into his skull, but his insides are all eerily quiet. No hammering in his chest, no white noise in his ears.

Then again, he hasn't even touched the worst of it yet. There's still enough time to feel like shit. ]

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