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

[ There's a stagger to how air vents out his nostrils as Aki stuffs himself into him at a leisurely tempo, a maddening one, Denji relishing the curl of heat aching up the dips in his spine. The sensation is duller now that they’ve both rut to completion once already, but he thinks that if they keep at it, they could plunge over an even steeper ledge than the one that sent them crashing into the roof of a police vehicle. His lashes, nearly the same gossamer as a moth’s wings in this lighting, quiver as he counteracts the impulse to moan outright by doubling down on his bite, the whites of teeth fully submerged in red, unwilling to let his lips break too far from the column of Aki’s neck. A territorial hound trying to hoard what he thinks is his, what he wants so much to be his, just his.

Drinking someone else's blood was never like this, never something he would prefer over a fresh meal prepared over the heat of a stove. When he was still part of Public Safety and getting accustomed to imbibing blood from both devils or injured, sometimes dying, civilians, he did it without thinking too hard; he did it to stay in motion, stay on his feet. At some point, he'd started doing it because he hoped it would make Aki stop pinning him with that worried gaze of his, that is, if he came out of battle as close to in one piece as he could. He never really managed that, though.

But now, the more he commits Aki's flavor to memory, trying to metabolize his blood, assimilate it to his own bodily systems, he thinks he could live and frolic in it. Stoke an addiction for it. His chest jumps at the weight of Aki's hands finding his nipples, the darkening skin peaking beneath his fingers. A low-pitched lilting sound rumbles from deep inside Denji's mouth, the reverb able to felt through his palate, through the teeth dragging hard against the indent of a vein. His palm slides on top of the back of one of Aki's knuckles, holding him in place against his pectoral, urging him to play with the nubs, to pay attention to him. He's so impossibly full like this, so distracted by it, he barely registers the blood skating between both their chests. But when he finally does dare a glance down, and without wasting anytime, that same hand appears at the puddle of the blood that's gathered at Aki's collar, swiping the sticky residue up. Bringing it to the sliding juncture between their bodies, already slimy with come. He doesn't care. He slicks the shaft of Aki's cock, what skin of his is visible and isn't inside him, with a layer of red — he wants to feel him everywhere. ]

[He could just turn Denji over and fuck him on the cold ground, but that would mean moving him from his perfect spot, having to dislodge him from his neck for even a moment. Why does it feel so good? Why is the sensation so perfect, so addictive? Aki raises his chin high, stretching his neck to give him the whole expanse of his skin to chew at and bite through, a longer, headier groan pulling out of him when he feels Denji's hand grasp around his cock and slather the length with blood. When he presses back in, he swears he can feel the difference. The intense heat from his own injury running down his shaft and connecting him to Denji's body.]

Denji - You're...

[He doesn't know what he wants to say. His hair falls over his shoulders as he continues tilting his head back to urge him onward. Aki rubs over his nipples with his thumbs in a constant and dragging motion, almost tugging at them as he thrusts up and into him over and over. He's never come so soon after an orgasm but it must be that devil, he tells himself - then denies that and tells himself it's Denji, it's the way he's biting him, the way his voice sounds and the noises he makes, the way he said that word twice in a row. Again he groans, but this time it's softer. More like a moan.]

You feel - perfect.

[ The impossible combination of perfect echoing in his ears, the nonstop massaging and groping making his pink chest arch into Aki's hands, the vulgar squelch of come and blood foaming from his swollen hole, his hips squirming and hopping as he meets Aki, pulse for pulse — together, these variables purge every cruddy thought that's latched to him this entire night, a persistent thorn. Nothing else is on his mind besides the angry blubbering of his cock, closing in on euphoria. He's close, fuck, fuck, he's close. He wishes he could tell Aki, tell him how good he makes him feel, how the world feels bearable with the two of them, just like this. But there isn't a single timeline where Denji lets go of him, where exchanging the coppery tendrils running down his tongue for something unnecessary like air is even an option worth considering.

And almost to prove that point, when he feels Aki batter into his prostrate so, so sweetly, though Denji's instinct is to sharply gasp, head buzzing, his teeth cinch down instead. He means to just bite a little more tightly than he had been. However, the lurch of his stomach has his jaw grinding the wrong way, too heavy on one side, and before he realizes what's happening, he's cleaved fully through the patch of his skin, of warm, fibrous tissue, leaving Aki's neck raw and open and pulpy. Suddenly, it's not just Denji's mouth that's red; blood is dripping from the tip of his nose, painting his eyelashes, and blurring his vision — but he keeps trying to lap at the stream of it, still fucking down into him, helpless to do anything else. ]

Oh — oh, fuck — [ Alarm infiltrates his voice, but there's a blissed out slur to it, too, like he's getting off on being utterly full of him, covered in him. ] Aki, I'm gonna — help me, I'm gonna —

[It feels like a dam bursts when Denji tears his throat open. The groan he lets out is intense, his entire body shuddering as blood spills from the wound and he feels the way Denji intensifies all at once. Aki startles out of the height of the sensation when he hears him ask for help and, without any hesitation, reaches down to his cock between them and starts hastily jerking him off. He can't think of anything else he would want help with right now.]

There you go, just come, come for me - [His voice is quick and warm, coaxing him with a slight gurgle in his voice thanks to the blood in his mouth. He went from feeling like he was at rock bottom to sitting on cloud nine. He's close, too, hastily fucking up into him at less and less of a rhythm as he chases the combined pleasure of the wound Denji has made and the grip of his body. He can't see him with his head tilted back so he finally drops it to look at him - but Gun is still blocking his view, still pinning his sight in a way that makes it so hard to see. His free hand grabs Denji by the hair instead, yanking him back from his throat so he can get a look at him, so he can see him when he finishes.]

[ Aki fists a hand around him, and Denji knows he's fucking done for, the head of his cock just a a fleshy bulb twitching and jerking against his fingers. Gasps rush out from his lungs in choppy heaves, constricted and high-pitched. The sound could be mistaken for whistling in any other scenario, but with Denji's waist wriggling with the unsteady movements of grinding down on his cock, misty-eyed and a cut of Aki's pale skin still juicing blood all over his tongue, there's nothing to mistranslate. He could let the sliver drop, he realizes, fall back into the place where he tore it from, and watch the wound he'd inflicted fuse together like pouring hot, incandescent metal back into its cast — but why should he? Why should he give back something he wants for himself? Just so someone else can eventually take it — the government, Public Safety, who the hell ever?

No. Denji swallows his skin down his throat, down to the pits his stomach, down where no one else can have Aki but him. Like a dog dropping a rawhide bone into a shallow hole for safekeeping. And then he wails, a seismic wave throttling his body, numbing him from his head down to his curling toes, as if his orgasm is chiseling straight down his center — ]

Yes! Fuck! Like that, just! Like! That — ah —

[ In a mirror of his spasming body, Denji's entire face squeezes down, his eyes closed as he wrenches and rolls and falls utterly apart, twisting against Aki's hands. He means to say his name at the very end, but it's too late, his next stream of words releasing in a garble, much like the seed that spits from his cock in choked spurts, driveling between both of their navels, like the last of Aki's thrusts completely punched his remaining come from his balls. Limply, he droops forward, only held up by the grasp to the back of his head. ]

[When Denji tears the flesh right off his neck Aki feels himself hit the ceiling. His eyes roll beneath their cover and he grits his jaw tight. The gush of blood from his neck is even stronger now and when Denji finally comes in his grasp he's finishing barely a moment later, spilling inside him a second time as he meets his grinding motions with rough, quick bucks of his hip as his hand continues to stroke him through the orgasm. He hisses and pants and yanks hard at Denji's hair and when he finally drops his head down it's to set it on his shoulder, blood now running down Denji's front as he shivers and shakes through his own climax.]

[The most anyone ever did during sex that was anything like this was slap him. It created a rush of excitement but he was so mortified by that rush that he never asked for it again. Now... After having his throat ripped open in the middle of things, turning into a devil halfway through, how is he supposed to ever be satisfied again?]

[He feels the melting of Gun off his face as his body settles, the mud sliding down Denji's back and onto the floor like hydrophobic gel. He stares down at it as it sizzles and melts into the floor. When it's nearly gone, he sees a flash of something like glitter, his eyes focusing enough to make it out: the bullet chunk, dropped at some point, resting beside the mixture of blood and come on the ground beside Denji.]

[Aki closes his eyes, his arms wrapping around Denji to tug him in close.]

Denji... You're a mess.

[It's half muttered into his skin. And he has the nerve to sound annoyed about it.]

[ At that, Denji purely groans in response, face nudging past the sweep of Aki's hair to press into the warm, sweaty crook of his neck. Still tingling from his release, all boneless and honeyed. Every little movement he makes alerts him to the semen slushing inside where Aki's still situated, in places he can scarcely imagine, to how they both reek with blood and grime and sex. They should gather themselves, find somewhere to wash up, but he can't find it in himself to pull away so soon. Not yet, not when there's nowhere else he'd rather be, even if it's on the ground of some bar and next to the drying mess they've both worked quite hard to make.

Impossibly enough, he thinks he could probably fall asleep like this. ]

Woof…

[ For some reason, that seems like an appropriate reaction. If he pretends to be an actual dog, he won't have to accept responsibility for trespassing and essentially vandalizing the property with their come. Denji lays a palm flat against Aki's back, testing the waters to… something. To what, he couldn't begin to explain, but after a moment, his hand begins rubbing up and down the landscape of Aki's spine. ]

You okay?

[ Which part does he mean? He'll leave that up to him to decide. ]

[Denji just makes a little bark of a sound and Aki doesn't know if he expected anything else from him. He can still feel blood running down his neck and chest. He recognizes it might get into Denji's hair if he stays too close... But pushing him off right now would be as cruel as kicking a dog.]

Yeah. [Shockingly, he is. His neck aches and he knows Denji took off an entire flap of skin, but it'll heal. Like always. He feels the trace of his fingers up his spine and raises one hand to smooth over Denji's hair, really a petting motion. He's not really sure what to do about all this. The mess on both themselves and the ground, the status of their clothes... The wound.]

[Well. That part, he has an idea for. Aki's eyes drift back to the meat chunk of Gun and he finally picks it up, clutching it in his hand. So stupid. Some perpetual motion machine they are. Biting one another to heal will just create an ouroboros of them. With the hand petting Denji's head he coaxes him toward his wound as he begins to shift his hips and pull himself out. He'll let him heal before eating the bullet.]

You can lay down, for a second. I'll find something to clean up with. [But even once he's slid out, he doesn't move to get up or push Denji to do so. If he chooses to stay pressed against him and rolling his fingers along his spine, he'll let him. At least for now.] Just take it slow.

[ Denji's thighs close together as he feels Aki remove himself, a pinkish blood-come mixture dribbling down the crevice between. It doesn't really matter to him if Aki gets soaked by it, but it feels like such a waste for it all to go draining out of him already, hollowing him. Maybe he should cup his hand under and see if he can lap up whatever falls out…?

However, he makes no move to do that. Lets himself indulge in the petting, his eyes drawing closed again as Aki shifts him closer to his neck, his lips pressing gingerly into the crusting wound. Obviously, Denji doesn't notice the glimmering bullet pass back into Aki's possession. Though if he did, he probably wouldn't have been able to do anything about his plans, not even kick up a fuss. ]

Mm…

[ In a stark contrast from the way he'd mauled his throat earlier, now he's almost no different from a kitten flicking its tongue at a bowl of water for the first time. Docile. Like if Aki decided to roll him off completely, he'd probably just lay there groaning. ]

Aki. [ He draws back a few increments, looking up at him. ] …I don't think we're gonna make it home tonight. Should we find a hotel?

[When Denji finally leans back, Aki looks down at him. The idea of going to a hotel instead of stumbling all the way home is nice, but... Well, there's one main issue he can think of.]

We look like shit, though. [Aki has a good, solid stain on his body and Denji is... missing his jacket, he supposes. That's kind of it, though, aside from the general rain and sweat that's drenched them. Suddenly, a second thing comes to mind - ] And what about the devil? [Denji said she might be around here. Is it really okay to just leave her for the night...?]

[He's kind of making excuses, though. If they clean up in the bathroom here they'll just look waterlogged, not like they've been killing stuff and fucking in public. If Denji has a way to contact the devil, then it's not an issue. His eyes drift behind him to where his hand is, the gun chunk in his palm. The knowledge that, beyond the indescribable desire to eat it, he also needs to report it. Should contact his retainers as soon as possible. That they might want it for research or to find more rather than letting Aki have it.]

[No way, his mind shoots out immediately. No way, no way, no way. Like a child refusing to give up a toy or a dog guarding its food bowl. No way is anyone else going to touch it.]

...There's probably a love hotel we can rent until morning. [No one will ask questions at a business like that. They're in Kabukicho, so there's bound to be a number of them.]

A l-love hotel…

[ Can you see the sparkle in his eyes, Aki? Because, in 1… 2… 3… ]

[ With the solemn commitment of a soldier fastening the drawstrings of his boots, readying for a military procession: ] Welp, guess we have no other choice. I bet there's a phone or something in this place. I'll check if Nayuta's back home already.

[ It's not as if he plans on having sex with Aki again so soon, but this is Denji. It'd be stranger if he didn't find any excitement in visiting a love hotel — they're like mythical castles in the sky to him! His knees begin to maneuver out from their arrangement, but a funny thought strikes in the midway, the kind that probably should have occurred to him earlier, and he pauses. Raises an arm to Aki, close enough to his mouth that all he'd need to do is arch his neck forward to bite down. ]

You need this, right?

[ Denji's better after drinking from him. The marks on his skin from where Aki spilled his blood have faded, for the most part, no more obvious than a faint bruise. Probably, underneath all the red drying around his mouth, his split lip, too, has healed. It's just Aki who needs to be taken care of. ]

There's a phone at the...

[He trails off when Denji offers his arm out, the sudden shine of skin displayed before him, obvious in its intention. He could bite him again. But then would Denji still be hurt? Aki glances from the arm to his eyes, brow going tight.]

...It's fine. [He carefully pushes at him, aiming to dislodge him from where he sits and finally stand up. He presses his palm over his neck and feels the missing skin. In his other he holds the bullet with fingers tight around it.]

You gave me plenty before. It'll patch up in a minute.

[Gathering his clothes, he helps Denji to the bathroom first, tells him to clean himself up, but he's going to look for something to clean the floor with. While he's occupied, returning to the door where their mess is spilled, he ignores that as he looks down at the pellet in his palm, the meat-textured bullet, the dark grey flesh. Almost like he's shaking himself out of a trance, he starts to push it back into his pocket before thinking better of it. The longer he holds it, the more likely he is to drop it, he tells himself. Or for Denji to talk him out of it. Or for someone else to find out. To take it away from him.]

[He swallows it like a pill, cool down his throat and smooth despite the veins and bumps. It barely gets down him when he feels his heart thump like a rifle shot. He takes in a sharp breath, clutching at his heart as he starts coughing, too much oxygen sucked in at once, not enough blood to store it. It bubbles up to meet the demand and suddenly it's all rushing through him, a tidal wave of blood, air, carnage. He presses his other hand over his eyes and feels his teeth chatter. Too much. Way too much. He can barely breathe. There's too much air in his lungs. When he can finally cough it all out, it almost makes him double over.]

[The good thing is that every wound is stitched up like new. Stumbling to his feet, he walks like he's drunk to the bar table to grab for tissues so he can wipe up the mess. And... all the drool that rolled down his chin for some reason. That, too.]

Denji? [He calls out for him. Act normal. He looks and feels buzzed, like he just took a hit of a drug, but he tells himself checking on Denji will make him actually seem totally normal right now.]

[ Once Aki leaves him to it, cleaning takes no time at all. He scrubs every corner of himself with hand soap and water, the blood stains washing from his skin and dripping into the sink until the face in the mirror is finally recognizable again. Human again. It's as natural as how it feels every time his transformation ends, the remnants of Chainsaw Man dissolving, dissipating down his jaw, like shedding dead follicles. He eventually moves on to wiping down his thighs with a damp paper towel, pressing gingerly into himself. Honestly, he's not sure how else he's supposed to clean down there. Maybe he should try squeezing down and see how much comes out? But he's still kinda tender…

Deciding that he can figure out what to do when he takes an actual bath, which is hopefully sometime soon, he disposes of the towels and starts to slip on his clothes from the pile he brought inside the restroom with him. When he hears Aki calling his name, he antes up his pace, yelling back through the door. ]

Almost done! One sec.

[ Denji darts one last look at himself in the mirror, making sure he didn't miss any specks of red, and then heads out. He clocks the corded landline right beside the register on his way back to the bar top. Noticing that the mess still looks the same as when he left, he blinks, but perhaps wisely, doesn't comment on the state of things, instead moving to Aki's side. A steadying hand laying against his wrist. He tilts his head so that neither his face nor the concern tarnishing it can be ignored once he enters his view. ]

Woah there. You… look sick. [ The back of his other hand moves up, patting gently at the side of his face. ] What happened?

[Shit. Does he look that messed up? Aki shakes his head, batting away Denji's hand as he clears his throat.]

I'm fine. Just a headrush. You know. [Nothing to worry about, he hopes is the implication that comes across. He leans down to start cleaning up the mess to avoid letting Denji examine him too close. His heart is still rushing.] You look better - Cleaner. I saw the phone, it's over there. You can give her a call.

[Something else to distract him with. He needs to clean up, himself, but that's going to be a little trickier. Not only is his clothing stained with who-knows-what, but he smells like it, too. The scent of blood is dripping off of him. He badly needs to wash off. Gathering them up once the floors and walls are clean, he heads to the bathroom to try and rinse off the gore as well, though after awhile he's more or less rubbing it into the cotton. Annoying. Maybe the love hotel will have an extra shirt he can use. Do they have merch at those...?]

[When he comes back, his face has a bit better color to it, but the clothes he pulled on are sticking to his body like a second skin.]

Let's get going. We'll get sick if we stay like this.

[ Aki bats him off and, well, that's not so different from how he usually is. Denji lingers indecisively after he's spurred on to make his phone call, a gut feeling telling him to stick around, but his greater instinct to comply, to trust Aki, eventually prevails.

There's disapproval couched in each one-line retort Nayuta gives him, but that's still a grade above the fit of rage he was expecting. No doubt due to the fact that Denji spent most of the day with her, even submitting to her demands to step back into the ensemble of Chainsaw Man. There's no looking past it: She won today, and she'd skipped back home just in time to catch her favorite cartoon broadcasting. He tells her stuff like they'll be back home sometime tomorrow with something to eat, and that since it's the weekend, she can sleep in if she wants — but, oh, probably not too late because the dogs will get whiny if they aren't fed at their usual time.

By the time he hangs up, he feels a little more like an adult. Which is good, in a way. That means he's gradually catching up to Aki. ]

Oh, okay.

[ Denji moves to join Aki by the the door, pushing it open. The rain is still pelting down — he can't really tell if it's lighter or not, but regardless, it doesn't really matter. They'll be getting wet again. A flash of lightning pulses, veining through the sky. He's pretty sure he saw a love hotel sign up ahead just now. He looks back at Aki again, concern making its reappearance on his face in how he fidgets with the door handle, tapping against the brass. ]

I think we should run for it.

[ His hand searches out Aki's, snugly entwining with his the moment he does, as if he's afraid he might lose him on the way there. Then, he tugs them forward, back into the storm. ]

[Aki looks at him when Denji reaches down to grab his hand, but he's still a little shocked when he gets suddenly tugged forward into the heavy rain. He follows without trying to stop him, the rush not the same as the one from earlier, when the opposite of this happened. Where he felt like he was running for his life before and yanking Denji wiht him, now it feels like he's running toward something greater alongside him. It's to a shitty love hotel, sure, but it's still better than nothing, and once they come inside the building with its plush-looking exterior to hide how cheap the interior is, they're the only ones, dripping a puddle on the floor. A clerk window is across the lobby and Aki makes his way to it, wiping his brow with his equally drenched sleeve like it even matters as he greets the clerk who barely looks his way.]

[He books the room for twelve hours, signing a few forms and motioning Denji to stay close to him until he's finally given a key and pointed down the hallway to a vacant room. It seems empty here, which is relieving, and possibly expected given how the weather ended up. It doesn't really look seedy or unimpressive by any stretch, but it still feels like the sort of place someone put a fresh coat of paint over to hide scratches and knicks yet it ends up highlighing them even more. The room they rent is much the same: mostly red and beige with a bathroom, a small drink cabinet, and some nondescript packages on the nightstands that Aki assumes are mostly lube and condoms.]

[Aki takes his shirt off and starts on his pants. The wound on his neck is completely gone, like Denji didn't even knick him with his fingernail. He drapes them over the towel rack in the bathroom and tells Denji to do the same.]

You wash off first - I need something to drink.

[He realizes he's beyond grateful that Denji's uniform jacket got lost somewhere. He looks young, sure, but not so young they couldn't write him off as eighteen.]

[ With the glee of a puppy wondering at snow for the first time, Denji capers around the room, doing exactly would probably be expected of him: opening and closing drawers, sniffing through the welcome amenities, assessing the yield of the loveseat, exclaiming in awe when he probes around the bathroom and presses a switch that suddenly causes red neon lights to emit from the tub — man! Finally some good tidings. Love hotels really are everything and more than he could ever dream of. If only he knew this place was so close by earlier, they should've gone here to begin with. ]

M'kaaay.

[ His voice answers back, setting down a bar of soap he'd been pressing into his nose, despite "non-scented" being printed on the packaging. Don't mind him. A twist of the spigot, and the bath begins filling with warm, steaming water. He'll get in there after he does a more formal cleaning using the shower head. One by one, his clothes contributes to the growing pile on the towel rack, not even hanging properly, just kinda stuffed between the rails. He's testing the temperature of the water when, suddenly, as if struck by a belated realization, he's clambering to stick his head out of the bathroom. ]

— wait, you're gonna drink now? [ And therefore excuse himself from bathing with Denji. Obviously, he's pouting about it. ] You coulda just gotten something at the bar before…

[ Granted, that would have been stealing. But they were already trespassing, anyway.

He checks over at the bath real quick to make sure it isn't overflowing before allowing himself to dally a little longer at the door frame, the side of his shoulder hitting against it. His arms cross as he blatantly scopes out Aki's state of undress — not really lecherously, as evident by his next few words. ]

…Hey, I didn't notice it back there, but… you healed up pretty quick.

[At the bar...? They broke in and fucked on a wall in there, Aki is definitely not going to extend their criminal proceedings by stealing as well. He pulls out a bottle of water and downs half of it while Denji checks on the tub, then exhales heavily when he lowers it. He can feel rainwater dripping down his chest.]

[When Denji speaks again, he looks up.]

...Yeah. I guess so.

[He still feels unusually wired, like electricity is buzzing through every nerve in his body. Aki crosses the room and tosses the bottle toward Denji for him to drink, as well.]

I'm still not used to this stuff, I guess. [His hand took a full night to heal after Denji chomped it, so he knows it's suspicious that the neck that he tore through should be just as, if not longer. But something tells him not to tell Denji the truth. That he'll fret and worry and be annoying about it. He doesn't want to deal with it. Would rather enjoy the strange heat running through him even as goosebumps sprout on his skin. He passes him into the bathroom, glancing at the tub as it still gradually fills before pointing him to the shower head on the wall.]

Come on. [He pulls off his boxers, tossing them toward the hook on the wall. Maybe some warm water will help.]

[ All Denji does is lazily raise a curled hand, the bottle hitting its mark with no issue as he spins on his heel to follow closely after him, the door shutting behind the two of them. Uncapping the bottle, he takes a quick swig — which, of course, nearly empties the rest of the contents inside. He really doesn't know when to stop. ]

Well…

[ It's not that he doesn't notice a single thing out of the ordinary about Aki. He can tell his current disposition is different from his usual, that he's being somewhat standoffish, but… that probably has to do with that plant devil. What was it again? Something about effects on a human can last for up to six hours after dying? Whatever the case, the bottle gets put aside, as do whatever questions he may have regarding Aki's healing rate. Not counting all the other times these past few days, Aki's told him once tonight already that he's bad at reading the mood. Denji can live without being given crap about it a second time. ]

Alright.

[ Condensation films every surface of the bathroom as they step in, humid air hanging densely inside. Not heading for the shower head immediately, Denji pause by the tub, leaning over the edge to twist the faucet, the rush of water into the tub trickling to a full stop. He fiercely waves a hand over, motioning at Aki to come toward him. ]

Hey, hey, wanna see something? [ Rhetorical question. He taps at the side controls of the tub and boom — mood lighting blooms from the bottom. Ha ha! ] It's red! Cool, right?

[ It really isn't that impressive. But Denji's amused by it. ]

[Aki watches Denji eagerly turn on the mood light for the tub, his eyes briefly widening as he realizes something that's particularly depressing to him in that moment: He doesn't know anyone else who would get that excited over mood lighting.]

[...But that was always Denji's way, wasn't it. Even after everything he went through, he's still excited by something as simple as a red glow in a tub. Aki stares at it for a moment, digesting that thought.]

...Yeah. [He picks up the shower handle and turns on the spray, splashing the water on his hand to check the temperature.] Usually those kinds of things have other colors, you know.

[But he isn't about to try and find the remote to change that. The spray is still chilly but he rinses his head down, letting the crap and grime slide down his back and all the dust descend into a slightly dark river by his feet. His heart is still racing, still excited and over-amped. He wipes a hand over his eyes to shed the water and looks toward Denji again.] Have you ever stayed in a hotel before? Other than the one up north. [He means a western hotel anyway, not a ryokan.]

Oh. [ Suddenly, the lights cycle through pink, blue, green, then back again. He accidentally presses something in the midst his unrestrained tapping that starts the jets in the tub, taking him by surprise, his hand slamming down to turn it off on reflex. …Anyway, once he's finished playing with the controls, he turns a few degrees to watch Aki wash off — and inexplicably, stands, moving to reach past Aki and dispense shampoo into his hands. ] Umm, I stayed in that hotel with you all for that one annoying devil.

[ He slept pretty good back then. Until Kobeni tried to stab his guts and sacrifice him. Oh, and he stayed in a house devil one time with Power, too, but that doesn't count, does it? ]

If I stayed anywhere for a mission, it wasn't really for fun — [ Well, they aren't exactly here for fun right now, either. Semantics. ] I mean, you know how it is. [ He rubs his hands together, ensuring that each palm is uniformly lathered, then raises them both up to Aki's hair. ] Lean down.

[ It makes no difference whether Aki acquiesces to the request or not; Denji's treating his scalp to a massage, like it or not, scrubbing gently at his roots before working the suds partway through his hair. He gives any hardened strands a firm rubdown, shaking the gunk from his fingers to join the swill of dirt and whatever else flushing down.

He pauses, like he's about to say something he might regret and he's giving himself the chance to turn back, but it's too late. He's already all in. ]

…You know, there was this one time I went back up north. Tried taking Nayuta, like, to visit your family grave. [ Should he be admitting this? Probably not, right? Self-consciousness pulses through him, makes the movements of his hands a little awkward and strained. ] It went pretty shitty… The ferry ride made her sick. We lost our luggage. She forced the bus driver to throw up as punishment and called me lame when I told her to stop it — it was funny, though. But we couldn't afford the place we stayed at back with the three of us, so we wound up getting taken in by this old dude. He was weird and his breath stunk like old cig tar, but Nayuta liked him 'cause he reminded her of scarface. [ Kishibe is who he's referring to. ] The whole time I kept thinkin' about how I was botching crap up when I just wanted to introduce her to you. [ … ] Somehow, it was kinda nice, despite everything.

[ The reason his face is burning is because of this stupid steam, he thinks, hands withdrawing from his hair to let Aki rinse himself if he so chooses to. ]

But, uh, yeah. That's it. [ Then, breezily, like he's not asking a confidential question: ] So where did you stay? When you were gone.

Edited (i keep adding things pls 4give me...) 2023-10-10 05:19 (UTC)

[It's good that Denji has decided to wash his hair, because it means Aki doesn't have to look at him as he tells his story. A story that, he realizes, he never wanted to hear. He knows about his own mourning period and how he coped. He never thought about how Denji might have mourned, once he found he was alive. What about the others? he wants to ask. What about Power? Did he lump that in with the grave visit up north? How did he remember where to go? How did the grave look? Did he wipe off the snow and leaves, light some incense, leave some offerings? Did his family know who he was? Did they know what he was doing? ...And what did that devil think, being brought to a cemetery halfway across the country?]

[He blinks out of his minor stupor when Denji asks where he was, over the year. Definitely not visiting cemeteries, that's for sure. He reaches for the shower head to rinse the soap from his hair and avoid speaking for a moment.]

All over the place, I guess.

[He doesn't remember where he stayed some days because he didn't ask many questions. It was obvious when they were in larger cities but any smaller villages blended together. Accents could have helped but he didn't speak to anyone. Aki sets the shower head down and pushes his hair from his eyes, finally raising them to look at Denji head-on.]

You really visited me?

[Even though he wasn't there. Denji was emotional enough about his death that he went to see his spiritual resting place.]

[He lowers his eyes, bringing his hands up to squeeze the water from his hair.]

When I first turned... I felt like I was a child again. Playing in the snow back home. [He could reach out to grab some shampoo and do the same for Denji, clean him off and get him ready to sit in the fancy tub. But the words tumble out of him, like Denji just dislodged a stick that held the weight of the dam, and he stands still while he speaks.] I remember seeing my little brother and wanting to go over there. He was calling for me - But I felt trapped in place.

[He doesn't mention the rest of it. Playing with Denji and Power, the other people he half recognized from passing them on the street. He doesn't mention how Denji cried, pelting him with snowballs as Aki dropped into the snow and gave up for him. Something to get him to quit crying, like he did with Taiyou when he was a sore loser. Dropped the ball and declared himself struck out. He doesn't want to tell Denji about that.]

Maybe that's where I would have gone. Back up north.

[He almost sounds like he wishes it was the case now.]

[ 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.

[Even through this conversation, he can feel his heart pumping hard in his neck, digesting what he fed his body, trying to process it. It doesn't hurt, not like a growth spurt where your legs ache as they grow. It feels like suddenly putting on a shirt that first for the first time. He stands still as Denji rubs conditioner into his hair and wants to ask, When did you learn that? The guy who was so pumped to take a hot bath when he first came to his apartment, now gently massaging shampoo into the strands of his hair.]

[...He shakes his head gently.]

I don't want them to see me like this.

[Housing the very entity that he swore he'd destroy. The very entity that he let destroy them. Aki can't face them while he's still living inside of him.]

[Once the conditioner is rinsed he turns the shower to Denji, washing him down and letting his grime run down the same drain his did. He's not nearly as disgusting, he thinks, but the dust is like a thin film over his entire skin that he has to run his soapy hand along to coax into flowing off with the water. Sweat, dust, grime, blood. It all goes down the drain until he can turn it on his hair, wash that down too. It allows him to think something he never bothered to ask before, though the question always sat in the back of his mind.]

Have you ever visited your family? Wherever they are.

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lol np!

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