[ There's more Denji could say, like how he hadn't really gone to pay his tributes or participate in something as hackneyed as tradition…
He'd gone to see him, to find him, that as implausible as it sounds, he'd hoped that standing there as stoic as a statue or a tombstone would be the paper-thin cut-out of his figure. And that as soon as they reunited, they would team up to find a passage to hell and pull Power out from whatever hiding place, whatever trap door she'd concealed herself inside. She was always so good at running away, it makes sense that it'd take the two of them to find her.
So he waited and waited, ignoring Nayuta's inquisitive gaze, and tried to do what he thought Aki would want him to — because wouldn't that be a surprise for him? To walk and see Denji, of all people, cleaning; Denji, setting aside some orange slices and onigiri, as well as the less traditional crab legs they'd stuffed into their pockets from dinner the night prior, and okay, admittedly taking a break to eat some of the offerings; Denji, with his hands clapped together as he prayed, one eye opened to keep a lookout for someone, anyone, to walk out from the fog, touch their hand to the crown of his head, and tell him he did well. He did his best.
What Denji does instead is reach for the conditioner, squeezing the agent, milkier than the last, into his hands. Applies it to the ends of Aki's hair once it's thoroughly wrung dry, running his fingers through, carefully undoing any tangles he manages to feel out, the way he does whenever he helps Nayuta. ]
We should go again. [ Said as if it's only logical that Denji come along with him, as if it's a possibility within the same reach as Aki's hair spilling through his fingers, his angular knuckles brushing his collarbone. As if Aki still isn't trapped in place. ] If he was callin' for you, maybe there's something there waiting.
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He'd gone to see him, to find him, that as implausible as it sounds, he'd hoped that standing there as stoic as a statue or a tombstone would be the paper-thin cut-out of his figure. And that as soon as they reunited, they would team up to find a passage to hell and pull Power out from whatever hiding place, whatever trap door she'd concealed herself inside. She was always so good at running away, it makes sense that it'd take the two of them to find her.
So he waited and waited, ignoring Nayuta's inquisitive gaze, and tried to do what he thought Aki would want him to — because wouldn't that be a surprise for him? To walk and see Denji, of all people, cleaning; Denji, setting aside some orange slices and onigiri, as well as the less traditional crab legs they'd stuffed into their pockets from dinner the night prior, and okay, admittedly taking a break to eat some of the offerings; Denji, with his hands clapped together as he prayed, one eye opened to keep a lookout for someone, anyone, to walk out from the fog, touch their hand to the crown of his head, and tell him he did well. He did his best.
What Denji does instead is reach for the conditioner, squeezing the agent, milkier than the last, into his hands. Applies it to the ends of Aki's hair once it's thoroughly wrung dry, running his fingers through, carefully undoing any tangles he manages to feel out, the way he does whenever he helps Nayuta. ]
We should go again. [ Said as if it's only logical that Denji come along with him, as if it's a possibility within the same reach as Aki's hair spilling through his fingers, his angular knuckles brushing his collarbone. As if Aki still isn't trapped in place. ] If he was callin' for you, maybe there's something there waiting.