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

[ It's so impossible, talking to Aki. Always poking holes into what he says, whether he means to or not. He wouldn't be Aki if he didn't, however, right now, it's almost what it was like talking to Makima back in her apartment, each thing he says making the muscles of his little dog-heart shrink and contract and weaken. But more than that, it's the knowing that nothing he says or does will resonate with him. Reach him, give him the understanding he wants. That, that fact — that's what threatens to dislodge Pochita from his chest completely. ]

It's not all pain… I think. Being with you…

[ The words grate out from him unevenly, uncertainly. As if feeling the premature sting of knowing that it's not enough. That it's not something that has any right to be enough. His hands crawl up Aki's forearms, nails pinning him down, not knowing when he might change his mind, pull his face away from his neck. ]

I just like it. Even if you're yelling at me or pushing me around, stuff like that… I keep thinking that I really, really —

[ No, seems to say the way the side of his face turns and wipes into his pillowcase. No, he can't say that. No. No. ]

…I dunno, it's just, it's fine. Even if you're makin' me feel crummy, you make me — twice as happy, too.

[ He sounds miserable. Devastated. But he wants to believe he's telling the truth as best he can, as best as he knows it to be. ]

I care about you.

[It doesn't feel like he deserves this sort of response. They've both lost too many people in their respective lives, but while Aki has decided to be stalwart in pushing people away as a result - and failing at it - Denji draws them in, clings to them. How can he be so comfortable doing that when the simple act of pressing himself into Denji feels like he's seeping poison over his skin? Doesn't he know it's not worth it in the long term?]

[The worst part is, as miserable as Denji sounds, it makes it that much more apparent that he's telling the truth. Aki sighs.]

[He told him he would be happy if Denji was happy. So hearing him say he's twice as happy with him... It's like a mockery of his own words.]

If you really mean that...

[He reaches up with his arm, trying to turn Denji over, make him face him. Or at least pull him onto his back so he can look at him, stare at him from a higher vantage point. Whichever he succeeds in, his reddened eyes stay locked on his as he speaks.]

Let me be the one to find you, next time.

[ His lungs grow full with a breath he doesn't release, air eddying in his chest. He's hesitant to be seen or to see whatever Aki has to show him. He doesn't feel ready. Strange, that's never stopped him from catapulting into the unknown before, so why does the thought of meeting Aki's gaze feel more daunting than being hunted and tracked by a thousand yellowed devil eyes?

Yet the bed springs whine. Yet Denji still turns on his back, almost tempted to raise his hands up. No sex afterglow, no weightlessness to his shoulders — Aki looks like shit, so he must look the same way from under him. It'd make him laugh in any other situation. How fast and easy it is for everything to come crashing down.

This time, it's Denji's turn to sigh. ]

You'll come? [ He extends a hand to brush Aki's bangs back. His heartbeat pounds in the background somewhere far off, like its hidden doors and doors away in some hellishly peaceful glen. ] If I call your name, you'll come?

[From his fingertips, Aki can feel the pulse of Denji's heart, beating hard like his own was not long before this. His expression creases in slight pain at Denji's question and the repetition of it, because he knows he won't. If he was in trouble and he called out for Aki, he wouldn't hear him, wouldn't come running. If he was alone and called for him, he wouldn't even know. He should be honest with him. He can only lie by omission, not by words.]

Maybe not so easily. [It could be months, it could be years. He doesn't know what his life is going to be like. If he'll even live long enough to hold his end of the bargain up. He leans down and, with his hair brused away and parted from water and sweat, he presses his bare forehead into Denji's, eyes closing so he can get close.] But I'll find you. I promise. So don't try and beat me to it, next time.

[Briefly, making it less of a kiss and more of a caress, he presses his lips into Denji's before shifting to the side to lay down again.]

Just live your life and be happy. I'll come back for you.

[ His eyes shutter for a moment, wanting to melt into the contact, a bit — have something good to balance out the tough course this conversation has tread, like adding sweetener to black coffee. He wants to believe him. Nearly considers saying that he doesn't have to promise to come back, to not abandon him so readily, even though it does make him feel better to hear, that for him, for Denji, he'll come back.

Promises like that can be cruel. ]

…Okay. I'll try. I promise.

[ So he makes his own. Two different promises, only connected somewhere toward the end where they can finally make good on them.

He watches Aki settle back on his side and, after a second passes, he lifts his arm. Offering up the space, same as what was done for him last night. He's never liked owing Aki anything; there's a part of him that feels acutely like he'll be spending however span of time his life lasts trying to pay him back. Especially now.

His arms itch to stretch out, to be the one to bridge their distance, but he'll wait for Aki. Regardless of whether it's here in this bed or years ahead. Maybe they won't even be in Tokyo by then. ]

[Aki isn't sure he wants to be the one to reach out, either. It's shameful, of course, to want it. The same way he feels shameful for nearly jumping at the idea of fleeing with him, taking Denji with him so he knows he's safe. Taken care of. But every time he's felt the tight grip of his arms, the press of his body against his own... He'd tell himself it's from the year of not touching anyone, but even before that he wouldn't go out of his way to hug anyone, either. Why does a hug feel so good?]

[He reaches out to accept the opening, wraps his arm over Denji's back and pulls him in. He tells himself that doing this just for now is okay. Enjoying things in the moment. Eating char siu. Even if it ends, he'll have time in the future to look back on it and recognize the happiness he can't feel right now, just like before.]

Thanks. [Mumbled into his hair, it's the least he can say after tonight.] Denji.

…Mhmm.

[ Starting and ending the day in Aki's arms almost makes the rest of what happened, the roughage in this confusing ass sandwich, worthwhile. If happiness is a selective memory, then that's what butting his face into Aki's neck does to Denji. Like hearing the air moving in Aki's lungs, feeling the microbeat of something that's not quite his heart yet works just as well, makes him forget all about their ruined breakfast, Nayuta pressuring him into engaging the devil, and the farawayness of the world as their mind's fell to more than one thing out of their control. It's warm and comforting and when he breathes in, Aki smells like Aki, not whatever chemical compounds make up a bullet, a weapon. The government may not believe it, and Aki himself may not, either, but that's fine. That's alright.

Even Makima was wrong toward the end, about movies and sad endings. They can be wrong about this, about people and devils.

The next morning, awareness comes to him in waves: first, of the assortment of aches crying from his joints; second, of the dull tension pervading his skull; and lastly, of something tickling his nose. His eyes open to half his vision obscured by Aki's hair and the overfluffed pillowcase. He'd been a rather unpleasant bedfellow most of the night, tossing and turning until finally landing face down on his stomach, an arm thrown across Aki's waist. Fingers tucked under his side, ready to dig his nails in if anything tugged him away.

For a moment, Denji considers ignoring how disgusting he feels to extend their closeness while there's nothing complicated around to ruin it, but he can only go so long without acknowledging how parched his throat is, the dried snot crusting his nostrils. A sharp throb hits him right above his left eye, which could either be a remnant of yesterday's stress — or a sign that he's getting sick. Guess that's what happens when you go frolicking from place to place in the rain. Either way, he should do something about the cold semen tacked to his thighs.

Carefully, which is probably not careful at all by anyone's standards, he extricates himself. Patters to the bathroom as quietly as he can, but he's kinda in a rush, because the second he's vertical, it hits him that he's really gotta pee.

Flush of the toilet. Water hissing from the shower head, spraying against the tile.

If Aki isn't already awake by the time Denji has toweled himself off, he'll snag his clothes from last night, toss them over his shoulder, and pad over. He stands there, looming over him, like a kid debating on whether or not to wake their parents after wetting the bed. Eventually, he can feel his nose running again, so he sniffs and hoarsely says: ] Aki. Bathroom's open now.

[He's awake, but at what cost.]

[Sleeping beside someone is still strange. Aki woke multiple times in the night, laying perfectly still as Denji rolls around in his sleep, searching for a good position and bumping into him enough times that he would have been annoyed any other night. By the time he does get up, Aki has closed his eyes and is mostly asleep but quickly woken by the motion. But still, he doesn't move. Like a child feigning sleep to secure a couple more minutes before having to face the world. When he hears the shower shut off he rolls onto his back and just breathes, feels the too warm air of the love hotel flood his lungs. He senses the shadow of Denji over him and only when he speaks does he finally open his eyes.]

Yeah.

[Fine. Fine, he'll get up. Do this properly. There's no real rush, since he booked twelve hours, but he still moves without dragging his feet as he heads to the bathroom, rinses himself off, pulls on clothes and brushes out his hair before pulling it up. Stares at himself in the mirror, where there should be a gouge taken out of his neck but where there isn't. Where he should be bruised and battered by more than Denji's desires. But it's like he's never been touched.]

[When he comes out of the restroom, he sits down on the bed to begin pulling his socks and shoes on, both soaked from the rain but essential to Aki's feeling that things are normal. The laces of his sneakers are crusty with rain and street grime but he ties them carefully and stands, looking to Denji expectantly. Like there's no other answer to what they should be doing right now. At least it's the weekend so he doesn't have to bitch at him about going to school. They'll grab something to eat and head home.]

[...Head back to Denji's apartment, that is.]

Are you ready? [He's avoided him a bit in the brief movements around the hotel room, not focusing on him directly, so he hasn't noticed his sniffling, his pale skin. Aki is a pro at acting as if things are normal when they aren't - this morning is no different.]

[ Denji's fully dressed and on standby near the door, arms crossed, trying to stay warm, stay awake, or both. While Aki's been busying himself, he's been hunched over, sometimes watching, but really just keeping out of the way. Inert, mostly, so it isn't that difficult to give one another a wide berth. Easier on his head that way. Moving around, hearing his filthy sneakers squeak, makes his brain rattle and ring like a cracked bell. If he speaks up, says something that could lead to a sequel of last night, he's pretty sure his skull would split clean open, no different from tapping an eggshell too hard against the kitchen counter.

He'll feel better when they're home. Dump 50 grams of honey into a cup of boiling water and call it tea. There, cured. Nayuta will be there, of course. Hopefully, she'll have gotten all that weird crap outta her system and she won't say something else that'll make him question everything. But if she does, at least he'll be home. They both will.

His eyes flash open suddenly at Aki's question, the muddy tips of his shoes staring at him. When did they even close? ]

Uh… [ He stares at him, dumbly. Gives another sniff, rubbing his nose with his knuckles to clean up some stray mucus, and nods. ] Uh-huh. Let's go.

[ His voice is a mumble, like he's actively trying not to exert too much sound from his throat. Pushing off the wall, he pulls the door open. In a way, Denji's avoiding him, too. Trying to walk ahead, trying not to look Aki in the eye.

What happened couldn't exactly be called a breakthrough. It was more like what happens when you go to the batting cages and pay to slam as many balls into the chain-link fencing as possible. Or when someone punches you and you punch back. Pure instinct and pent-up whatever taking over. The kind of shit that happens when you put two scabbed and scarred fighting dogs into the same ring, or that's just his guess. Aki would know better than him which part of yesterday was normal and which part was an outcome of fighting that plant devil and which part meant something, but then again, can he trust him anymore to be honest about that stuff? To not just hide things from him —

Someone shoves Denji aside as he tries to exit the establishment at the same time as a huge party of people are entering. He runs into a potted plant, the stalk of it snapping, when he grabs at it to balance himself. ]

The hell! That hurt, [ complains Denji, opening up his palm to stare at the scratch lines. It doesn't actually hurt that much. These will be gone within the hour. ]

[Something's off with him, Aki realizes, taking him in for the first time that morning. He looks chilly. Maybe it's from putting on the same clothes from yesterday, damp and grimy. Maybe it's from sleeping after sex that harsh, nearly back to back to back. Maybe he's under the weather thanks to the storm they had to run through.]

[He's hoping it's just a result of the sex, of the mood from last night, but when guests coming in nearly knock him over Aki is surprised enough that he reaches out to grab him, keep him from toppling over and taking the plant with him. He says a quick, Watch out, to the open air, directed at the strangers or at Denji, who really knows. But regardless, he helps pull him upright and, once they're outside, begins toward the station to take the train home. He'll take his temperature when they get there. Surely Denji has a thermometer.]

[It's hard to know what to say to him. If he should just act like none of this happened. That's usually what he does. He doesn't have deep conversations with Denji - at least, he didn't used to. Maybe one or two, about a few things. But nothing deep enough to break skin. They've both revealed more about themselves than Aki ever intended to have shown now, however, and he doesn't know how he feels about it. The strange feeling that he's opened his heart to Denji and now has to turn around and leave him blinking in the reveal. How cruel it is, but how oddly grateful he's been. At the very least, he tells himself, he doesn't think he'll be leaving any time soon.]

[That's what he really believes, until they get to the apartment and there's a car parked outside. As they walk up the street together in the grey morning sky, the passenger door opens and a man steps out that makes Aki immediately freeze, his feet going still for a moment, a short inhale through his nose. He separates from Denji almost immediately, muttering to him,] Go inside. I'll be there in a minute.

[Then continues toward the man, walking like a dog who knows he did something wrong.]

But the food's gonna get cold —

[ The bag of char siu they'd nabbed on the way home rustles as Denji shifts his weight, indications of another coming protest visible in the set of his mouth, but it's too late, Aki's already outside of hearing range. As his spine wilts forward, like a sunflower on an overcast day, a frustrated sound that's part huff, part growl, swiftly replaces whatever he's about to say.

Always so quick to leave…

Instead of listening or doing a similarly reasonable thing, like waiting patiently at the foot of the stairs the way a well-trained mutt would, Denji promptly slinks after him. Not saying or doing anything to announce his presence besides bumping his forehead into Aki's shoulder, scratched hand curling around his wrist. If either the man or Aki question why he's there, he'll just — make something up. Yeah, he can definitely do that, even with the layer of static fuzzing his senses. He can pretend that this has nothing to do with feeling territorial or helpless in the wake of last night's events. ]

[Aki is in the midst of essentially being dressed down, answering questions honestly - beginning with where he was last night when suddenly Denji's weight is in his back and his hand around his wrist. He turns around in surprise despite knowing it's him (and why does he know it so assuredly?) and begins to tell him to go back, go inside, but the man speaks over him, his tone easy and calm as he says, "It's alright." He looks like the kind of guy who would blend in anywhere - no piercings, no scars, short black hair. Maybe that's why he unsettles Aki a bit. He's too normal to be as high up as he is.]

["We intercepted reports of gunfire in Kabukicho. The devil's gone, no eyewitnesses to whatever killed it. Most of them think it was Chainsaw Man." The handler is reaching into his pants pocket as he speaks, digging around for a moment before unveiling a small paper container of gum, of which he holds out to Denji. Aki glances at him, then lightly shrugs his shoulder to get his attention, get him to take one. "We're fine going with that story. But you used it last night, didn't you."]

[Aki stares at the hand holding the gum, his heart thudding in his chest. His heart, Gun - whatever it is. Pounding away like it's going to jump out.] Yes.

[The admission is said and the man leans back, stuffs his hands back into his pockets. Seems to consider the situation for a long moment. Then finally says, "And didn't report it, or contact us about staying out somewhere... Did you stay in Kabukicho?" Another shallow nod. He still can't look at him directly. "With your... civilian." Yet another nod. "Well - Look. I wasn't a fan of this set-up, exactly because of this. Living with the city's superhero, it puts you right in the spotlight, too. You're the last thing we need a light shining on. There's only so much we can do to keep eyes off you, and if you can't cooperate, we'll go back to my way. I'm giving you a chance with this set-up. You said you'd keep your head down. That scene last night, it's in the morning paper. Aki..." He finally forces his eyes up, to look at him. The stare he's giving him is so casual, so normal, it's kind of sickening. Like a bureaucratic stamp on his execution paperwork. "You're not a devil hunter anymore. Don't forget that."]

[The words shouldn't sting him as much as they do. Shouldn't burn his brain like a brand. Aki nods. Because what else is there to do.]

["I was against this, too, but..." The handler reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out a cell phone, small and black. "Use this, next time. My number's in there. Captain's, too. Give us a ring, let us know if there's trouble. You know we can get there in minutes. No need for any gunny business." And he smiles the smile Aki hates, crinkling his eyes and thinning his lips. "You take care. We'll be back."]

[Like on command, Aki ducks his head down to bow as the man turns to leave, climbing back into the passenger side of the car. When it begins to drive off is when he finally stands up, looking briefly back at Denji before turning away and heading up the stairs... and nearly sending his foot through the wobby step before catching himself.]

[ Though he entered into this content with hiding inside Aki's shoulder, as the exchange continues, his face eventually rolls up, revealing the confused ambers of Denji's eyes, of which are trained on what he can make of Aki's side profile. He doesn't look away until Aki's practically forcing him to, a huff of air pushing from his nose as his gaze pounces down at the gum stick being offered to him. He stares past it, at the man's nails, how they're evenly cut and clean of any buildup of dirt. Then, without a word of thanks, he snatches it from his hands, tears the wrapper off, and pops the stick into his mouth. Doesn't very much look happy about the familiar taste of sweetener and mint, the way he usually would. That reason being…

When was the last time he saw Aki this docile? Maybe never. Deferential to his superiors, people like Makima or Kishibe whose presences demanded a certain measure of respect that Denji himself never fully committed to, sure, but the way he keeps nodding, like smoke from a gun melting into the air. It doesn't just feel uncanny, it feels untrue to the person he was laying in bed next to a mere hour ago. More nauseating to watch than how he felt using public transit earlier, eyes closed, his head ducked between his knees while both his migraine and his stomach warbled in harmony.

For a moment, however, looking between his ashen expression and this nobody's unsettling friendliness, Denji forgets his own ails, how crappy his body feels, a surge in temperature rushing up his face. Mad at the guy for being able to stand there and piss on Aki's — well, everything, all with a smile on his face. Mad at Aki for taking it.

Continuing to clutch his wrist, he fumes to himself, chewing harshly as they climb the stairs, and harsher still as he pauses on the step above Aki's, watching the broken one he'd almost slipped through swing up and down, squeaking. His hold tightening. The pain in his head sharpening.

They keep walking in silence until, finally, he can't take it anymore. He jerks Aki to a stop just short of their door. ]

What'd that mean — [ Ugh, this stupid gum is making his mouth dry out, and something about the flavor of the gum isn't as good as the kind Aki gives him. He swallows it down, then speaks up again. ] 'Go back to my way'?

[Denji asks and Aki closes his eyes briefly, stuck on the walkway with a teenager blocking his path to something with a semblance of normalcy to it. He doesn't want to explain. He doesn't realize it, but he's been avoiding discussing where he was for a year because it's depressing, shameful, sickening to others. For someone who did nothing wrong to be where he was, someone whose only sin was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But they don't see it that way, because he said "Yes" when Gun asked him, so here he is. Choosing between a one bedroom apartment with stickers on the wall and a concrete cage with a mirror and a toilet. And he broke the mirror at some point.]

His way, it's... direct surveillance.

[More winding words to get out of what he actually means. He lets his eyes trail off the railing. He can't see the car anymore.]

If you remember the way that Tokyo's Public Safety houses devils... The federal government has similar - locations.

[Assuming that's enough for him, he tries to push past, head for the door.]

Come on. You sound like you're getting sick.

Uh, say what? Surveillance?! You…

[ Denji remembers. Outside of Makima's initial tour of Public Safety's facilities, he only ventured down that maze of hallways and elevators a handful of times while shadowing Aki or to escort a new devil the organization could leverage in the form of a contract. The holdings were no better than living inside the compartments of a bento. The beds and bare amenities, if the cell was lucky to have even come equipped with those things, all square and packed tight. Every time he visited, it felt like they were showing Denji that they had more than enough space to rehome him, if he ever outlived his usefulness.

Imagining someone like Aki in a place like that — it's depressing, shameful, sickening, and it hurts. It hurts to see Aki try to coast by his own pain, how unnecessarily evil that asshole was. Denji wants to rampage. Spit out his frustration, no matter how pointless it is. He wants to push. He wants to talk about this. ]

— Fine. But this isn't over, alright?

[ Still, he may be a dog, but he's no fucking hyena. He lets Aki retreat into the apartment. Doesn't refute the claim that he's sick, because it's plain as day that he is, following him in, expression as darkly lit as a dungeon.

Nayuta is inside watching a variety show. The kind with contestants navigating some sort of perilous obstacle course full of a hidden gags and surprises. Though her nose does give a little twitch (smelling the char siu, he tells himself), she otherwise doesn't bat much an eye at them returning later than promised, just barks with laughter as someone gets steamrolled trying to escape a rolling boulder up a steep hill. Walking by, he drops his hand over her head in passing, then heaves up their things on the counter. He hurriedly nabs a damp dish rag hanging off the sink to clot the flow of snot running down his nose before it rolls into his mouth. ]

[What is this? he wants to ask, but doesn't bother. Aki walks in and feels his feet want to move to the TV set and manually turn it down, immediately bothered by the blaring of the sound effects and cheers, but he stops himself when Denji pats the devil on the head. Just a child, or whatever.]

[His attention follows him to the counter where he grabs that wet, used rag and begins to wipe up his nose with it. Disgusting. To go from reminiscing on the little hole in the wall he used to call a home, made of concrete and cold metal, to the sight of Denji wiping his nose with god-knows-what... The world truly does have its variations on disgusting.]

...A lot of people think devils can't get sick. That they aren't susceptible to the diseases humans or animals get.

[He opens the fridge and begins looking for something, then gives up and checks the pantry. He's sure he got some... Aha. Ginger. He starts to thinly slice it up, carefully with even cuts.]

Go sit down and eat, with her. I'll make you something to drink.

[Even if he doesn't like her, he knows Denji does. And there's no issue with him sitting too close to a devil right now.]

[ When Denji inherited Pochita's heart, whatever traces of his pre-existing conditions vanished into thin air, dissolved, like a magical cure-all tablet fizzling down to its most basic particles in a glass of water. Pochita promised to save him, so that must have included from his genetics, his family curses — it's how he likes to see it, anyway. If that's just how devils are constructed, or if he was just fortunate to pull a lucky winning lotto that day, then so be it. Ultimately, he still prefers imagining his tiny companion had a hand in that particular draw.

But for passing ailments, like food poisoning, motion sickness, common colds… Denji hasn't the foggiest clue what the rules are. ]

A whole lotta people must be wrong, then.

[ He's pretty sure none of the rules involve taking ginger, though. He peers over Aki's shoulder, the faint aroma of the root alone stimulating his sense of smell. Denji's eyes cross, the corners of his mouth pulling back in that way people sometimes do right before they —

Denji tries to turn away and raise the rag he's still holding, but before he realizes it, yellow snot and fluid flies out, misting the side of Aki's face. That is, if he doesn't dodge in time. Face a mess, Denji pats himself dry, groaning, grimacing, and then, in coming face-to-face with the disgusting stain he's left at Aki's shoulder, beginning to walk backward toward the table. ]

…Yeah, y'know what, you're right. I should just, um, sit. Take your time doing whatever. Bye.

[Did he just fucking sneeze on him.]

[Aki stands almost board stiff afterwards, the keen knowledge that he has Denji germs on his face - but when Denji has the nerve to try and sneak away after that, he snatches him by the arm, dragging him over and smushing his face against his sleeve to dislodge as much of the snot as punishment.]

You're disgusting.

[Then he'll shove him away and point for him to go sit down, running the tap to quickly wash his face and try and rid himself of any germs. If a hybrid can get sick, then he has to be careful.]

[Aki continues with what he's doing for a bit, finely chopping the ginger, combining some with warm water and honey to steep, finishing with some peeled fruit - citrus this time, not an apple. He brings them all over to him, setting them down at the table and crossing his arms.]

That's ginger tea. Drink that, then eat the orange, then stick that piece of ginger in your mouth and suck on it.

[Easy instructions. He'll be better in no time.]

It looks like ginger pee.

[ The easiest of instructions, and still, Denji reaches for an orange slice first, the sole thing on the plate he knows for a fact won't make him gag. Besides, after having his face used in substitute of a towel, his mood has soured enough that he's disinterested in following his every order to a tee. He doesn't even stop to chew the slice, quickly swallowing it before Aki can, like, slap it out of his hands or something. The tart sweetness of the fruit doesn't really help the congestion in his throat, but it does taste good.

His follow-up comes through like someone speaking around a mouthful of thumb tacks. ]

…Yeah, I'll have the rest of it later. [ Later, when Aki's distracted and he can have one of the dogs taste the drink to see if it's worth chugging down without stopping. ] After we're finished eating actual breakfast.

[ "Good call," Nayuta remarks. She tends to like seeing them disagree, always happy to wedge her own commentary in to maximize that divide. "The only reason the oranges are there is to chase down the yucky stuff, I bet."

Denji looks at her, like he's almost begging for her mercy to keep this breakfast a non-explosive one. It'd really suck having another food fight when there are slices of thickly glazed pork meat plated at the center of the table, chopped and re-warmed, ready for them all to dig in. Denji pinches a sliver between his fingers, holding it level to Aki's mouth. A piddling peace offering. ]

C'mon, you're the one who said you wanted char siu last night. Have the first bite.

[He doesn't follow the instructions and he doesn't even drink the part that's supposed to help. Aki stares across at him while he sits down, casting the devil a look.]

It's just ginger. It's nothing gross. It has health...

[Oh, what's even the point. He leans back when Denji shoves the food in his face and has half a mind to tell him off for it, not to wave around something like that, but he doesn't have the energy. A year ago he would be chewing his ear off for this but after last night... It all feels like a waste of time. So he just accepts the slice.]

[...It honestly tastes really good. Maybe it's not fresh off the grill and it would be even better with stir-fried noodles, but this was definitely a good idea his intoxicated brain came up with. He doesn't light up or anything, but a small degree of his nihilism fades.]

[Once their decidedly not-breakfast breakfast is over, Aki reaches across to check Denji's temperature, vaguely mindful of the devil and whether she's going to yell at him for daring to touch his brow, but she seems content with a cartoon on TV for the moment.]

You really should drink that. You'll recover faster.

[ The sensation of his hand feels refreshing against his forehead, steadying, even, maybe because his face is nearing what it must feel like to live inside a toaster oven. If Nayuta weren't sitting just across from them, he'd be hard-pressed not to nuzzle his face in, climb all over him to claim his attention — but also, maybe not. Things were different this morning. Awkward, in a way he hasn't been able to properly calibrate in his head. There's a part of him that doesn't want to. ]

Okay, okay…

[ He removes the hand, but doesn't let go, playing with his fingers beneath the cover of the table. Above the table, he brings the lip of the glass up to his face for a sniff. It makes his nose itch, but he doesn't sneeze this time. What'd Aki say again? Take the drink, eat the ginger, then the orange?

Whatever, Denji shoots back each item in that order, his face pinching from the peppery kick that instantly surges through his frontal sinuses, even if the honey alleviates the worst of it. Pitifully, after everything has slugged down his gullet, his tongue hangs loose from his mouth. ]

Bleugh… There, I did it.

[It's clear from the moment Denji literally eats the ginger that Aki wants to stop him, that he's doing this wrong. But he sits there, his hand held in his under the table, watching with an uncomfortable stare. Did he really hate it that much? He used to drink ginger tea all the time as a kid. Has he just never been sick before?]

[Logic answers for him, however. Who, before Aki, ever would have made him tea in the first place?]

What did you do, before, when you got sick?

[His question comes with a thick layer of trepidation. Like Denji is going to admit to bloodletting himself or something. But there's some pity beneath that, a frown on his face at the idea of him not being given something as simple as ginger to help him recover from a cold.]

[ No, he never resorted to bloodletting. Met Pochita just in time to learn the value of blood, its currency to devils, and how important it was that he keep well-stocked of it in case his furball ever needed a dosage of it. He always made sure to put his devil before himself, even during that last sprint through the warehouse.

Perhaps, in that way, Denji hasn't changed at all. He checks on a certain other devil again before answering, just as she gets up to deposit her plates and wash up in the bathroom. She's been so quiet about last night, it makes him feel weird. Anxious. Though, really, he's not sure what he expects her to say. ]

Uh, I'd just lay down. [ And, to demonstrate, he does just that: lays on his side, using the seat cushion as a pillow, his legs stretching out under the table. ] With Pochita cuddled up to me, kinda like this — [ He moves their hands close to his sternum, to where his ripcord rests under his shirt, like he might feel it wagging in greeting to Aki there any moment now. When it doesn't, Denji's thumb begins stroking up and down his knuckles, almost wistful for that time. ] And we'd stay like that, waiting for it to go away, I guess. I tried makin' tea by mixing flour in with hot water, 'cause we didn't have anything sweet to put in back then, but it just got all solid and bready. Not the good kind of a bread, either.

[ He'd still poured it all down his mouth, of course. Which, in hindsight, was several grades more unpleasant to swallow than the ginger tea Aki made. The honey in the drink had helped soothe some of the pervading ache scratching inside his throat. He's not sure why he had to eat both the ginger and the orange slices, but maybe he'll see a difference in an hour from now or something. ]

How'd you find out about that ginger tea thing? Was it a library book?

[Water and... flour. He just made dough and drank that like it's tea...? Doesn't he understand the point of tea is the stuff in the leaves? ...Actually, he probably doesn't understand that even today.]

No... It's a common home remedy.

[At least where he came from. He remembers Taiyou living on the stuff. Ginger in everything he ate or drank.]

Have you ever been to a doctor in your life? Before you... [Met Makima? No, he doesn't feel like mentioning her.] Before Public Safety took you in, I mean. You really just lived alone as a little kid, with a devil?

[He's never really asked Denji about these things, just glimpsed them from how he'd describe certain ways he understood things. His respect for food, for physical cleanliness. Maybe he never wanted to look too closely.]

No one ever put a warm towel on your head, or... anything like that?

[ A home remedy, huh. That means… the drink, the tea, or whatever, that was something he learned how to do from someone else, then, right? Something that was passed on to Aki from someone who had it passed on to them. Not a generational cycle to break, but a linear chain connecting one person to the other. It's kinda interesting to hear about, the things he doesn't have.

Looking down at their raveled hands, it occurs to Denji that all he has is whatever he can remember from watching Aki tend to his home, what he learned from cleaning up after and playing with Power, what he's still finding out from taking care of Nayuta. It's a lot, naturally. Ample enough to fill up all the space in his tiny apartment, to feel suffocated as every direction closes in on him, but not enough to feel like he knows all there is to living among others. To belonging somewhere. And clearly, not enough to know how a wet towel alone may bring someone comfort. ]

Nothing like that… Um, are you gonna do that for me? [ The weight at his brow shifts, redistributing. He changes his question, the lilt more hopeful: ] Can you? I wanna know more about that remedy-thing and the other stuff. If you make it again, I'll pay attention this time.

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