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

I have eyes. So what if it's a knick? [ The way he dropped his damaged blade made it seem like he'd pierced a vital artery. And, anyway, Denji just said he'd commit to worrying over him! Isn't fussing part of the deal? ] Let's wash it out with soap. That sword's gotta have rust or somethin' on it by now —

[ Denji's mouth snaps shut as Aki deftly bypasses the heft of his consternation like it's nothing more than a roadblock to swing his leg over, diverting the focus of the conversation to the thermometer. Slowly, the circumference of his mouth widens back open, the outer edges twitching, appearing as if he can barely believe how easily Aki brushes him off.

Except he's not that surprised, the more he considers it. It's really just one more item to add to the list of things he doesn't want to talk about — not with Denji, at least, and that thought by itself is enough to induce an annoying throb between his eyes, the pain of it echoing like a plucked string throughout his head. Ugh, being sick freaking sucks.

Gaze drifting sideways, he snatches the instrument back with a huff and turns slightly away from Aki. ]

I can do it myself.

[ From there, the tip of it gets shoved beneath his tongue as directed. His arms cross, waiting for the sixty seconds to pass. The thermometer isn't on. ]

[Rust? He's concerned about rust? ...Surely a sword made by a devil can't rust, anyway. Aki watches as Denji turns himself away and pushes the thermometer in his mouth, arms crossing, seeming to wait. Not five seconds pass before he reaches out and presses the button, eliciting a loud beep from the device.]

Like that.

[Maybe he's used to mercury thermometers...? Aki won't question it right now. He closes up the box and then focuses on the rag to fold it up and rub gently over the small incision on his palm. Nothing that won't heal within a couple hours, anyway. This situation has some benefits, to his chagrin.]

[When the thermometer finally beeps again, Aki reaches out before Denji can and looks at the number, waving it slightly out of some sort of habit. Definitely a fever, though it's not as bad as it could be. He looks around the room briefly, recognizing the mess he forgot about when lured in by that box he isn't thinking about anymore. Of course.]

Lay down. I'll clean all this up. ...It smells like dog in here.

[It only just really hit him. He knew they all sleep in here, but doesn't that get crowded? Maybe it feels good, in a bed covered with dogs. But it also smells extremely like an animal, due to it.]

Don't worry about anything else right now.

[ Aki talks. Denji grunts along, teeth set on edge from the time the thermometer beeps on to him pulling the futon covers up to his chin. But the bedroom feels quiet, like nothing is really being said between them right now. Even if things were different, even if Aki trusted him to clean up his own messes, what is it that Denji would say to him, though? That he hasn't already tried saying?

His head's full of sewage sludge and his chest an overflowing drain for all of it. Maybe Aki's right. Maybe he shouldn't worry about anything right now, while he feels like this. Not thinking is something he's always been proud of being good at. He should be sticking to his chops, what's tried and true. ]

…But you know, [ he starts, seemingly apropos of nothing in particular. Denji's hand lays outside of the covers, not reaching out for Aki, but wanting to. Really, really wanting to. ] Nayuta always tells me the dog smell is good. Do you, uh — [ He has a question in mind that he should reword, rephrase, reconfigure in an arrangement that doesn't give away what he hopes Aki's answer is; he blurts it out, anyway. ] Do you hate it?

[Once Denji lays down, Aki begins to get up until he suddenly speaks. It's that kind of tone he uses when he seems like he really wants to get something out, rushed and tripping over his own words. In the past it was always to ask something stupid or confirm something anyone else would find obvious. You wash your hands before eating. You don't put body soap in your hair. You read comics from right to left. What he follows it up with, about whether dogs smell good or not... It's a similar kind of stupid statement, one that has Aki staring at him, at his hand out of the covers. He reaches out to take it, then pushes it below the sheets.]

I don't especially like it, no.

[Does Denji like it...? Does he think he shares the smell? Standing up and briefly looking around the room, he adds offhandedly,] You don't smell bad. Not like that.

[Maybe he's still thinking about the Makima stuff. Maybe he really thought of himself like a dog. But didn't they all, in some ways?]

[He makes him have the weirdest conversations. Without a word, he steps out of the room to cross to the bathroom, briefly running the tap over the cloth before returning to put it onto Denji's forehead. A light pat to make it stick in place.]

There are better things to smell like. Don't trust a devil's opinion on something like that.

[ Like what, he wants to say. Gasoline? Motor oil? Staring numbly ahead, he catches Aki's hand before it can pull away again, latching his fingers in like fishhooks.

He'll let him get away with the snipe against Nayuta, so just… give him this. Denji knows that if he argues that her opinion, her skewed and imperfect opinion, is something he values more than the roof over his head, the clothes on his back. Sees as headlights on a car beaming out past the fog. He'll just try to correct him. Regardless of how much Denji insists that he does fight her when he needs to, has to, because she's still a kid who can't seem to put the right amount of water into the rice cooker, Aki just won't accept it, that her head's already way more level than Denji's own. That she's honest, in the way humans forget how to be. She knows the difference between bread and toast, and that unhealthy fats like butter are bad for dogs, and when they went to Hokkaido, she was the one who reminded him what types of offerings to leave at a tombstone, to bring the right kind of incense. Nayuta is able to scent things better than him; harsh stenches like smoke and ash make her gag, cough. She'd probably never be able to handle smoking or being around smoke when she gets older. But she did all that, without fully understanding what it meant to him.

Aki can think he's being led astray all he wants, but if she tells him that the smell of wet dog isn't so bad, of course, he'll believe her. Of course, he'll want Aki to want to believe it, too. What he feels for both of them, voracious and eating at him with teeth just as sharp as his own.

He tugs at Aki, trying to get him to join him on the bed. ]

So what'm s'posed to do? Trust some shirtless weirdo instead? [ … ] Seriously, why aren't you wearing a shirt? You tryin' to get freaky? You're gonna get sick from me and the cold.

[ Aki could pull away. It wouldn't be hard. Denji feels worse now, for some reason: his face is grimy and hot and sweating, breath coming out in shortened puffs of air. Dryly, like he's been outside wandering in the cold. Maybe it was the box stuff. Maybe his fever is just that bad. ]

[...Oh, right. He took his shirt off. Aki honestly forgot that he'd planned to change clothes, gather his and Denji's and toss them in the wash from how wrinkled and gross they'd gotten drying overnight. He settles next to him, seated and not joined with him, still with his hand grasped in his. What did he do this time, to piss him off? Why did he get moody? He must still not be feeling well.]

I didn't get a chance to finish changing. I'm not going to get sick.

[He pulls his hand free and again pushes Denji's hand below the covers. Likely he doesn't understand the idea of sweating out a sickness, but Aki doesn't feel like explaining the idea to him. He also doesn't want to let him continue with the idea that Aki might get "freaky" with him while he has a fever.]

Most people don't like the smell of animals. People like...

[What do people like? When he thinks of smells he likes... He thinks of coffee, cigarette smoke, oil heating aromatics in a pan. Specific soap smells. That one ramen joint he and Himeno used to go to all the time smelled amazing. Did he keep going there for the smell or for the memory, though? Certainly not the food. Aki spots a drip of water from the rag running down Denji's face and reaches to scoop it away with the edge of his thumb.]

Maybe she just likes it because it's familiar to her. But most people aren't around that many dogs. So the smell is overwhelming. Don't get upset with me about it.

'm not upset…

[ Per se. On the agitation scale of 1-10, he was at a solid 2 — that's, like, an annoying fruit fly that keeps zigzagging around your face no matter how many times you think you've killed it. Though, perhaps, Denji is the fly in this case, from how frequently he keeps reaching for Aki. He touches a single thumb to his cheek and all he wants to do is press that much inward, strong-arm him into holding on to Denji.

It's stupid. He's never felt so stupid. Except he definitely has, it's just — this situation's all different. All confusing.

As sorely as he wants to, he doesn't twist his grip around Aki's wrist this time, but his lower lip does push out, the upper one hidden completely beneath. ]

…Are you upset?

[ About what, Denji? says nobody, but Denji quickly delivers an answer, anyway. Covering his bases. ]

'bout the box. 'bout keeping all your stuff… 'Bout me touching your stuff. Be honest. I'm not a baby, I can take it. You can get mad at me. [ A claim that would be more believable if his brows didn't immediately furrow, and if he weren't rushing to add something to smooth, what, he's not sure exactly over. The grievous crime of bringing the past up again, could be it. ] You know, it wasn't… just you. Powy's things are around here, too. Her dumb costumes and toys and books.

[ Like it makes it better that he wasn't trying to single Aki out. Cause him pain, specifically. ]

I'm gonna give those to her when she's back. It's seriously taking up all the space in this place, sheesh. Can't wait tell her to stop being such a pack rat.

[He's kind of upset. If he thinks about it for too long, he's upset. But he's not upset with Denji, really. It's more the entire situation that led him to make that decision, to keep those things. That he kept Power's things is another kind of pain, but at the same time, can he really blame him? Just because Aki wasn't horribly sentimental. All he kept were photos, things that are meant to be kept. Not something like a gross pair of sweats or a broken sword.]

[But that's the main thing, is that those things hold no memories to Denji. Does he remember the sound of his alarm clock enough to want to keep it? Does he recognize something in those sweatpants that Aki doesn't? No. He kept them with the expectation this encounter would happen, and it's one that shouldn't have happened anyway. That feeling is compounded when he says he'll be giving Power's things back to her "when she's back." She's not coming back, he wants to tell him. She was a fiend. She's somewhere in hell and, if she does come back, it won't be as Power. So what good does it do, to keep all these things that serve no purpose but to take up room and never be delivered?]

[Of course he complains Power was a packrat when he's the one hoarding dead peoples' junk. He has half a mind to get up and carry the whole box out to the burnables bin.]

I'm not upset with you.

[Scolding someone for how they've dealt with something like this doesn't make sense to him. He's had his own strange ways of dealing with loss. He didn't get used to it until he was well into his tenure at Public Safety - and he still cried every time.]

But I think you should let go.

[He raises his chin towards the box. More as a symbol than anything.]

She's not coming back for any of that. I think you know that.

[ It's baseless and irrational, but that doesn't stay the irritation tiding in as Denji's toes scrunch into the covers, pulling the quilted weight closer to himself. Like this makeshift cocoon can keep it all dammed in. But he knows the reality, that he and Aki won't be seeing eye to eye on this. Obviously. He's been telling him to let go since last night, and Denji hasn't the fainted idea the reason he bothered bringing this crap up, knowing that. Doesn't understand why he always does this, always keeps pitching for the pole while Aki's standing in an entirely different field. Playing an entirely different sport.

Actually, that was a lie. He knows why. ]

…You came back different, too, you know. But you still came back.

[ Yeah, but Aki came back and he didn't want any of the things Denji saved for him, an annoying voice recounts for him. Saying this just proves Aki's point. Whatever. He'll say it, anyway. Let the dam break. He feels sick of enough as is, what's another thing to make his head pulse like a jackhammer. ]

I know, alright? I know it's not gonna be the same. And that whoever Power is won't be, either. But, it's like — maybe whoever walks in through that door will like mystery anime and cats just as much. [ Naively, he thought maybe they'd be happy someone was waiting for them, all this time. ] And if they don't care, then, that's that, right? They can fucking trash the stuff, not me!

[ He's yelling. He didn't mean to yell, but there it is, the words its own animal clawing and mutilating up his throat, a resounding ache, the echo of it leaving angry gashes . So loud it could almost live outside of him. It does, really, looking at this bite-sized apartment and everything he's stuffed inside of it, like corking up the holes in a leaking boat. ] But I… I don't wanna make that decision for 'em. Sick of being the one to do that. I just want —

[ Someone else to figure it out, is what he holds back. It's a chicken shit thing to say from a guy who keeps claiming to want to think for himself, but he did all the hard stuff already, didn't he? He lived without them. Looked after himself, plus another kid with an even worse temper than his own, and Aki even told him that first night that he was doing — well. Just not well enough, apparently.

He's on the verge of rolling over, letting the conversation die out, because he ran too much of his mouth. But mercifully, a trilling from the living room is what does his job for him. No one ever calls them, not unless it's one of Kishibe's people. Without looking at Aki, Denji sheds the blanket covering him, trudging out the door like an inmate speeding toward a tunnel hidden under a bunk bed. ]

…I'll get it.

[He knows he's different now, but to hear it right from Denji hurts more than he must be intending for it to. He doesn't respond to that, to his clear agitation, the way his voice raises.]

[Has Denji been doing everything in his life so far just for the off chance he might find the blood devil again? That he might have found Aki? And what does it say about Aki that he gave up on both of them ages ago - that he ignored the world because he assumed everything in his was gone?]

[He looks up when the phone rings and the sound is unfamiliar enough that it actually confuses him for a moment. But then Denji starts to get up and he considers telling him to stay put, that he'll take care of it. But that's stupid. Whoever is calling is probably calling for Denji, not Aki. He allows him to rise and trudge off, taking the brief separation to begin grabbing clothes off the ground, tidying things up and shoving that box back into the closet. He'll deal with it later.]

[He comes out with the laundry, not in an attempt to eavesdrop on Denji but just because that's where the bin is. But he's still Aki, and he still tries to listen to Denji's side. See if it's something that can distract him from this current line of discussion.]

[He would love a cigarette right now. No wonder he never tried to talk to Denji seriously before this - he's impossible to get through to. The type of person who says "I dunno, whatever," when you ask what you should do for dinner. ...Well, maybe Denji would make a decision about that topic. But nothing more serious.]

[ It's not as if he likes that this keeps happening between them, that every time Aki broaches the idea that none of this will last, not their time together, not the lifestyle that orbits around being Chainsaw Man and taking care of Nayuta, Denji's first reaction is his worst one. It feels like shit, which is the one feeling that he thinks, he's pretty sure, he can confidently assume that he shares with Aki. Feeling like shit, yeah, that's it. That's the only thing they're on the same page about, it seems.

But his, right now, is the kind where all the energy has sapped from his bones, and the only he can do is pluck the receiver from its dock. Hold it to his ear, barely even to the height it needs to be for him to hear the other person on the line clearly. His throat is still stinging, a self-inflicted rawness dogging each swallow, each time he tries to croak out something that isn't a one-syllable grunt. So he doesn't bother greeting this caller, expecting them to cut to the chase on their own accord. If they're anyone who matters, they will.

"Pepperoni or seafood pizza?"

That's weird. Whoever this is, their voice is familiar.

After that point, the exchange goes back-and-forth like the type of snappy dialogue you'd expect from a stage play: Pepperoni, but who's asking. Yoshida, remember? I dunno, doesn't ring a bell. Okay, what about 'Cake Guy,' then? Oh, yeah, what the hell do you want, Cake Guy, and so on, until Denji finally gleans that the reason he's having this conversation at all is because Nayuta can't decide what she wants from the menu. Because Nayuta is apparently dining with his weird classmate who offered to buy her pizza while she was out walking the pups, despite eating something like brunch with them just a little while ago. It was pretty heavy, too, being barbecue and all. ]

Seriously?

[ Incredulity, of course. His fingers pincer around the bulge at his throat, massaging it an effort to relieve the inner strain to his vocal chords.

"I know you're feeling sick, but if you get here in fifteen minutes, there might still be some leftover."

How does he know I'm sick, Denji wonders, spiral phone cord around his wrist restlessly stretching and withdrawing back into its tight curls. He'd started fidgeting with it the second Aki entered the room. What he says, though: ] I changed my mind, I want both pepperoni and seafood pizza.

[ "Seriously?"

The call ends like that with Denji hanging the receiver up, no mention of anything out of the ordinary. The type of conversation you'd expect between two regular high school boys. He steps over Meowy, who'd taken residence up beside his socked feet, to find a mask or something to put on in one of the drawers in the kitchen.

He passes Aki along the way. ]

…I'm gonna head out. To meet, uh, a friend, I guess.

[He only comes in towards the tail end of whatever he's saying on the phone, so all he hears is something about pizza. It sounds like such a normal conversation that Aki doesn't even really think about it for a moment. Kind of like the normal yet unusual conversations he and Power would have on the way back from work. And then he hangs up and says he's leaving and Aki gives him a look, frowning with a pinched brow.]

You can't. [Like he just said he plans to go to Enoshima on a whim. ...And since when does Denji have a friend? Weren't they arguing about that the day before last?] You're sick. You should rest up first - And what friend?

[He kind of sounds like an overprotective father like this but he ignores that. It's not about spreading a cold, it's about healing from it before he passes out in a gutter or something.]

You just ate, anyway. Go lay back down.

[ Denji misses the look Aki gives him, essentially nose-to-nose with the drawer he's digging through with how he's hunched over. He pushes aside a sewing kit and tugs free a dusty, used face mask that's been in there however long. He puts it on.

So maybe his classmate's a nuisance, not a friend. Aki doesn't need to know that. ]

You — [ Denji grinds his teeth down hard enough to make his jaw pop, his response initially something bitten out, teeth crunching through scrap metal. But he coughs in the middle of speaking, crook of his elbow pressed to his covered mouth, and by way of miracle, it lands with a forced smoothness, emergency brakes. As if he means it like an real suggestion. ]

…You go lay down. Haven't you been up on your feet most of the time? Go take a nap while I'm not in your hair. [ He's at the door now, bending over to stretch out the opening of his shoe to slide his foot in, then does the same with the other. ]

The char siu didn't really fill me up, anyway.

[ It did fill him up, actually. He's just looking for an excuse to get out of the apartment. ]

[That mask is probably going to make his cold even worse with the amount of dust on it. His response doesn't really make sense to him and Aki is smart enough to know Denji just wants to get out of here, wants to be out of the apartment and away from Aki for a bit, but...]

You're sick.

[He grabs him by the shoulder, staring at him pointedly. You don't go out to eat pizza when you're sick.]

I'll go and get you something, if you really want. But you should stay here.

[That'll separate them, right? Though given what he just made him eat, he may come back with ginger pizza or something for Denji.]

[ The mask sucks. It's stuffy, unbreathable, and a muzzle would do a better job, but he'd rather walk around with this thing on his face then go back-and-forth like this. Trying to get his point across, missing the mark, seeing Aki wall himself up, refusing to react. It makes him feel sick, in more ways than this one. Mostly of himself.

In reaction to being grabbed, Denji grabs back at Aki, physically shoving his hand off. ]

Stop. Just stop, just — stay here. Nayuta's with the dude out there. She'll help me if anything happens, or she'll make him help me.

[ He's not crazy about Nayuta getting into the habit of indiscriminately using her abilities on folks, it's not a pattern he wants to reinforce in her, but it's the only thing he can think of to, well, get Aki to back off. But also, to reassure him. Like he's trying to find some middle ground, except he's really bad at it. ]

[Make him? Didn't Denji just say this person was supposedly a friend...? He lets go of Denji when he shoves at him and clearly looks frustrated. He's being childish. Doesn't he recognize that?]

I'm just trying to -

[--look out for you.]

[...What good has that done him, up til now?]

...Fine. Whatever. Do what you want, then.

[He's aware he sounds just as childish as Denji, muttering that at him as he turns around and heads to his bag, sits down as he fishes out a fresh shirt. This is so stupid. Whatever. Denji's basically an adult, right? By his age, Aki was living on his own and making his own decisions. Fucking up and finding out. Isn't that the saying? So maybe Denji will recognize what he actually needs when he gets sick after running out to go eat some pizza with some so-called friend and the devil he insists on caring for. See if he cares. Aki won't tell him I told you so but Denji will know he did.]

Just don't come back late.

[Muttered, as he snaps the shirt flat and pulls it on over his head.]

[ Denji doesn't jockey for the last word, doesn't flip around or flip out. He stares down at his shoes, the mixed up contents of his stomach swimming, churning as whip-fast as a washing machine on its highest setting. He doesn’t feel well. He can’t keep a single part of his story straight to save his life. He doesn't want to leave and he doesn't want to stay, yet at the same time, he wants to do both at once. Is it because a part of him is still stuck back there, lost in last night’s gloom? Unable to make out sense from satisfaction…

Without making any promises to when he'll be back, and without looking at Aki, he steps outside. People pass by on his way to the station, sit next to him on the train and hug their bags. They murmur about yesterday's events, Chainsaw Man making his reappearance after a few days of silence, in equal tandem with stock market predictions, the latest album by some hit idol group, whether the Orix Buffaloes will keep up their win streak this baseball season or not. Cloyingly mundane stuff. Forgettable stuff. Is that what Aki’s been trying to tell him, that who he is to these people, that the thoughts they have about him are as insignificant and changeable as the daily weather forecast?

Slumping deep in his seat, as deep as he can get without outright laying down, Denji pulls up the hood of his sweater, tightening the drawstrings so that the opening is puckered around his face. His eyes close.

When they open next, he's missed his stop.

It takes him an extra ten minutes to beat it off the next stop and loop around to get to the fast food place. He stops short of crashing through the doors to pause and pet the heads of the dogs waiting outside, but it's not long enough a break for him to fully clean away the sweat beading down his forehead and adjust his half-off mask. He means to locate Nayuta immediately, but he spends a bit of time rubbernecking at the entrance — it's one of those family entertainment centers with arcade games, play zones, and a creepy-looking animatronic mascot for kids to rally around. He would have liked coming to one of these days with Aki and Power; if he had, he probably would've dashed for the racing simulation games in a heartbeat. But considering the circumstances, he starts to drift toward the dining booths.

It's easy to spot the cake guy — Yoshida — because, peculiarly, he's the only one sitting there down the aisle. He raises a hand at Denji, something he doesn't reciprocate, making it plain that he isn't in the mood for pleasantries by merely crashing into the seat across from him. There are two half-eaten pizzas in front of him, definitely cold, by the looks of it, but that sort of thing doesn't matter to Denji. He stacks a slice of pepperoni on top of the seafood one, then sticks both into his mouth at once. He really isn't even that hungry, but chewing on something always settles his nerves.

They do talk, eventually. Yoshida tries to lead the conversation with his usual agenda ("Nayuta's out in the playhouse, the way a regular human little girl would and should be — why take that away from her?"), but Denji either rebuffs or ignores him at every attempt. He's only here for one reason, even though his enthusiasm for that reason seems to have dulled since their last conversation, when Denji proposed the idea of an exchange.

"Like I said before," Yoshida says, trimming the crust off a pizza slice with a fork and knife. "This is a trade, Denji. What I have for you depends on what you have for me. Understand those terms?"

Yeah, understood. So what does Denji have for him? What can he get away with saying without putting Aki in a difficult position?

Denji tells Yoshida the worst possible thing he could have in the most inexact terms.

"...He ate something weird. And it made him act 'goofy'...?"

Yoshida does pry a few more bites of information out of Denji through plying him with another round of pizza and soda, but it's like pulling teeth. Once it becomes abundantly obvious nothing more useful can be retrieved, he sits back, plastic cutlery set aside and his plate empty, save for a pile of stale crust. The dude appears to be pondering deeply about something, but Denji doesn't have the patience to give him the breathing room. He kicks his seat cushion.

"Ah, right."

What comes out of Yoshida's mouth is a little more high-level than what someone like Denji can process on the fly. But from what he can gather, apparently there's an operation in the works at an unspecified time from now, Scorched Meridian. Could be as soon as two weeks or three months, nothing's set in stone or written in the stars, but it's planned that Aki play a pivotal role in its execution, and that a lot is currently in motion behind the scenes, especially due to other, at this time, unrelated hands in the pot. Whatever that means.

Their discussion is interrupted abruptly by an irritated shout coming from the playhouse. They both turn to see Nayuta riding on the shoulders of another kid, who appears to be standing on the shoulders an entirely different kid, in an effort for her to climb on top of the shoulder of the animatronic bunny at the center of the establishment. Denji starts to get up onto his unsteady feet, because for all the bread and cheese he's had, he doesn't feel all that better. Go figure. Yoshida seizes his wrist, hand clinging tight enough to leave a mark, like the suction of a tentacle, not to help him, but to impart one last warning: "I'm telling you this as a courtesy, and because I doubt you want Nayuta and Hayakawa-senpai to die. Don't get involved, Denji."

He wrenches away from the touch, not fast enough to keep his skin from goosebumping. Barks at him to never to approach Nayuta again, then quickly, he makes his way over to the trio and pantses the kid at the bottom, no problem. He watches him immediately drop the rest of them. Denji catches Nayuta in his arms, blatantly ignoring the second kid as he cries out in pain. Dramatic. It wasn't that high of a drop. They gather the dogs outside and begin heading for home.

…But about five minutes into the walk, he tells Nayuta to wait, so that he can make a call at a payphone. He also asks her if she has any coins he can borrow for it. ]

C'mon… [ He says, when all he gets is the ringback tone. ] Pick up, Aki…

[It takes about twenty minutes for Aki to place why he feels so itchy and antsy in this place. Being alone without a locked door, without a peg holding the chain in the cement - he could just run out of here. He could just leave. He could open the door and be gone. Staring at the black television screen, he keeps thinking about that, how alone he is in here, how no one looks at him twice here. No one gives him a wide berth, no one looks at him like he's a sick animal on the way to get euthanized. No one clicks their tongue when they sit down near him, like his presence is disgusting to them. Like he's a hurdle they haven't figured out the jump for just yet.]

[But there's nowhere to actually go. He'll just end up coming right back to their front door out of shame and guilt. Even if he didn't, they'd find him in no time. They have enough chunks to track him down with no problem - he assumes. Running is as futile as scratching at a brick wall.]

[At least with the devil gone, Gun isn't rolling around in dissatisfaction in his gut, which is nice. By the time the phone rings he's showered off and changed into fresh clothes, finished the laundry. He lets the phone ring the first time, ignoring it out of courtesy, but when it rings again he frowns and looks at it. He really hasn't ever heard it ring, except just earlier, when that guy called for Denji. He'd like to know more about who this person is, sure, but maybe it's someone else, maybe it's the devil, or a teacher, or... Ahh. Crap. Maybe he can take a message?]

[He picks up the phone just before the second call finishes ringing and opens his mouth to answer - "Hayakawa residence" - but, wait. What should he say? What does Denji use for a name, anyway? He sort of gapes his mouth for half a second before haltingly trying a simple and almost confused,] Hello...?

[ His forehead knocks forward against the payphone plating as he finally hears him answer on the other end. Does it make him feel better to hear Aki? Worse? Either way, he doesn't say anything for a bit as he breathes into the receiver, collecting himself like he'd collect cigarettes and people's dropped coins on the side street. Painstakingly careful. That's probably one of the only times he is.

Finally, he says: ] Hey. [ It takes him another moment to remember that he should identify himself. ] It's me.

[ There, that should be good enough. He wipes at his dripping nose, sniffs. Looks over his shoulder to make sure no one's waiting for their turn outside, but no, it's just Nayuta and the dogs. She isn't even pretending to busy herself with something else, her face pressed to the glass, watching him. He spread his hand at her, waving it slightly, signalling that he just wants five minutes. ]

Um, you not busy with anything? S'fine if you are, I'll be home soon, I just…

[ …Ugh, maybe he should have waited to give himself time on the train to think things over instead of running headlong into this conversation without a plan. ]

Dunno. Just wanted to hear your voice, I guess.

[Denji sounds like a mess. He must be calling from a payphone, Aki assumes. It sounds tinny like the crappy speaker quality from one of them, but wasn't he going to a restaurant? Aki frowns at the blank TV screen, at his reflection in it. Why did he let him go? He should have put his foot down. Now he's probably going to pass out in the middle of a street.]

Are you alright? Your voice... [Well.] You sound like shit. You should hurry up and come back here, or you'll only get worse.

[In a way, he's trying to distract himself from that statement, that Denji only called to hear his voice. He's just sick, he tells himself. Probably exhausted himself and is blubbering nonsense. Either that, or he's delerious.]

Can you get back alright? Or do you want me to come and get you? [He says it like he's realizing something - that must be what he meant by whether Aki was busy or not. Maybe he's trying to wheedle him out of buying him a cabride home.]

No, you don't… have to… [ That's not strong enough a stance. Denji makes a second attempt with: ] Listen, don't look for me. I'll be fine.

[ The audio quality really does leave a lot to be desired, like he's trying to talk to Aki through two cups and the vibrations of a string. To be fair, it's hard to hear him on the opposite end, too, his voice faraway, speaking to Denji from the tallest mountain peak or something like that.

But what would the difference be face-to-face? Maybe they'd be communicating on different wavelengths no matter what, for all that. At least this way he doesn't have to look at him directly head on. He breathes in, the sound wet and gummy, like a clogged toilet that needs plunging. ]

…Aki, I keep messin' up. Doing things that make you mad or feel bad.

[ Not listening to him, chasing after the opposite of what Aki wants. Giving away his secrets in exchange for a pittance of information that'll bring Denji closer to him, tethered to him, selfishly. He isn't even trying to save him, not really. ]

But I don't think I can stop doin' that. I think I'm gonna wind up making you mad a lot more times, probably way, way worse than mad, but I — all I wanna do is —

[ Look after you. While you're still here, while you're still you. His rambling wavers, he doesn't know how to say this. The important stuff. ]

So don't hate me. [ He feels like there's something constricting his head, pinching at his eyes, making his voice gritty and hoarse. He's never had a cold this bad before. ] Please don't hate me.

[It's hard to hear him clearly with how he's sort of mumbling, the sound of his sinuses getting in the way of certain syllables. But the overall content of what he's saying - to Aki - isn't that important. It's just that he sounds upset. And he's pretty sure it's his own fault. Reacting as he has, over the entire time they've known each other. Maybe this is how he expects him to be.]

[When he recognizes what Denji is asking, he feels a weight fall deep in his stomach, like a brick of lead. Why now? he wants to ask. Why is he saying this now?]

[Denji probably wanted to say the same thing to him last night. He stares into the dim reflection of the black screen. It's hard to make out anything but the vague shape of himself.]

I don't hate you, Denji.

[At first he didn't care about him at all. A lot of instances in his life have specific moments marking drastic changes - that time he pulled the nail; that time he blocked a knife heading to Denji; that time he grabbed Angel; that time he said yes to her contract. And then the one after that. But somewhere in the middle of everything, he really started to care about him. Slowly, then deeply. What is that old saying about a frog in boiling water?]

You can make me mad. I don't care. [He pauses, feeling the words in his mouth before saying them.] If you're happy at the end of everything, I'll come to understand it somehow.

[ Denji doesn’t realize he’s shaking with laughter until he feels the plastic handset juddering uncontrollably against his ear. He tries to grip his forearm to keep it still, but it just makes him laugh harder. A metallic laugh, like what it sound a beat-up car makes when its engine is on its last legs: exhaust wheezing, the clicking rotation of gears that need to be replaced, rusted rods and cranks that never worked properly to begin with. His shoulder leans hard into the booth wall, but the more he searches for some constancy, something to keep him upright, to hold fast to him, the looser his footing becomes, and eventually, he slides to the ground. It's a slow decent, but it feels like he's crashing, like how fast it takes a body to drop after you blow someone's brains out.

Aki doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to, what he’s promising.

But if you had wanted him to, you would have explained yourself better. Right?

A voice points out to him, the way he imagines a conscience would, gentle and soft and precise. Like a scalpel cutting away a cancerous thought; like Makima, crouched at his side, face tilted in good humor, as she let him in on a secret, an inside joke: "Someone like you has no right to wish for a normal life, do they?" ]

Right… [ His breaths are somehow both squelchy and dry as he laughs. Shallow. He runs his tongue against his lips to wet them, but they're already damp and salty. His face is itchy with something. It's so strange. ] Yeah.

[ His hand passes over his eyes, just short of touching down. A pained breath snicks in his throat. He doesn't want to see the face he's wearing reflected in any of the silvery surfaces in here. ]

At the end of everything… I'll make it up to you, Aki.

[ As long as Aki makes it to the end, would it matter? If he understood? If he was unable to look at him? Is understanding between people necessary? From his answer, it seems like it must be. But how do you make someone understand that you…

The uncertainties matting together like the unwashed coat of some mangy mutt fall aside for a moment, as a rapid pounding rocks the frame of the booth. Denji jerks his chin up and is met with a man, snappily dressed in a suit and his hair styled in a perfect comb over. His foot taps, impatiently. ]

…Fuck, fine. Time's up. Gotta go. [ A lingering reluctance keeps him there for a second longer. ] I'll get myself home. I'll be okay, so… See ya soon.

[ No thanks, no sorry, not even a real goodbye — like that, Denji returns the telephone to its holding place. ]

Edited 2024-01-17 22:11 (UTC)

[The mottled sound of laughter mixed with crying slices at something hard and brittle. Aki holds the phone tight to his ear, not moving, listening to him, like he can hear something in between each shaky breath, sniffle, and shudder. He's missing something. Denji's trying to say something more and he's missing it. And it's all coming out cryptic instead.]

You - ...

[Make it up to him, how? He doesn't want him to do anything like that. Doesn't want him to think he needs to do anything like that. You're just a kid, he would say if he was in front of him, grab him by the shoulders and shake him. You have your whole life ahead of you.]

[That Denji might go that entire life trying to pay him back... It makes him sick. Wasn't he the one who said he hated owing people?]

I'll see you soon.

[He hangs up once he hears the dial tone on the other end, resting the handle in the cradle carefully. They never had conversations like this, and now it's all catching up to them. He can't understand Denji when he's like this. He doesn't know what it is he's trying to tell him, what it seems like he needs to warn him about. But it was something that bothered him enough that he had to leave despite Aki telling him not to, despite being sick, despite everything else that happened last night. Are you mad at me for that? God, now even he's starting to sound like him.]

[He goes outside to wait, leaned over the edge of the balcony and watching the road. There are still puddles of rainwater from the night before reflecting a dreary sky. He'll probably be cold and wet when he finally shows back up, pants grimy and shirt slick with humidity. That's what the towel is for, resting on the table inside.]

[ On the way back, an unnatural quiet hangs over them. It's never like this with he and Nayuta; they chat, they jest, they quote dumb things from shounen anime and play fight, or he holds her hand to help her jump over puddles, or she points at some stray standing far out of the way and tells him that if they take this street again, they should bring food by.

But today, her thoughts are elsewhere. His fault, he can't help but assume with all his absentmindedness and distraction. The move she pulled yesterday isn't something that's quite settled between them, either, but now isn't really the greatest timing to bring that up. She just watched her him giggle and bawl his eyes out in public, then get told off by some stuck-up salaryman for hogging the phone booth. What must she think of him? Hah…

It's only as they're passing by a konbini that, in an active attempt to lighten the mood, he offers to buy her ice cream. At that, she finally gives him a good, long look.

"Stupid. Your nose is runny, your eyes are red, your voice reminds me of nails on a chalkboard." He winces as she ticks off her hand, feeling a stab in his chest with each point. He's lucky that she doesn't just straightforwardly say —

"And your face is really ugly right now." Never mind.

"We're not going anywhere but home. The dogs are tired of being on their leashes, anyway."

Well, that settles that. Denji is about to continue slugging on, but he notices that Nayuta isn't following, so he stops again. Looks back, because he always will, for her.

"Humans act like they're all that with their fancy charts and rulebooks, but you're not like them, Denji," she says, deadly serious. Like she's issuing orders to an armed force under her command, and not merely her silly, pathetic adoptive brother. "Chainsaw Man doesn't stoop to their level. I said so, which means that's basically as good as fact! So remember who you belong to."

The two of them talk about more prosaic things after that, like dinner and needing to do groceries tomorrow, but the whole time, her words are all he can think about as they come up the road. His gaze flickers up for single moment to catch Aki standing up there on the small deck of their apartment — what's he doing? Smoking again? — but they slide back down to focus on Nayuta in the next instant. She deserves his whole attention, and that's what he tries to give her up the stairs, at the door, tossing his muddy shoes aside as he nearly walks past the table — but then, he doubles back to pick up the towel sitting there. Nayuta doesn't notice him forking from her, busy releasing the dogs, and he goes to run the towel under some warm water. Something to pat his face down with, get rid of all the muck that comes with being sick.

He doesn't stick his head out the balcony door until he's made sure Nayuta has a movie to watch. That should keep her preoccupied for a while yet. He saws the towel against the back of his neck, fidgeting. What should he even say? That it looks like it's going to rain again tonight? That he shouldn't stay outside too long? No… He doesn't really have the right to it.

Shutting the sliding door behind him, he takes up residence near Aki. Not too close, not too far. ]

…You lost in the view?

[ He repeated this line once before, ages ago, but if Denji remembers, he doesn't make it obvious. ]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject