[It's almost impossible to focus the longer Denji speaks. Aki keeps thinking to tell him to shut up, that it's enough for tonight. To stop telling him this. That he doesn't want to know any more. At some point despite that, his heart calms down and settles. He stares down at the glass of water on the table. The one antacid tablet sitting beside it, partially melted from contact with spilled water. He watches a small bubble on it pop.]
[The whole thing is still a fog in his memory. Of course he remembers Makima. He remembers her obsession with Denji that she refused to ever explain. The way she dropped him on Aki's doorstep with little notice. Just another dog to take care of. Power, right after. Their life. It was so normal. Everything was normal. He knew Denji's birthday was coming up in a few weeks, back then. He forgot about that all until now. He had asked Kishibe what sixteen year olds want. All he'd said was, "Tits." But Aki had been thinking about something Denji would actually want. Something Power wouldn't try to steal. Maybe something they could share. But he'd never figured it out. He went to the beach before he could make any decision.]
[He reaches up suddenly and drags a hand over his eye, realizing the fog in his brain was just a poor reflection of the clouds in his eyes. Stupid. He rubs the heel of his palm over the other and stares hard at the dusty TV set.]
[A fake family. Playing house. Was that all they were in her eyes?]
[He doesn't even have it in him to ask how the fuck Denji managed to eat an entire person like that.]
[When he finally looks at him, he looks equally tired, exhausted. Emotionally exhausted more than physically. To think all of that happened while Aki lay in a hospital bed, his arm barely pieced back together, trying to ignore the cold feeling in his chest. Cold, hard metal. Denji was here that whole time, suffering even worse. Worse enough to still call it all love.]
Denji.
[He reaches out to him, pressing his fingers through his hair. Less like a pet and more like a stroke. Trying to get a better view of his face before he lowers the hand to his shoulder, squeezing it tightly. Trying to confirm he really is here, sitting in front of him, the woman who killed them both in the room just behind them.]
You've been through so much. [And I couldn't stop any of it.]
no subject
[It's almost impossible to focus the longer Denji speaks. Aki keeps thinking to tell him to shut up, that it's enough for tonight. To stop telling him this. That he doesn't want to know any more. At some point despite that, his heart calms down and settles. He stares down at the glass of water on the table. The one antacid tablet sitting beside it, partially melted from contact with spilled water. He watches a small bubble on it pop.]
[The whole thing is still a fog in his memory. Of course he remembers Makima. He remembers her obsession with Denji that she refused to ever explain. The way she dropped him on Aki's doorstep with little notice. Just another dog to take care of. Power, right after. Their life. It was so normal. Everything was normal. He knew Denji's birthday was coming up in a few weeks, back then. He forgot about that all until now. He had asked Kishibe what sixteen year olds want. All he'd said was, "Tits." But Aki had been thinking about something Denji would actually want. Something Power wouldn't try to steal. Maybe something they could share. But he'd never figured it out. He went to the beach before he could make any decision.]
[He reaches up suddenly and drags a hand over his eye, realizing the fog in his brain was just a poor reflection of the clouds in his eyes. Stupid. He rubs the heel of his palm over the other and stares hard at the dusty TV set.]
[A fake family. Playing house. Was that all they were in her eyes?]
[He doesn't even have it in him to ask how the fuck Denji managed to eat an entire person like that.]
[When he finally looks at him, he looks equally tired, exhausted. Emotionally exhausted more than physically. To think all of that happened while Aki lay in a hospital bed, his arm barely pieced back together, trying to ignore the cold feeling in his chest. Cold, hard metal. Denji was here that whole time, suffering even worse. Worse enough to still call it all love.]
Denji.
[He reaches out to him, pressing his fingers through his hair. Less like a pet and more like a stroke. Trying to get a better view of his face before he lowers the hand to his shoulder, squeezing it tightly. Trying to confirm he really is here, sitting in front of him, the woman who killed them both in the room just behind them.]
You've been through so much. [And I couldn't stop any of it.]