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

[Naturally he crawls in close right away, but all Aki does is make a slight huffing sound when Denji is against him in the blink of an eye. He lowers his arm once he's situated, settling it around him.]

Ice packs... [No, he'd probably kick Denji out of the bed before he did that. But then Denji seems to know exactly what he was thinking and refuses to give him the option. Funny how that works.]

It's fine. You're not that hot.

[He turns his head into him, cheek against hair, eyes closed as he feels his breath against his undershirt. Very funny how it works. How he used to think about getting to experience human contact like this again. Waking up holding someone in his arms. Their weight on his body. How he hoped he would die before he ever saw anyone who might ever recognize him. That he would fade away as a government secret. A victim of the Gun and nothing more. But now, here he is, Denji against his body, both of them tired and damp from sex and a bath. A normal life. At least, maybe, for them.]

[Denji doesn't get kicked out. He wakes up a few times and adjusts to look down at him, turning on his side, waiting to see that he's asleep. Then slotting against him, tugging him close, making sure he won't think he's kicked out. No, he couldn't kick him out. Couldn't let him slide out, either. He knows this feeling of clinginess, one he just complained about, but here he is, reveling in it in the middle of the night and relaxing into it like an old friend. He was never this sort of person, before he got close. The loneliness fiend never could have hurt him. Now he wonders when it might come back from hell and be his most dangerous foe.]

[The sun wakes him up and Aki finally lets go of him, turning back onto his back and staring tiredly at the ceiling. The devil will probably be back here... Aki pulls himself up and looks at Denji. Seeing if he needs to wake him up or if the cold spot left beside him will do the job. If the former, he gets a shake to his shoulder. Weak but constant.]

[ Much like the nights prior, Denji tries to hold out for as long as he can before sleep takes possession of him. As always, there's a nagging presence in the back of his mind that's still not all the way convinced that he doesn’t have one foot in reality, the other sluiced in a long, drawn out dream — that dream being the warm inhale and exhale stirring the topmost hairs on his head, so close and so real it makes him question his own senses. Kinda like holding a seashell to your ear, thinking what you're hearing is authentic to the ocean's warbles, but it's really just one silvery echo of it. A mirage, an illusion.

The truth of the matter is that he could live with that type of thing, an echo. Could he do the same if it ever went quiet, ever left him for good?

That's just another question he doesn't know the answer to. Doesn't want to.

As the hours pass, Denji’s grip on him does steadily slacken, maybe with the trust that Aki wouldn't forcibly disentangle himself or knock him sideways for getting too cozy. But he never lets go, not fully, as if subconsciously aware that doing so would be tantamount to letting the axis of his very small world go off-center. Come sunrise and birdsong, his arms are still around his waist, mouth permanently yawned open as his gnarled snores disrupt what would otherwise be a beatific morning.

…The shaking at his shoulder, though, draws out a half-conscious mumble, a wrinkling to his brow. He doesn't swat at it, not yet lucid enough to register irritation at having his slumber cut short. Inch by inch, his eyes creak open, but as soon as light filters through his lashes, it's like he realizes the immediacy of his mistake, and he squeezes them back closed. But it's too late. ]

Akiii… Why… [ Rolling over, Denji smothers his face into Aki's hip to block out and groans, the sound not that far off from somebody sobbing. He'd kick his feet if he weren't afraid of Aki scolding him for acting like a kid again.

Eventually, his whines subside long enough for him to pitifully mumble into the hem of his shirt: ] I wanna kiss.

[He's such a brat. Aki turns to look out the small window letting in sunlight. It's still early enough that the room doesn't feel like it's baking, but he still feels warm. Probably from last night, he realizes. Denji clung to him all night long. Not that he didn't essentially do the same.]

You're so annoying.

[A muttered, half-hearted complaint. Aki sighs and pushes at Denji to get off from around him, prying at his hands in order to force him onto his back. Once he has him there, he leans down onto an elbow over him and meets his lips briefly, a chaste kiss if nothing else, but then thinks better of it (realizes Denji will complain that it didn't count) and kisses him again, this one longer and with more connection, lingering before finally pulling back and staring down at him from a few inches above.]

Alright? [And he begins to pull up fully, ready to stretch his arms and begin the day.]

[ Denji cranes his neck out, grin widening into the tilt of his lips, enjoying the lightness. How easy it feels to ask for something and have it be reciprocated, no matter how begrudgingly. So this is normal, too? he considers saying, when Aki breaks away, but doesn't, instead snaking one of his hands out from where they'd been tucked away. In a flitting movement, his fingers trawl the side of Aki's face, like he might haul him back down — except, with a huff of laughter, Denji changes his mind at the very last second and pinches painlessly at his cheek, pulling, so that he makes an extra dumb expression.

Fine. He'll be satisfied with this. ]

…Yeah. Yeah, alright.

[ Whether Aki punishes him with a smack to his hand or to his face, Denji sustains the lively skip in his gait for the entirety of the morning, as evidenced by: insisting that they brush and floss at the same time, forgetting that because Aki isn't Nayuta's size, any jerky movements will basically lead to the two of them jabbing each others' sides; imposing his rendition on breakfast without letting Aki do a thing to assist before Nayuta arrives; and, in his excitement at trying to make stir-fry bok choy for the first time, nearly spilling boiling sauce all over their slippers (and the floor).

Nothing seems to bring him down, though, despite every little mishap that occurs. Being normal feels great! Having sex feels great, too, even if his ass hurts! Yeah!

Nayuta joins them about partway through the table being set, her usual convoy of canines right there with her as she pushes herself inside. A reusable bag of peaches and plums imparted to her by the granny hang from her arm. Denji glances over his shoulder, puts the last the plate down, and motions with a wave of his hand for her to hurry up, set her things down —

"Something smells," she says, mildly.

His mouth twitches. From Nayuta, an observation like that could mean anything. ]

Yeah, well, that's the food. Smells bad but it tastes way better than it reeks! Tell 'er, Aki.

[Denji is so... energetic today. He seems so positive. Not that he wasn't especially positive before, but it's like there's an extra skip in his step. He follows along with his yankings and beggings and brushes his teeth with him, setting Denji in front of himself the first time he elbows him so he won't do it again, then keeps a close eye on his work in the kitchen, nearly getting boiling sauce all over his arms with how he jolts them out to grab him before he can ruin the two of them at once. It's too much energy for the morning, he scolds him. Calm down a little. Take it slow.]

[And then all the dogs and the devil are back. For a moment, Aki honestly forgot she was here. Not fully, but she'd been so perfectly put out of his mind that her reappearance is like an aftertaste he wasn't expecting. Her note about the smell reminds him also why devils are so annoying - they can smell anything. From fear to semen. He'll hope she's just smelling his own disdain for her or maybe it really is the food. Nothing that will require him to have a conversation on what sex is at 7 in the morning.]

Some of the best food smells the worst.

[Like durian. Durian is pretty good, and it smells like skunk. He sits down and waits for Denji to plate the table. He seems so keen on doing things on his own today, only using Aki for backup with the devil, apparently. Although...]

He's already made me sick with his food once. [But it was likely more Power's doing.] So let him take the first bite.

[ While Aki and Denji's voices occupy the conversation, she passes them both by to plunk the bags of fruit on the counter space, not casting a glance toward the bedroom where most of the dirty laundry is shoved. Her backpack clipped and uniform buttoned, it doesn't look like Nayuta has any reason to go scoping out the room, so they're probably safe from, er, her drawing whatever off-color conclusions a kid her age might. She's just there to eat and drag Denji off, apparently. ]

Guh, don't tell her that, asshole — listen, it's just a vegetable! [ A just about even portioning of sesame-garnished greens slides out from the pan, sliding on each plate with a splat of cooking juices. ] I can't mess up a vegetable! Nayuta, tell 'em!

[ "One time," Nayuta begins to recount, sounding too thoughtful as she takes her place at the table. The kind of thoughtful that can only mean she's about to make a joke out of him. "He tried to learn how to pickle veggies for us! But he used the wrong kind of salt and left it out for too long, and it came out all bitter and yucky and we both had to stay home from school 'cause of tummy runs — " ]

— okay, stop, stop! I'll take the first bite, you critics!

[ Nudging away a full clove of garlic he'd forgotten to dice, Denji picks up one of the bok choy bulbs. Holds it up to his nose for a sniff and, yeah, it stinks a little like fish… But that's only because he added fish paste to it for an extra kick. Although it's not an orthodox addition to stir-fry, he's pretty sure it should taste fine. Better than fine, even, with all the other sauces and seasonings he added.

He sneaks a glance up at the two of them, and something about their mirrored expressions, how clearly waned of any high expectations they are, preempts a scoffs from Denji. He chomps down. ]

Ow. [ His jaw pops as he slowly chews around the stem of the vegetable. It doesn't actually hurt to bite into, but it's obvious the vegetable hasn't softened enough. Probably because he didn't blanch the bok choy before tossing it all into the pan. ]

…I mean, ooohhhh, it's so good! It tastes great! Just like food!

[Denji fucked up pickles? Aki stares at him with the most dour look imaginable, like he just bit down on a too-salty pickled vegetable, himself. He looks down at the meal he's created, then back at him to watch him try the first bite. And he says "ow." About a bok choy. A bok choy that he boiled and fried. He somehow managed to make even that too firm...?]

[He can't help it - he laughs. Aki laughs a quiet but constant sound, raising his hand to cover his mouth out of embarrassment for both himself and Denji. It's been so fucking long since anything like this has happened, he forgot it was a normal part of living with him. A normal part of existing beside Denji. Watching him do this stupid shit. Making a shitty breakfast and then acting like it's soooo good and begging for Aki to try. He picks up his chopsticks to try it, himself.]

...It's so salty. [What the hell did he use, extra sodium soy sauce and a whole container of salt? Aki coughs as he reaches to wash it down with water.] I'm getting both of you children's cookbooks - You can't live like this. [But even saying that, he just sounds so amused. He hasn't laughed this much in ages, and even then he's barely laughing, just smiling. Stupid Denji.]

[ If he really can't live like this, why is it suddenly so natural to imagine every morning playing out this way? As though Aki's laughter is a corrective lens helping him see a future that lives beyond sleep, breakfast, school, lunch, walking the dogs, dinner — and, yes, the daily tedium of being Chainsaw Man. It's weird knowing that it's only been a couple days, yet… maybe he really could give it up for good. For this. Denji doesn't even realize how sore his cheeks are, straining from the sheer width of his own smile, until Nayuta's nudging his knee, her brows raised. He looks down. ]

Says you. [ Casually reaching for his glass of water, he tips it over his plate, pouring at least a third of its contents into his greens. As if diluting it will salvage the circus show he's eating. ] I think I could make it work.

[ Using his chopsticks, he folds another strip of bok choy over and in, swiping it through the water and sauce mixture. He doesn't even brother chewing this second bite, just swallows it down the hatch. With some difficulty. His tongue sticks out, like he's on the brink of gagging. Bleh. ]

…D-Doesn't the body need salt, anyway? I swear they taught us that at school!

[ "A regular human only needs a little over one gram, dumb-dumb," Nayuta says, following in Denji's example and continuing to eat from her plate. Making a face with each taste. Two peas in a demented pod. "But that doesn't really matter for any of us sitting here." ]

[They can't eat it like this... There's just no way. Aki shakes his head and reaches out to grab the three dishes, scooping away Denji's before he can make a worse mess of it with his water-sauce mixture. It needs to cook off most of the sauce and a rinse will get rid of the salt... He thinks he can salvage this.]

[But his hand falters when Nayuta makes that last comment - it doesn't matter for any of them what a typical human needs. Hell, it doesn't even matter that they're eating too much salt right now. But he pushes right past it for the moment. Won't think about it. He brings the vegetables up to the counter and finds a cutting board, getting ready to chop it into something smaller once he rinses it.]

It doesn't matter if it doesn't matter. [He turns the burner back on, adding oil to the pan. Not looking at either of them.] You shouldn't have to eat bad food. Denji, come here.

[And he shows him how to salvage it - how to rinse it, flattening the leaves and cutting straight down the center to split the stem so it cooks faster, letting it fry in oil before adding sauce for a minute or so, then the importance of taste testing. Which he lets him do once it's cooked for a bit longer.]

[It's more bland than salty, but still - it also crunches well this time instead of being too wilted or too thick. With rice from the cooker and a bit of pickled ginger, he thinks it'll make a passable breakfast.]

[ Denji promptly tails him into the kitchen; he usually goes where he's called, but that isn't the case here — he'd intended to remind him that his hand is still bandaged, that he doesn't have to do this. But Aki's already set to work revitalizing their meal, brooking no room for argument, so with an exasperated sigh, he parks his hip against the counter. One arm crossed while the other's raised so that he can pick his teeth. He mentally notes down the primary points of the lesson, and how can't he when Aki makes it easy to? Really has this thing nailed down to a science, for why he minces the bok choy stalks the way he does, the fry time, and going slow enough for him to follow along. Aki always seems to move with intention but that never comes across more clearer than when he's cooking. ]

Sheesh, you make it look so easy.

[ His grubby fingers dart out to thieve a strand of ginger from the top. Before Aki can lay into him, he hauls his ass and a few of what's been replated off to the table, setting them back in their previous arrangement. ]

Why don't you write your own book, huh? Chef Hayakawa. Or better yet, when Nayuta becomes super successful, she can hire you on as her personal chef! Then we'd never have to eat bad food.

[The hand injury doesn't feel like anything he hasn't dealt with before. In fact, he's probably been bitten by Denji before. He certainly got it from Power and Angel probably would have had it not spelled death. Devils love to bite. But when Denji makes that comment about working for Nayuta, Aki's response and tone has its own kind of bite to it.]

I would never work for a devil.

["You literally did," his mind reminds him, "for like three years." But he pointedly ignores that. He has no intention of ever working for - ]

[And then Nayuta fires back, "You're working for one now, with that smelly devil inside you," and the flash of violent rage on Aki's face is enough to nearly burn the whole meal. He looks at her like he's about to shoot her head clean off, even opening his mouth to say something or maybe do something - but he forces himself to stop. Lowers his eyes and sits back down and doesn't say another word.]

[No one else is nearly as blunt about his status. So Aki doesn't think about it. Being in this household does nothing but force himself to consider it all.]

[ Denji's eyes bulge, chopsticks mid-raised to snatch a leaf up. Shit. This is territory even he's been careful to dance around with Aki, to not broach too far, poke too hard. He's never been good at stuff like that, but he's been trying so damn hard… Meanwhile, Nayuta's words are akin to throwing sticks and rocks at a pacing animal barred within a cramped kennel.

The leaf drops back to his plate. At first, he taps the tips of his chopsticks against his plate, unsure whether the conversation is serious enough to forego eating altogether, and when he decides that, yes, it is, he lays them down flat with a groan. With a clap of his hands — ]

Alright, alright, time out.

[ Though his mouth is curved into a nervous smile, the look he pins her is sharp. Questioning. What's with her? Of course, he didn't expect them to magically bond over steamed fish last night, but admittedly, he'd hoped that it was going to be as good a first step as any to a truce. She doesn't look up from her plate, so he does what he can to school his chiding into sternness. ]

Nayuta. That was a sucky thing to say when he's been makin' ya stuff to eat. You gotta apologize… Or at least give him more of what's on your plate — that's how the crappy attitude tax works!

[ "Huh? I'm not apologizing."

There's an airiness, a familiar sway smoking its way into her voice and sniping through his defenses with the cold conviction of a pointed finger. A whisper of a bang. If he listens closely, he can nearly hear her serpentine chains hissing out from the burrows of her stomach. He's never thought of her as an extension of Makima, but the way she stares, as if she isn't quite seeing him, really takes him back.

"That devil's smell is everywhere — on these cushions, in our room, on you. Don't forget that you're supposed to be mine, Denji." A hint of her age returns to her expression, Nayuta's upper lip raising, showing her teeth, in disgruntlement. "You're not even fighting justice anymore because that's what he told you to! Is that really what you want?" ]

[The anger continues to boil inside of him. He had been trying to be nicer to the devil. Tried to think about the other devils he managed to get along with. Understood the "humanity" of them. And sure - if he ignored the way she made his stomach roll and his heart pump like mad, he can see what Denji means about her being a normal kid. 92 percent, at that. But then she brings up these things and it's so, so much easier to look at her and see devil. A target to eliminate. Nothing more. The rolling and agony of Gun in his heart at her mere presence doesn't help that. He really doesn't like her, and it bleeds into Aki's own natural dislike and distrust of devils. Even after all he's been through, it's a natural reaction. And hearing the way she talks about Denji... It just makes it all worse.]

He isn't yours.

[That, for some reason, is the first thing that he wants to make clear. And he intends on continuing from there, but it's that statement that seems to make her angriest. Which, maybe Aki should have expected, given how he's seen the two interact. But in this situation, with his tone, and with their relationship as it is - it comes off as more than a simple statement. He isn't yours - He's mine.]

["Thief!" she shouts at him, and Aki recognizes he needs to move, now. He has no idea what the hell she can do and he isn't keen on finding out, immediately pushing out of the way of the table and raising his voice to call out to the only person he knows who can apparently control Control - ] Denji!

[ His name hasn't made it halfway out of his mouth when Denji throws himself on his back, knee driving into the base of the table, the uncontained force sending the wooden fixture shooting up onto its haunches and acting as a protecting barrier from the chain missiling directly for Aki. Dishes, drinking glasses, newly hydrated bok choy — everything rockets into the air for one trainwreck of a moment, until, bidden by gravity, summarily crashing to their feet in a swash of shattering ceramics, splashing water, and bits of food. That'll be fun to clean up later.

The upended table clatters onto its flip side shortly afterward, no longer an obstruction. Sensing that, once the two of them recover from the initial surprise, the scales of this little skirmish will be tipping away from her favor, Nayuta's expression tightens as she summons a second chain to join the first. It seems she's aware enough of how Denji operates in a fight to know he'll be headed her way soon — and she's right, having trusted the momentum of the strike to roll him back to his feet, he springs for her. But if she manages to ensnare Aki, she'll at least retain some bargaining power in making Denji behave the way she's used to…

That's why she skids back into the kitchen to create more distance as both her chains surge for Aki at opposing directions. ]

Keep dodging! [ Comes Denji's yell as he nabs something from the floor.

At Makima's prime, she was able to bring forth a whole array of tethers and control them with all the practiced ease of a maestro lifting their wand to signal an orchestra. Nayuta, though, is younger and untutored; her strategy isn't unsound, but its lacking in finesse and coordination. In other words, there are holes a seasoned hunter like Aki can exploit if he wants to. ]

[Aki has spent a year fighting devils with an overpowered machine of a body. He thinks, probably, that he could transform and kill this one within a moment. But he's smart enough to know that won't solve anything. If anything, it will cause an insane amount of problems. So he manages to get to his feet as Denji flips the table, looking for whatever he can to defend himself. He heard the chain before he saw it and he remembers Makima's chains - but he hadn't seen them like this, like a lashing whip stretching out. If he thinks of it as a whip, however, it's nothing new. He's dealt with tentacles and organs and strings of slashing devilmeat for years. A chain is no different.]

[What he grabs is the vacuum cleaner, snatching the long handle off the body and spinning it out like a bo staff for the chains to wrap around. It works and Nayuta even seems to fumble at the chains stopping, allowing Aki to yank them forward and bring her stumbling down with them. He starts to swing the vacuum to smash onto her, but - ]

[But then he sees children, staring up at him. A mother in the path of his left arm, holding her son and watching as his rifle fires and destroys them both. He freezes in place. Never a human, he told them, but this is a devil. Not a human. He should have no trouble destroying her and sending her right back to hell.]

[But he does. Standing there frozen with the vacuum cleaner, chains wrapped around it while Nayuta yowls in pain from skidded knees.]

[ As expected, this is literal child's play for them both. To the point that Denji doesn't notice Aki freeze in place, attributing the sudden stillness to him intentionally exerting some fashion of self-restraint. And good, one of them has to, because the only thing he's interested in is the window of opportunity the lull in action provides to intervene. Or rather, to steal the show. He and Nayuta don't tussle often, their antics being more in good fun than the outright guerilla warfare he used to engage Power back at the old apartment. But he's never really gotten the hang of playing fair or gentle or clean, even with girls.

In his rush, his palms mash the bok choy bulbs into a mucky and dripping fist-sized wad, trails of dark brown pouring out from the gaps of his fingers. His footing twists, ejecting him toward the two, arriving at an angle that gives him a clear frontal eyeshot of Nayuta, the soles of his feet chafing against the carpet as he slides in. Immediately, he winds his arm back, giggling a little too gleefully, as he lobs their breakfast square into the forehead of a grade-schooler. Her head knocks back, soy sauce running down past her lashes and into the whites of her eyes. Nayuta's chains loosen from the vacuum, juddering out with an excessive and untamed energy as they retract.

"It stings, it stings!" she wails, hands balled into her eyes, trying to relieve the pained itching causing tears to obscure her vision. However, Denji doesn't give her the time to snivel; with a firm tug to her back collar, she raises to her feet with his prompting. ]

Nope — up, up! What Aki said was right: I'm mine. [ Well, that isn't exactly what Aki implied, but the alternative flew well above his head. ] So go wash your face in the bathroom, silly. Clean your knees, too.

[ Seeing as she's staggering, he makes sure to lead her safely to the sink, turning the faucet on and letting her dunk her head in from there, before returning to the living area. Denji closes in on Aki, taking his hands and holding them to his eye-level. Inspecting for any nicks. ]

…Um, sorry things got all outta hand. You okay?

[Aki watches Denji smash a vegetable in the devil's face and feels a strange longing inside him. A sense of deja vu. Seeing Denji be rough with a bratty girl, then carry her off to the bathroom to clean her up... It's hard not to.]

[He startles a little when Denji grabs his hands, unscathed and unmarked aside from the bandage still holding part of it together. He tugs both away, shaking his head as he goes to put the vacuum back.]

I'm fine.

[His heart is racing. He could have killed her, and why does that feel so satisfying? That he could have put one bullet through her and blew her body to pieces. He won't - He might dislike her, but he isn't going to kill her. But why does he...]

[Aki sighs, kneeling down and beginning to turn the table back the right way.]

Gun can't stand her. [Neither can he, but at least he has self control.] I think he wants her dead. [He doesn't know if he's warning him, or something. But he convinces himself that's not it - because he can control Gun. So what would there be to warn about?] If she attacks me, he's going to want to strike back.

[He gets up and moves to the kitchen to find a napkin. Something to start absorbing the sauce and water with. Something that will allow him not to look at Denji as he tells him this.]

You need to keep her on a better leash.

[ Denji's head lowers, but his hands remain suspended where he clutched Aki's for a moment longer before those, too, drop.

Shards, large and small, chunky and slight, blemish the full expanse of the carpet. If someone isn't careful, they're going to take the wrong step and cut scores into their feet, maybe get something splintered into their skin. He could nab a brush and dustpan to clean up the more obvious fragments, then take the vacuum to anything more difficult to see — he could, that's what he should do, probably with expedience, but he just stands there, uselessly. Waiting for Aki to leave the kitchen so that he can pass him by without looking at him. Denji cares more about tidying the mess of emotions on his face, ranging from worried to defensive to vexed, than the one strewn on the floor.

Like a revolving door, once Aki returns to dab at the food stains in the carpet, Denji subsequently takes his own place in the kitchen, toeing around the broken dishes. ]

…Dont say shit like that. If Gun strikes back, that means I have to, too, and I don't wanna do that. Nayuta doesn't need a leash. [ Leashes make people like Miss Makima. Kishibe entrusted her to him to prevent exactly that. Breathing deeply, he squats in front of the lower sink cabinet, moving around cleaning detergents and other supplies to find what he needs. ] And it's not going to happen again. She wasn't trying to hurt you, just… tell you what to do.

[ That outcome wouldn't have been much better, but he doesn't mention that, not trying to perjure himself while pleading his case. ]

The smell just got to her this time around. She's sensitive to that stuff changing. Needs time to get used to things.

[ He shakes out an old dustpan and a short-handle brush. Still facing away from Aki, he moves back into the living area. Sets off to sweep what he can. ]

[Tell him what to do, huh. Aki watches Denji come back from the corner of his eye as he cleans up the food and piles the leftovers onto a plate.]

She's obsessed with you.

[He doesn't say it as if he's insulting her, or commenting on her too strongly. Rather, just stating what he's observed from her. That she believes Denji is hers and she isn't willing to share, to this result.]

I'll try not to provoke her. But she's going to find out what we did.

[And then what? He can do what he can, but it's going to be something to be dealt with. It's not the same as Power, because at least with Power, she came in without a relationship with either of them. Denji is stuck in the middle with the way things currently are. It's not fair, but it is what it is. He reaches over from where he's knelt on the floor to take the dustpan from Denji's hand.]

Let me take care of this. You two should get going - I'll give you money to pick something up at the convenience store.

[Then, after a small pause, he adds - ] Thanks for making breakfast. [Even if he ended up having to fix it and it's now splattered into the grains of the wooden floor.]

[ The dustpan passes between their hands easily for one reason only, and that's so his grip can hop to Aki's wrist, tight, like the squeeze of a collar around the neck of a stubborn dog refusing to move with its leash. Denji's not sure what his next move is, though, he hadn't thought that far — it feels more like everything he wants to say is reserved for the devil beating its rotten heart inside Aki's chest, as if that thing's the reason why this morning has gone to crap. Why he feels like crap, having Aki clean up a mess they should share.

Man, he really doesn't want to go to school. There's just never enough time to figure himself out. ]

Promise you'll find something to eat while I'm gone?

[ Whatever Aki says or does, whether that's to simply agree, pull away from him again, or commit to another pinky swear, it matters to Denji that he hears him, that he knows they're both on the same side.

Nayuta exits from bathroom then, eyes red and puffy — from scrubbing and nothing else, surely? — as she trudges toward her bag. Seeing her, Denji lets go, almost in a hurry. He stands to address her, but she doesn't glance at either of them, doesn't look like she'll be saying sorry anytime soon, either. She flicks open the flap to her backpack, double-checking her things before redoing the clasp and shouldering one of the straps. Her unbraided hair bounces against her shoulders, and he thinks for a moment he should tell her to hang back, let him fix that, but the door opens and shuts without a single word reaching her.

Obsessed is what Aki called her. But Denji can't agree with that observation, not without guilt burning through every other feeling upsetting his stomach, outliving his own attachment to a dead woman and the debt he owes her. Carries in tandem with her. Nayuta's not obsessed; she just needs him the same way he needs her.

From that point, he rushes his way through getting ready for school, tossing his jacket over the same Chainsaw Man tee he always wears. Maybe he can still catch up with Nayuta. Slinging his backpack on as he heads out the door, Denji spares Aki a nod, the furrow of his brows apologetic. Afterward, the door closes behind him in much the same way it'd closed behind Nayuta, leaving Aki alone. ]

[Aki hasn't missed the way Denji seems concerned about his eating. He doesn't really understand why. Doesn't get why it's something he's so focused on. But he nods, pulling his wrist free from his grasp gently so he can start sweeping up the small shards of the dishes.]

I will.

[He watches the two of them leave, not expecting an apology from the devil because that just seems like too high a bar for her to meet. He nods at Denji when he leaves, a muttered, I'll see you tonight, under his breath, and he squats back down with a soapy rag to continue cleaning up the spill.]

[He does eat, at least. Has a quick breakfast and watches the news for a bit before having to turn it off. Every time he watches it, it makes him feel powerless. At least he could feign indifference in government care. Here, it's a constant background noise. It's torture. He can't stay inside.]

[Which leads to the landlady spotting him as he heads down the stairs and he has to take a few minutes to thank her for the vegetables, which leads her to showing him her little herb garden beside some shrubs separating it from the road which is compeltely overrun with weeds. Aki didn't even realize it was meant to be anything at all but a patch of decaying grass until he sees some singular, struggling rosemary leaves beneath all the overgrowth. He does the neighborly thing which is offering to help clean it out and she thanks him like that wasn't at all why she showed it to him. Calls him a "young man" which no one has referred to him as since he was in high school. So that's how he ends up spending most of the afternoon baking in the sun and pulling weeds.]

[By the time Denji should be home, he's got everything ready to show them how to make curry. Well, Denji knows how to make this. Aki showed him how back when he was in recovery, still struggling with only having one arm and needing to show him something simple to make. But the devil said she likes curry, and while it's not an olive branch, it's not the barrel of a gun, either. Better this than nothing.]

[At least, he's hoping he'll be home. Tapping his foot while staring down at his fingernails and trying to pick dirt out of them while a TV program featuring an actress from some decades-old movie talks about something utterly trivial and unimportant. Music to his ears.]

[ He's surprised to see Nayuta waiting for him at the foot of the stairs, kicking her sneakers at a dead patch of grass. That’s what he thinks she's doing, at least, up to skipping over the busted step down and landing beside her, seeing that she’d just scattered an anthill out into the sidewalk, the now homeless colony scurrying to rebuild their nest. A proper grown-up might tell her that hurting the defenseless cheapens your character, that it’s pointless, a waste of energy, inconsiderate to those who have to look at something ugly and pick up the pieces. But being a kid himself, he understands there are uglier things in this city, uglier people than an upset girl-devil who doesn't know any better than take her anger out on something that can't bruise her knees back.

A bug is a bug; their every action is motivated by survival, not sadness or fear or grief, not even when they heft their dead onto their backs and bury them. Nayuta is Nayuta; she doesn't know how to braid her own hair right without help. Ask him who matters more and there isn't a single doubt in his mind.

So he gives her a long look. Do you feel better, he says, subdued, to avoid sounding interrogative or accusing; he knows how he would react to that line of questioning, depending on the tone. A careful balancing act: err too far to one side, and he might trigger her flight — to the other, and she might just fly off the rails. To her credit, Nayuta answers, just as subdued, with a slow shake of her head, left to right to left. She doesn't. Alright. He guesses that's pretty expected.

Here's what isn't: “I don’t feel like going to school.”

What about your perfect attendance… is what he nearly asks, but Nayuta's a smart kid who can catch back up in no time after missing a day. She probably already realizes there's always next year for that kind of award for someone like her. For someone who isn't like her, though… Denji's brown eyes drift up to their apartment. While the window blinds are open, there doesn't appear to be a shadow of anyone hovering behind them. Still cleaning, he assumes.

When Denji looks back down, he notices an ant climbing onto his shoe. He pauses, then kicks it off. And then, he nods at her. Okay. He doesn't feel like going to school, either.

They go to the arcade first, wiling their time and Denji's money away at a UFO Catcher until one of the attendants takes pity on them and repositions the tiny Chainsaw Man plush, making it easier to drop into the receptacle. Nayuta whines at him to play Dance Dance Mushroom with her, but for some reason, he doesn't think Pochita wants to see that, and refuses. They eat burgers and way too many fries, which she looks happy about for the first time that day, so he tries not to wince every time he pulls out a couple dirty coins from his wallet to pay. By the time they leave, there are clouds gathering outside, offering a little bit of relief from the dry heat of summer. It's still hot as balls but they can't exactly go to the pool or something… So one of them suggests that they may as well sweat it out at the batting cages, since they've never been before. The nearest dome just so happens to be in Kabukicho.

Of course, when they arrive the main street greets them with crime scene tape and uniformed devil hunters.

"Shouldn't you kids be in class?" a grim voice asks.

When they turn, it's luckily not an officer or hunter addressing them, but a crabby reporter smoking next to her camera operator, threads of smoldering tobacco rising from her nostrils, like the exhaust fumes of a revving car. How do people smoke in this weather?

"This area's off-limits. You're gonna get told to beat it if you go any further." Bitterly, she adds beneath her breath, like she's been waiting for someone new to complain to about this: "Damn Public Safety. They're not even letting us do our jobs and report what's going on back there."

That was pretty obvious bait.

Denji falls for it, prods. Real casual, like he doesn't even care that his pulse has hiked up a gear from — something. It has to be because the reporter lady's pretty. Yeah, that has to be why. Delighted to have an audience, the reporter hushedly tells him that, off the record, no one's been able to run coverage on the story beyond revealing that there's an ongoing situation and that all through traffic must reroute for the duration of the blockage. But the reality is, from her observation, that there's a real bad news devil hanging out underground, attracting mobs of others — making it impossible for hunters to create a path down and relying on movement patterns in the ground to approximate the thing's next location.

Denji's about to suggest to Nayuta that they go get popsicles or something instead, but she excited shakes and tugs on his arm. "Denji! See, even this lady thinks it would be amazing if Chainsaw Man came and saved the day!"

The reporter looks at Nayuta strangely, as if about to say, no, those words weren't anywhere near her mouth but the Control Devil stares her down, unshakeable. A tautness in her expression — reminiscent of the chain links hanging from the reporter's head, same as her camera person. Blinking, he's about to tell her to knock it off, but an outpouring of distressed clamor gushes from a short distance away. Something is shifting, worming. In a repeat of before, the same vine-like tendrils pierce out from the tarmac, the ground crunching, going uneven, heedless of whoever is standing there. Noxious spores fill the area.

Denji shoves himself and Nayuta into a cranny in the street, a dead-end walkway hosting several closed and shuttered shops, her now mindless underlings following after like twin zombies. No other devils entering the mix yet, but it's only a matter of time. They should get out of there. But as he's saying this to Nayuta, he notices her speaking over him. To a camera.

"…Live from Kabukicho, we're on the scene to investigate the mysterious incident holding up traffic. Hey, miss. Do you think the super awesome Chainsaw Man will finally come and fight off whatever weird devil has made its home here?" the reporter tonelessly prompts, an odd glaze to her eyes as she holds a mic out to Nayuta.

"Duh! Obviously. Chainsaw Man's been on vacation for so long because people keep saying he eats cats!" Nayuta yells, swinging her Chainsaw Man doll with each wild gesture. Behind her, a door creeps agape, strings of mucus catching against the awning, stretching, and slinging out a slimy devil. Headed straight for her. "He'd never disappoint his fans, or cats, or dogs, or me — "

Vrrrm, vrrrrrrmm!

"And there he is!" She twists, just in time to watch Denji — no, Chainsaw Man, in a streak of glinting metal and vibrating sparks, razor through the thing's translucent body in the background. She cheers. "Awww, yeah! Chainsaw Man's back! You, camera guy, make sure you catch this."

Instead of catching whatever it is Nayuta wanted, the camera operator drops the equipment to the ground from the intensity of the earth shuddering unsteadily underfoot. Probably a good thing, too, because it's not pretty how Denji gets into her face to tell her to leave while he takes care of this. He doesn't wait to see if she listens to him or not because he's already mounting up the wall, jumping from sign to sign, to get to the roof and spring himself off into the loving embrace of the disorder below. ]

[Aki thinks that he should look into getting a cone for making drip coffee. Everyone likes the smell of coffee. Maybe the devil won't hate him as much if he makes the kitchen smell like coffee in the morning. But then he thinks, How long am I going to be here? Is it even worth it? It's the exact same questions he would ask himself after he used Curse. With only two years left, is it worth it to do this or that?]

...www, yeah! Chainsaw Man's back!

[Aki's head snaps up as he looks at the TV. Just a moment ago it was at a news desk covering some attack somewhere or another. Basic news. Devil hunters on the scene. As common as a rain forecast in late summer. His eyes jump to the clock, but it's only 2pm - So it can't be Denji. But the camera swerves and he sees a flash of metal jumping up to the top of a sign, broken off suddenly by the rumble of concrete fracturing and a yelp like someone is hurt, the camera shaking and dropping. A rush cut back to the studio. "That was the live scene from Kabukicho, Kabukicho, yes - The attack is still ongoing and officials are asking all civilians to stay out of the way while Public Safety handles the attack - But would you look at that, that was definitely him! That was Chainsaw Man, wasn't it?!"]

[The TV confirms that to no one, as Aki is already out the door, the unit left on to update no one but the dogs.]

[His heart is racing. No, no, no, he keeps thinking. Whatever that devil is, it doesn't matter. Public Safety exists to deal with this. Denji isn't Public Safety. Denji isn't a superhero. He's just a kid. He's a teenager. He's supposed to live a normal life - be happy - be free. He can't be doing this. He can't keep throwing himself at these devils. Someone else will deal with it, someone more trained and better equipped and who has already chosen to throw their life into the maws of death. Someone with a dream beyond the ideal of being loved. Someone like him.]

[An officer holds him back when he gets to the scene, despite his snaps and shouts that he knows someone who is there, to let him through - he used to be in Public Safety, he knows what he's doing, but his clothes make him look like any one of the other pedestrians trying to rush from the scene. The only difference with Aki is that he's desperately trying to go toward it. The officer threatens to arrest him if he trespasses but he can't get the full threat out before there's another crash, the ground crumbling a few hundred meters ahead. Aki swears he hears chainsaws. Tells himself he would know that noise better than anyone. He grips the barricade and considers jumping it, but the cop will just chase him. He backs away and watches for a moment, jaw set tight.]

[When he finds an opening, it's due to seeing a devil hunter crouched over, blood rushing down her head. She's alone with no weapons but struggling to sit upright, the redness covering her eyes, dirtying her hair. Hit by cement, Aki realizes, and moves over to her in the alley blocked by an unguarded stanchion. The officer who had threatened to arrest him is busy getting a civilian to cover.]

[He asks her if she saw Chainsaw Man and she looks at Aki like he's insane. "He's in there," she mutters, her voice weak. "Down in the pit." Aki turns to look toward the dust and clumps of ripped up buildings and pavement. A hole is forming in the earth, revealing a devil nest swarming with smoke and devil corpses. Like they've been sucked of energy, dehydrated to feed something greater. Aki helps lift her toward the stanchion, comforting himself that maybe someone will see her, but she's unconscious by the time he has his arms under hers. Which gives him an idea.]

[It's not much in way of a disguise, of course, but the Public Safety jacket has built in protection. He pulls his arms through, the woman being a bit smaller than him but the size fitting close enough. Raising the collar of his shirt over his mouth and nose, he steps forward toward the pit, trying to look down. The scent hits him hard. Blood, death - and something else he can't recognize.]

[Gun is thrashing inside him. So excited. Thrilled. Like Aki just walked into a jungle gym and he wants to swing on the bars.]

Chainsaw Man! [He shouts it into the pit. Tries to ignore the head rush. The feeling of his mind swimming. The sensation of snow on his shoulders.] Chainsaw!

[ He doesn't know why he pulled the cord. If he took the time to think things over, there had to have been another way to get rid of such a puny devil, protect Nayuta, and still keep his end of the deal with Aki. To avoid disappointing him, to make him happy, that's something he cares about more than his own despicable life, he swears it. It's just hearing that he was needed, that Nayuta needed him and that this shitty corner of Tokyo needed him because no one else could do what he could, not even those Public Safety goody two-shoes — something about it was electrifying. So much so, he could have mistaken it for a defibrillator zapping through his chest, resurrecting that old feeling of his, that sense that he could be okay with being this city's little pull-string toy forever and ever, no better than the kind he'd won from the arcade. He could launch himself into a beehive of writhing devils and feel an excruciating joy indistinguishable from the pain of having his ribs snapped one by one, his every organ blended into a pulpy puree, shattered like a plate that was broken far before it ever hit the ground. He could do it and he would.

Denji's body isn't his own as he hacks away one devil after the next, drinking in the same spores aggravating his foes. He doesn't mind that for now, bruised from the inside-out, but liberated in the slaughterhouse he's turned this sinkhole into in his path toward the flower pistils. It's probably a kind of blasphemy to be a creature of hell experiencing this sort of deliverance, this endless free-flow of motion, succumbing to it. But he's never been a religious guy, wouldn't be able to tell apart a prayer from someone yelling at the sky — hey, speaking of yelling, there's someone doing a lot of that somewhere, he thinks, distractedly, giving a devil the chance to tear into his side, making party streamers out of his intestinal tracts.

A pained bellow sails out of him in an instant, of course, but it doesn't take long for the sound to unravel into high-pitched laughter. ]

Gyaaaahahaha — damn, that hurts! Fuck this fucknuts! I need these to eat and shit at least three times — maybe four!

[ His knee crashes into the dirt. He can't make out much of what's going on around him anymore over the incessant thunderclap of his heart ricocheting in his ears, the blood spraying out of his split open stomach like a fizz of shaken soda.

Denji's blades rope out, lassoing around the offending devil, the teeth of his chains barbing into its skin, refusing to release, as he fully wrenches it toward him. Grime and gore slip through his jaws, tickling his taste buds as he feasts, and — it's not as good as the meals Aki makes, nothing like the warm miso from that first morning running down the back of his throat, dripping into his stomach, or yesterday's fluffy tamagoyaki. But in his current dispossession of rationality, anything, devil or human blood, is fair game to subsist on, fuel him past the hunger pangs that always come with his flesh and tissue stitching back together. Once he's had his fill, the carcass flumps over into the rubble.

Not wanting to let the fray go even more out of control, he moves to rejoin —

But that's when he hears him. ]

Aki…? Hrrgh — aaahhhhhhhh!!

[ A stampeding bull devil rams straight into him, sharpened horns stabbing clean through his thigh and dragging him along in its rampage. Some Public Safety hunter who'd managed to whip herself on the hump of its back, clings desperately to its back, shrieking. ]

Oh, come on! I just ate, my tummy's all sorts of whoozy!

[The sight of Denji being ripped to shreds is both familiar and alien. It's something Aki never actually got used to. He can think of so many moments he looked like this - the Eternity Devil, the Leech Devil, the bomb girl... Darkness Devil.]

[Himself.]

[He recognizes the fear swamping his mind because the devils notice it, the ones not yet in Denji's jaws turning their beady eyes up to him and clawing at the edges of the pit. Training kicks in and he smothers the fear down, reminds himself it isn't useful. Kishibe words and logic. They should be more afraid of you than you are of them. Otherwise you're gonna die. He takes in a breath, staring down into the pit of chaos strewn with crushed flowers, then starts to drop down when he sees her. Human. Riding a devil like a clown in a bull fight, straight into Denji. If he fires and she sees him - What will happen? Don't even think about it. More Kishibe words. His heart thrums violent in his chest.]

[He could end this in a moment but instead he picks up a long piece of copper pipe, still dripping dirty water, and drops down into the fray. The smell he can't place smothers him in an instant and the heady feeling that envelops him nearly makes him forget what he just decided, his body starting to turn. But Aki is more focused than Denji and stamps down on it, taking a deep breath through the collar of his shirt and swinging hard at the bull, the pipe cracking loud as it splits its head in two and sends the hunter rolling to the ground with the force of the hit. She's groaning, but Aki is more fixated on Denji, reaching out to snag him by the shoulder.]

You need - Get out of here - [Why is it so hard to breathe down here? Why does he feel like he's been dunked in a vat of perfume? The smell is horrible and overwhelming but he feels lighter than air. He grips his fingers into his shoulder, feeling cold metal start to coat them like a silk glove.] One... thousand needles, you stupid -

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