light a cigarette, i'll watch as it burns

[digestate]

[ 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. ]

Comments

[digestate]

[ Once again, they take refuge from one another in the quiet. Not that it keeps the prior interaction from filling Denji’s dog-tired mind, a babbling just as loud as the stream accompanying them down the sloping bank. He doesn’t want to think about the conversation at all; at the same time, he keeps latching on to excuses. He wasn’t trying to hurt Aki; idiotically, maybe he’d wanted him to flinch, for his feelings to connect with him. Back-and-forth, back-and-forth. Even if he’d found a gentler, warmer, better phrasing, the idea would have been the same: You can’t keep away, keep at bay, what you’re actively seeking out and hoarding to yourself. That doesn’t sound wrong to him.

Unless it is? Unless he’s being the stubborn one… The gullible kid toddling about in an adult's playpen.

Denji’s gaze wanders down Aki’s back. His shoulders are tense. There are leaves sticking to his hair, blood browning the empty sleeve of his shirt. He’s a guy who’s strong — headstrong — enough to carry a child one-handed, to allege he can protect Denji when his feet are dragging with chains and he's straining against a leash roped around his neck just to keep pushing forward. Always trying to fix things without being careful of whatever’s broken sticking to the pads of his fingers, splintering through his nails. He forces himself to look away, stare elsewhere.

As the forest opens up to the rest of the world, Denji doesn't pay attention to it. Too preoccupied avoiding sharp sticks and stepping over any insects squirming, living their lives on the ground. Never mind that he doesn't really care if he gets hurt or accidentally hurts another. It's just something to focus on.

It isn't until Aki speaks up that Denji vaguely lifts his chin. ]

Camping, fall, got it, [ he speaks to himself, mumbling beneath his breath. No clue whether they could convincingly pass as so-called campers, but going along with it. ]

You said before — something, something, a guy who's buds with the Mirror Devil. You know anything else about that scumbag…?

[ Specifics about his abilities, how far he can project people, whether he can choose the location. How Aki knows him. That type of stuff. ]

If they're tryin' to find us again, doubt they'd send us far from that prison place, right?

[damngun]

[The devil is starting to get heavy on his back and making his arm ache from the angle he has to hold her at, but Aki doesn't complain or try and stop. If someone comes across them when they're vulnerable, separated in any way, it'll be bad. And speak of the devil, of course, Denji brings up the exact person he's worried about.]

He's not a scumbag, he's...

[Well, Aki has certainly known worse people in Public Safety as well as better people. But he's a man who is just doing his job, which is to monitor the Gun Devil right now. Same as Aki. They have the same goal, which is why he's fine with playing along. Usually, at least.]

He can use his contract to transport people with mirrors. They only work with areas he's been to... But I don't know why he'd send us here, and not a lock-up. They have cells that can contain Gun.

[He's been in them, after all. Has seen how secure and unbreakable they are. Before anyone trusted him or let him have half an inch, that was what he was used to.]

You said the mirror was broken, didn't you? Maybe it changed the destination, to...

[Wherever this is. He shifts Nayuta on his back, his walk picking up as they near a more paved road. There are some road signs but all they tell them is the speed limit, a common low number for a tiny village like this. Aki pauses to look down at himself, too aware of the blood on his clothes. He turns to Denji, his empty sleeve facing him.]

Tie this up, so it's not blowing around. I don't want anyone to think we got attacked by a bear or something.

[digestate]

[ Supposedly not a scumbag, but the guy Aki's talking about is the same one who visited them after they came home from the love hotel, he's pretty sure. Smiled at him, gave him gum… He remembers the shift in Aki's stature, the air around him changing, tightening into not just a learned rigidness, but an expert one, a mastered one, the way you would imagine a soldier in front of his general. It'd annoyed him then, and just thinking about it now — it's incensing, makes his hands itch for something warm-blooded to wrap around.

Denji hates men who play nice, like it's just a means to handling beasts, to trapping them. ]

Whatever he is, [ Denji begins to weakly quibble, steps taking him next to Aki, ] he's not gonna be happy about us breaking out.

[ Though it only lasts a second, his hands stagger between them, not sure where to touch or cautious of the possibility that Aki's arm might suddenly sprout out again, but with a concentrated pinch of his brow, he pushes through the hesitation. The sleeve smooths out over his palm, wrapping around his tucked fingers, out and under, then looped again. ] I don't care where we go, but does it… I mean, if you go back, what if they do somethin' to you? [ His neck feels like it's on pins, talking about this after their last chat ended in Denji brushing off his promise; is this just going to be another case of them taking turns, saying words that fail to make the landing? ] If we get seen and stuff by regular people — I just don't gotta good feeling 'bout it. Maybe if I —

[ He has to cut himself off before his delusion takes him to wilder places. Maybe if I help you cut your hair, we go to a different country, find a different group of folks who are more like good guys, maybe if you let me help you as Chainsaw Man, maybe —

It's not a clean knot, nor a clean solution, but Denji finishes it with a decisive pull of the end; it doesn't give, and neither do the ideas piling up in his throat. The sad thing isn't that he doesn't believe in them, because he does, he's a fool and a dreamer, and in his most clandestine fantasies, Aki makes it. No matter what happens, Aki gets out. He finds a house where the snow never touches his boots and he walks in, puts up his coat. Throws away the gloves protecting his hands from the cold. It's just that overarching every path battling it out in his mind is the possibility that maybe Aki's odd would better alone. That every situation they've ended up since meeting again is because Denji keeps dragging him down. Dragging his feet, delaying the inevitable. The predictable.

There are other hands who can tie up Aki's loose ends better than he can. He blinks, looking away. ]

…Lost what I was gonna say. [ He starts to move to the other side of Aki, arms raised to try taking Nayuta by her shoulders. ] You can give her back to me. I'm better now.

[damngun]

[He's definitely not going to be thrilled with this situation, but right now Aki's main concern is getting them somewhere to clean up. As they are now, they look like they've killed something - or someone. And at this moment, the concept that Gun... No, the concept that he has killed anyone is scratching at the door, letting its presence be known without actually letting itself inside. The idea is there. He won't confront it yet, which is why he's desperate to get all of them patched up. Cleaned up and taken care of so they can go back into custody clean and innocent.]

[Or at least, Denji can. Denji, who didn't do anything to deserve any of this. He still doesn't know why he was there, just that something happened that brought both him and Nayuta into federal watch. He knows the next step is simply to turn themselves in, but the more control he can have over that situation, the more belief he can have that they'll be treated as well as possible, the better. He's dealt with the worse side of Public Safety, he's sat alone for days on end with only meals to mark the passage of time. If he's obedient and keeps his head down, he can get through this. He can ensure Denji's safety. His eyes flit toward him when Denji begins to suggest something that he can do, but by the time his sleeve is tied up and no longer flapping against his side, he's decided to ignore it. Trust that his own method is the correct one to follow. Carefully, Aki helps to hand the devil over.]

If you feel sore, I can carry her again. [He rolls his shoulder, the other curling from habit. His back doesn't ache at all, but the strain from holding his arm backwards makes it feel like an overboiled noodle. He begins to say something else before they're interrupted by a sound - the rolling of car tires over gravel, trundling down the road toward them.]

[Without hesitating, Aki raises his hand, stepping one foot into the road. Either from Aki's action or from the simple way they look alone, the vehicle slows and a man looks out at them, obvious concern on his expression. Aki explains the same lie he told Denji - They were doing a day camp in the area and ended up falling down a hill, but not to worry, he lost his arm to a devil attack a few years ago, they're not too badly hurt, but can he tell them which way to a hotel or something similar where they can clean up and rest for the night?]

[The driver doesn't look like he fully believes them, asking Aki where their supplies are, which Aki quickly answers were left in the woods but they'll get them once they recover. Then he suggests they go to the clinic instead, eying Nayuta still unmoving on Denji's back, but Aki shuts that down as well, explaining that she fell asleep on the way and isn't bleeding. Despite the bandage.]

[He still doesn't trust her, is the truth. If they go to a hospital and they find out she's a devil, how will they respond? And most importantly, how will she?]

[The man offers a ride in his truck, promising to take them to a hotel in the area though he can't promise they have any vacancies. That Aki might have better luck at the clinic. But Aki brushes that off with thanks for his help, promising to repay him when they have their things back (and since when was he so comfortable lying like this?). He looks over at Denji and Nayuta, waving them over and motioning them into the back seat.]

Just stay quiet and hold her on your lap. [He speaks to him quietly as he helps to lift Nayuta off of him so Denji can climb in.] If she wakes up, tell her to fake sleep until we get there.

[digestate]

[ Their conversation gets cut short by the run of an engine, or so he'd prefer to believe, but it wouldn't surprise him, if in his next reply, Aki would have said something to discontinue the topic. Denji once again resorts to silence, letting him maneuver the finer details of their cover. He steps back from the truck as the window winds down, readjusting Nayuta into a more comfortable position in his arms. He eavesdrops, though, of course. It's helpful to be able to corroborate what he's feeding the guy, but mostly, Denji likes stories. Here they are, just a trio of siblings trying to bond in the woods — recover some sense of togetherness they lost from a past devil incident that left them shaken, except they encounter another stroke of bad fortune and have to fight for survival. It's a family drama that'd make a good movie, he thinks. Funny to consider that under a different set of conditions, Aki could have been telling the truth instead.

Denji wants to tell him that he doesn't need his help holding Nayuta, but before he knows it, his arms are lighter and she's already been taken from his care; the weary look he shoots him lasts a good second, then with a breath, he nods. Clambers in.

His head reclines against the headrest, gaze rolling to the window, and for a moment, it doesn't feel like he's come that long a way from doing favors for the yakuza, riding in strange cars bound for dreadful trajectories. He breathes a sigh. At least it feels better to be able to put his feet up after however long they'd been hiking out in the wilderness for. Sadly, he doesn't get much time to idle before he's holding out his arms to bring Nayuta back in, scooting her to his end of the backseat as Aki boards. Her head propped up in his lap, he gently pushes a hand through her hair, smoothing down the bandage. ]

Yeah. I know how to take care of her.

[ The driver watches through the rear view mirror, keen and wary. Clearly withholding a few other questions.

The door on Aki's side shuts with a metallic shake that only worsens as they rejoin traffic and begin chugging along. If Aki intends on getting them back to Tokyo, they probably won't be able to do it in a single day's trip. With the magnitude of that chef lady devil's attack before, they definitely don't have to worry about school for a bit, which feels like such a minimal concern with an entire government agency tracking them. But he misses it, kind of — the simplicity of a few days ago.

There are a few times during the drive that he mistakes the other cars behind them for Public Safety, or assassins, or otherwise bad people, but they all eventually exit without event. Each time calming his paranoia until finally Denji's eyes close as they enter the next pass-through town over. Stays that way for several minutes before the truck comes to a final stop. ]

We there? [ Denji asks, weakly. He peers out the window at an older looking building, a reception area visible through the glass entryway — he can't tell whether it's an inn, hostel, or what. ]

[damngun]

[Aki makes small talk, mostly in an attempt to better identify their location. Asks if the driver sees a lot of hikers this time of the year - No, not hardly, more commonly in the spring. Says they're from Tokyo originally - Guess lots of cityfolks like to think they can brave the mountainside, the driver mutters. Asks if he's ever summitted the mountain - which gets a short laugh. "Sure," the driver says, "three times now. I say the best view's from Kawaguchi, though. No need to climb all that way."]

[Kawaguchi - Without thinking, Aki looks out the window, up at the mountain obscured by the clouds. They landed on Fuji?]

[There's a growing sense of unease as they finally pull into what Aki at first thinks is a visitor's information building, but the sign in front says they have vacancies so it must have rooms. He thanks the driver, climbing out of the truck to grab Nayuta off Denji's lap and coax the latter out. His empty shoulder moves as if he's offering out a hand before realizing there's nothing to offer, so instead he waits for him to climb out, hazarding him a worried look. Or maybe it's just the simple sense of unease he feels in general, knowing where they are now. He figured it couldn't be a random drop. Surely a devil wouldn't roll the dice like that. Again he thanks the driver, assuring him they'll be okay once they get some rest, then faces Denji once he begins to drive away.]

Ueno's from this area, I think. [He begins to shift Nayuta so he can hand her back over. It'll look way worse if he tries to negotiate paying for a room with no money when he has a bandaged kid on his back.] That guy, I mean. We're under Fuji - He told me he grew up in a village on the western side of it... I don't know if he knows that Mirror sent us here. But we need to lay low.

[Easier said than done when one of them is missing an arm and the other is dark with blood on his front - The river couldn't wash that much away. He turns to look at the vacancies sign again, frowning.]

I doubt you've got any money on you, so if they won't let us in, we'll have to figure something else out. Just keep quiet while I talk to them, okay?

[And maybe it's the story he told, maybe it's the way they do look like three siblings attempting some kind of bonding trip in the woods after a devil incident in the past that was ruined within the first few hours. Whatever the case, the receptionist, an old lady who looks like she's become one with her seat, agrees to let them rest up for the night and pay them back the next day once they get their things. Why else would they show up here, she could be thinking, or maybe it was the look she passed over Aki's shoulder at Denji and Nayuta, examining the dead look in the boy's eyes and decided, yeah, that kid needs a break.]

[Another employee shows them to a room, a small one that nevertheless reminds Aki uncomfortably of the last hotel room he stayed in, the one up in Hokkaido he stayed at every year. It shouldn't have been a good memory, visiting a grave like that, but Aki has looked back on it fondly ever since then. Maybe for being the last flash of normalcy before his life was tipped on its head. Maybe because it was the last time he got to see his family. Maybe because the food was good. He doesn't know. Staring out the half-open screen at the view of Mt. Fuji, it's all he can think about for a moment.]

...Go and get washed up first. I'll keep an eye on her. [He turns around to look at Denji.] You think she needs blood?

1/2

[digestate]

[ Denji blearily fastens the first aid backpack over his chest as Aki fills him in on the information gleaned from the trucker, then hauls Nayuta over his shoulder, the knuckles of his fist clenched ghost-white into the back of her shirt. Shit, so they're in that guy's home territory. He numbly considers trying to convince Aki of taking off again, rather than staying here like sitting bricks, essentially waiting to be found and who knows what afterward. It's a reactionary response, based on a fear so primal and innate, it feels like it's squirming in his stomach, tempting him to turn tail. But he doesn't know where they'd go, looking the way they do, what attention they would draw gambling with an on-foot getaway. That much, Denji can recognize.

So Aki tells him to keep quiet, and so Denji complies — he hasn't been particularly unquiet in a while. It's easy to duck his head down and avoid making eye contact with anyone for too long as they're led through a nearby corridor. Denji remembers, too, that they stayed at a place like this before for Aki's grave visit. Back then, he and Power could hardly contain themselves: swiveling their heads, exchanging jokes and too-rough elbow jabs as they were shown their room, the echo of their snickers carrying on, carrying far. It was the first time he ever got to stay at a place that nice. When he visited with Nayuta a year later, the place they holed up in wasn't even remotely similar, but the grave plots they saw, the square footage all lined up and perfectly measured — yeah, aside from a few freshly lain stones, that place had looked just the same.

…It's too much to think about. He doesn't want it. Breathing out behind Aki, he tries keeping the blow of air low and brief. Unconcerning. He'd rather think about sleep. How the second he sees a neat little futon arranged on the ground, he's going to dive in and ruin it, and he's going to close his eyes, and he's going to forget. Yes, that sounds good. He'd rather forget.

There's a dent to Nayuta's brow when he places her on the ground besides the small tea table, careful to rest the back of her down gently. Movement twitches from behind her eyelids, as if she may be having a dreadful dream. She'll probably wake up soon, in that case. Denji's not sure if he wants her to. ]

She needs pizza and ice cream. [ He rolls the hair tie out from Nayuta's braid, threading his fingers through the plaiting; it was already partially undone, so he doubts she'll miss it any. ] You get that, you can get her to wake up.

[ The elastic wrung around his wrist, Denji shifts back up onto his blistered feet, passing by Aki to move to the bathroom — that's one difference from the place they stayed at before. That other inn was wider and had a breathtaking communal bathing area with different types of springs to visit. It'd be nice to go somewhere like that again, but Denji jimmies himself into the tight bathing space without complaint, shutting the door behind him. The loud run of a bath sounds, as does Denji's tinkering with the showerhead.

Just a moment later, a sliver of space opens from the door, steam already wafting out. A quiet reminder slipping through the gap: ] If you go anywhere, lemme know. Alright?

[ Click. The door shuts once more. ]

2/2

[digestate]

[ Denji doesn't keep track of how long he's in there for, but it's a good amount of time. He's not usually a scrupulous person, but there's a lot of surface area he needs to lather, scrub, rinse away. His whole body feels sore, including his heart. A stubborn sting pattering against his rib cage with each beat — maybe a simple tug of his starter could cure him of his aches all at once, but then they wouldn't be laying low. And, truthfully, Denji isn't in the mood to be cured, if that makes sense. He just — wants to sleep. Yeah, that's all.

That's all…

And that's what happens. Denji falls asleep in the bath, the water only about half-filling the tub because he was too impatient to wait any longer. Half-full is good enough, anyway. His body turns on its side, curled in the corner. ]

[damngun]

[He needs something to do while Denji is bathing.]

[Aki looks up when Denji shifts the door back open after going into the bathroom, listens to the brief reminder - Where the hell would I go? he wants to demand, but doesn't, just sits down and stares at the wall in silence for a moment. He doesn't know how to continue from here. They'll come here eventually for them, whether that's tonight or in a fortnight. Rubbing his eyes and forehead slowly and with deep pushes of his fingers, he finally tugs off his shirt and looks down at his missing arm, touches the stump and feels the rough but sealed edge of what he lost that one trip to Hell. How he remembers the sensation of one arm reattaching and the disturbing rejection the second arm refusing to sent through him. How he woke up immediately knowing how to use his right arm and still reached out to pick up his mug with his left. The mug, not moving an inch.]

[His body feels sore and tired. It doesn't seem like his arm is coming back yet - if it even will, if Gun is going to re-grow it - so he may as well ignore that for now. This place doesn't seem to have pizza or ice cream and he's not sure if he could waft either under the devil's nose like smelling salts to wake her, anyway, so for now he scoots himself over and opens the first aid bag in search of some new gauze, something to wrap her head wound again since it seems to have slouched on their journey.]

[When he undoes the wrapping, he thinks he might have better luck using some water and a towel, but since Denji hasn't come out yet, he waits. And waits. And continues to wait, listening for the sound of splashing or water sloshing that he remembers hearing back then, but when it's too quiet for too long he can feel a bubble of anxiety forming, a series of silly thoughts teasing him. Could he have drowned? Is he okay? Since when can he bathe quietly?]

[Aki pushes himself to his feet and knocks gently on the bathroom door, saying Denji's name breifly before pushing it open.] Sorry, I need to get a towel for...

[Then trails off at the sight of him asleep in the tub, the water only up to his thighs, rippling around his body. He huffs a breath, wants to scold him for this silly act, but as his lips part to speak, the slap of a hand stops him. Or the reminder of it. The stare Denji had given him, like a feral dog who doesn't trust anymore after given enough reasons to disregard the idea. How different he'd looked from the previous time, above him in bed and fucking him, so pleased with himself and giddy with the impact he was having.]

[Seeing him slightly at peace - part of him wants to turn the light off and let him stay like that. But he's never been good at letting sleeping dogs lie.]

Denji.

[He speaks loud enough for his voice to echo without shouting, though if that's not enough he'll tap on the side of the tub with his foot. He lifts a towel from the pile near the door, nodding at him as he gets a corner of it wet from the faucet.]

Don't fall asleep in here.

[And then he turns to go, head back to Nayuta to try and wipe off the blood.]

[digestate]

[ It used to be that nothing existed that Denji couldn't snooze his way through, couldn't shake off for the sake of some rest. Some safe ignorance to the tedious world at large, crawling with corrupted human fears, corrupted human wants — but then the people he knew died, and then the Control Devil separated from one skin to creep her way into another. Like a used bandage that'd soaked up too much agony and bloodshed, and needed to be properly redressed. When you take care of a wound, when you share a bed with one, you have to be careful, more mindful. You have to pay attention to avoid reopening it.

He's still working on that part. It's inconvenient.

There are still times when he gets distracted, can't focus, his brain just whites out the normal thoughts and reactions he should have, and it takes him too far away from the significant details, the ones he realizes too late: the questions Nayuta stares at him with; the things Aki can't say to him. Denji doesn't know what change inside of him it's going to take to find his own answers, learn his own voice, in a place like Tokyo, the thinning stitch between paradise and purgatory. Could be, it starts with waking up.

The hollow thump against the tub slightly rocks the water within, not really splashing into the walls, but he feels the movement tripping up the cut of his hips. Aki's voice pulls out a twinge in his mouth, a frown — like he's still caught somewhere else, like Denji's not sure he heard quite right. Brown peeks out from his parting eyelids, clouded with the leftover fatigue he wasn't able to sleep off. But managing to land on the tall blur heading for the door, heading away, all the same. ]

…Wait.

[ He kicks the drain stopper off, the water slurped down with a thick burble, and with his fingers slipping around the edges of the bathtub, he struggles into a unsteady stand. Hates that it's this tough on his stiff muscles and joints to do something so simple, but he tries to keep the feeling down, looking Aki's way, dripping wet from the face down. It's cold.

His hand stretches out, open. ]

Towel — toss me one, too.

[damngun]

[For a silly but brief moment, Aki thinks Denji is going to say something - anything - else. That he's going to ask to talk to him about what happened, about tomorrow, about what might happen beyond here. That he doesn't want to stay here, that he doesn't trust him, that he wants to take Nayuta and leave. That he wants Aki to come over to him, and then wrap his arms around him or press his forehead into his chest or lay his chin against his shoulder and tell him, it's fine. He's not actually that upset.]

[Standing by the door, one foot in and one foot out, there's only a brief hesitation when he finally does speak, and Aki reaches down right after that to pick up a second towel. Which he then realizes he can't do.]

Yeah. [He tosses the one he's already got toward him, picking up another when that hand is finally free. Embarrassing, to expect either of them to simply wash this all away, to pretend like none of this matters or like they can push past it with no friction. He doesn't even know what happened and he knows it isn't like that - but how long has it been since he's dealt with anything like this? Interpersonal drama. It was easier when he could be upset with him for leaving while nursing a headcold.]

You okay?

[It leaves his mouth before he can help it, but his tone doesn't carry enough of the actual worry he feels, sounds aloof and unconcerned, like all Denji did was trip a little on the stones paving the road. He looks at him, briefly, his eyes going down and then back up, searching for some kind of remnant of what happened. But he doesn't let his gaze linger.]

[digestate]

[ Snatched in midair, the towel dangles in his curled fist, the first soft and freshly laundered thing he's come in contact with since the night before. Since he tucked himself within Aki's shoulder, tried to make amends for something he couldn't explain. Still can't explain, considering his tongue stubbornly sticks behind his teeth at the very thought. The only movement from Denji comes from the slow patting of the towel's fluff, stroking up and down his face to absorb the last remnants of his bath; the rest of body adopts the affect of a statue, too tired to blink. Or perhaps unwilling to. ]

I can't tell… Do I look like crap to you?

[ Though he should probably care more, about the marks left on his body from Gun, or how Nayuta might be react to seeing him like this if he doesn't heal soon enough, indifference hangs from his every word.

Aki's the one in the doorway, tugged between the rooms, but Denji feels like he's caught in that same space, too, as he drips out of the tub and onto the floor. Strange and uncharted, like he barely knows himself, barely knows why he's reacting the way he is. Is it better that he feels calmer, or worse because he feels emptier?

He can't wrap his mind around it, but he can wrap his towel around his waist at least. Pad across the tiles to a point that's closer to the exit, and therefore to Aki, but still safely out of reach. He doesn't try to squeeze past. ]

Sorry for leaving the water running. You — oughta take your turn next. Oh, but your arm… [ A twinge ripples through his brow, conflicted. It used to be that if Aki had trouble bathing himself back then, it was Denji who was thrusted into the position of helping him balance, aim the showerhead, anything else. Much of the same stuff he'd help Power with, except Aki rarely ever asked or expected his assistance. Should he offer? But his appetite for just being near him feels different. Not how he's used to.

…In the end, Denji gaze dips to their toes. ]

If you don't touch me, and only lemme touch you, I can help.

[damngun]

[Did he take that as some kind of insult? But Denji isn't the kind of person to care too much about his outward appearance, Aki has always believed... Shrugging his shoulders vaguely at the question, he feels like he should say something steadying and simple, that they'll figure this out and not to worry and that he should get a good sleep tonight. That Aki will wash up and then head to bed, too, once Nayuta is cleaned up a bit, too. That maybe Denji can help him with that.]

[But then he brings up his arm and Aki opens his mouth to refute any issue, that he'll be okay, he doesn't need to worry, and when he only begins with It's fi- before their words overlap Aki is the one who goes silent to let Denji finish. Suggesting help in a way he's never heard him offer it before.]

[A twinge of pain shakes through the arm that's not there, like he's clenching a fist and his nails are cutting into his palms. His jaw clenches and on instinct he wants to say, No. But Aki also knows what's waiting on the other side of sunrise. They'll find them eventually and they'll separate them for good and this time, this time for sure, Aki has the chance to actually say good bye. The chance to feel him, remember him, and commit him to memory more perfectly than before.]

[Is it selfish - Of course. It's undeniably selfish. Whatever happened has spooked Denji enough that he doesn't even want Aki to touch him. But if he's going to offer this scrap out to him, it would be stupid not to take what he can get. That's what he tells himself, his gaze dropping and brows tightening, the skin on the arm he no longer has growing dimpled with goosebumps.]

Yeah. I'd appreciate it.

[He steps a little further into the bathroom, pushing the door shut behind him. Still keeping his eyes off him, like approaching a wary dog.]

I won't touch you.

[digestate]

[ So he won't touch him.

Relief and disappointment clash to overtake the tension pinching every muscle in his body, the sensation too wrong, too confusing, and as it turns out, too short-lived. The hammering of his heart shoots back up, returning with a vengeance, at the click of the door. The realization that they're shut in together in here, which is stupid. This was his idea. He shouldn't be getting all shaken up.

But it's like some type of gravitational law is at work: With every careful movement that leads Aki in, Denji skirts around the tiny perimeter, consciously trying not to walk with his back completely pressed to the wall. Trying to be normal about the fact that his senses are on high alert, that he offered his aid without fully trusting him. Two animals, and only one is circling. Another thing that rubs at him wrong.

Again, he tells himself, he really shouldn't feel this way. So guarded, toward someone he seethed out a profession of love to just hours ago — stupid. The bitter memory presses a droop to his brow, an echoing ache between his legs; he still hasn't been able to think back to that moment, examine how he felt, if he meant it. There are so many other ifs to deal with before coming within touching distance of that one. Like if Aki remembers anything at all from the whole mess, if Nayuta will wake up, if they'll even have a future where their lives intersect after tomorrow and they get to talk about it. If Aki could…

His knees bang against the tub, harsh. His towel sways at his thighs. No, not that one.

Denji catches himself from stumbling, tightening a fist around the tub's flat acrylic edges. Then he reaches over, and with a squeaky twist, steaming water pulls from the plumbing. Glancing back at Aki to check on whether he's ready or not, Denji pauses for an assessing moment, holding his frame in his vision. ]

Put it up — your arm. I'll get your clothes off.

[damngun]

[He has the strangest memory of Makima, in this moment. Even with her incarnation in the other room, even with her image being nearly totally pushed from his mind for the better part of a year, he can still clearly hear her voice in his mind like the ring of a bell. He had crossed paths with her on a walk with one of her dogs, he recalls. This one - the name, he didn't remember - was the least friendly to outsiders, she had said, so she was trying to expose him to more environments. And true to form, the dog had stayed right by Makima's side, his head turned away but his gaze constantly on him, the whites of his eyes bright against the dark color of fur around them as he pinned Aki in his gaze. "It's called whale eyes," she told him, her voice always so positive when discussing her pets. "Doesn't his eye look just like a whale's, looking down at something so much smaller? But he's the one who's afraid - It's cute, isn't it?"]

[Sure, Aki had said. Cute.]

[The whale eye Denji is giving him isn't cute at all.]

[Almost on instinct he wants to reach out and offer his hand when his knee bangs against the tub, almost saying something like Watch out but he's cognizant enough about this moment to keep his hand by his side. When it seems like he's recovered, he starts to reach for his shirt, attempting to undo the button near the top when Denji offers his help. And he'd like to be aloof and say he doesn't need it, that he dealt with this before and he can do it again. But when would Denji be able to offer this again? Will he leave Denji tomorrow with that image in his mind of his whale eyes staring him down, cautious and distrusting? Or can he prove that he's still Aki, that he's still the one in control, that he can touch him and nothing will happen? Is any of that true? He doesn't know. But he wants to believe he'll see a different face before the night ends. He has to.]

Thanks.

[And he raises his arm, assisting as much as he can to get his clothes off. A task he could probably figure out on his own, sure. Has before, sure. But if he'll be alone after tonight, why not luxuriate in this feeling one last time?]

[digestate]

[ He doesn't want to, he really doesn't want to — but a flash of a wince streaks across his face like a lightning strike that's hit just the right batch of nerves. He blinks at the hand covering his view and realizes it's his own, unconsciously lifted, hanging dumb in the air. Then, guiltily, forces it down with his other hand, rubbing slow along his wrist. All Aki did was raise an arm, prompted by something he told him to do; it's not as if he razed an entire city block to ground zero.

…A huff of a breath. Working the tension out of his jaw with a grind of his teeth, Denji shakes his head before sending Aki a weak look. Quick and meant to be apologetic, but the strain of the day's events just makes him look all the more anemic and sunken. ]

You don't gotta try to make this easier. Or thank me, [ Denji says after a halting silence, his voice thinning towards the end. His hands arrive at the edge of Aki's waist, curling at the inner seam of his shirt hem, the bend of his knuckles barely ghosting up his skin as he pulls the layer up. Barely anything. And yet just the outline of him is too much, too scalding, feels closer than an actual touch, closer than even having Aki inside him. Closer than having his chainsaws vibrating deep in his sloppy entrails. But if he could have his selection of anything to bear, anything at all, he'd still choose this over bearing the loss of him again. He'd choose feeling skewed and nauseous and on the verge of lashing out a second time over going back home to a box of his things with nowhere to put them, no explanation for what any of it means.

But, in the end, that's not his choice to make. In the end, he can only choose what's leftover from all the other paths that have been crossed out for him: a quiet, shatterable sense of nostalgia.

Softly flipping the cotton inside out over his arms, over Aki's head, the shirt comes away. Denji looks up at him, briefly, his own strange memory taking hold. Only his was this morning, and how easily he'd squeezes his palms to his cheeks and kissed him, one-sidedly, no holding back, no need for Aki to return the favor. But his gaze goes back down to the stump where a left arm should be at Aki's side, and his grimace returns.

He hadn't gotten a clear view before, but now. ]

It really is the same spot…

[ Touching it — is a thought Denji skips over as soon as the impulse twitches at his fingertips. He doesn't say any more after that, but maybe it says enough that he looks away with a sharp pinch to his eyes.

Still adamant about undressing Aki without assistance, he tucks his fingers inside the band of his underwear and his pants, bending into a crouch to drag them to his ankles. Once that's done, and his clothes are pooled at his feet, he mumbles to him, ] Uh, you can step out of these now.

[ With that done, on his way back up he wedges the clothes pile into the towel rack hanging close to the bath. He doesn't eyeball Aki's dick, doesn't say anything untoward and sleazy with his usual overt interest. Rather it appears discomfort doubles with them both nude; Denji presses himself to stay in motion, hurrying over to unhook the shower head on slippery feet, heels sliding unevenly as he grips the wall, tests the temperature with a short spray. After contemplatively rubbing the droplets into his fingers, he turns and — hesitates a beat too long on his next, which is stupid. He pulls at Aki's forearm, spritzing the water against his palm. ]

I've been in here too long, so I can't tell — this too hot for you?

[damngun]

[Denji flinches and shields himself. All Aki does is stare.]

[He can't know what happened, but his mind supplies enough horror scenarios to imagine something that might have been worse. The only times he's ever spoken to Gun, it was nonsense that was repeated back, if even that much could be understood. Just the sensation of wanting to take, wanting to reap. The embodiment of a weapon with no purpose but destruction and death, and he wants more. Always wants more. Craves to be whole again because his potential shoots up the fuller he is. The more complete he feels. And isn't Aki the same? was the taunting thought in his mind that he couldn't source the origin of. No - He's fine without that arm.]

[His shirt is off and then his pants, dropping to the floor and leaving him nude. Denji slips past him as he steps his feet out of the holes and considers saying something. It doesn't hurt. I can't feel anything there. Why his arm is even gone, he doesn't understand, but how long has it been since Gun fully took control like that? He doesn't even really remember how he wrested it away from him. He follows Denji with careful movements, still trailing the terrified dog while also minding the slippery floor.]

[The first contact nearly makes his heart jump. It's not the same as the slight brush on his waist or the shadow of his movements on his torso. Denji snags his arm and Aki blinks as the water splashes him. It feels - ] Fine. [Yeah, that's kind of all it is. Fine. He wants to make some kind of stupid comment to lighten the atmosphere but as he moves closer to sit down, it strikes him how... he really is treating Denji like a dog right now. That it might not be fair.]

[Then he realizes it a beat too late. That Denji is treating him like a dog, too.]

I'm not going to hurt you.

[He says it quietly, almost carefully. Enunciating the words so they can't be misunderstood. He raises his eyes to look at Denji, making eye contact - humans do that. Dogs find it threatening, but humans meet each other's eyes for a sense of understanding. And they're both humans.]

You know that, right?

[digestate]

[ The spray head lists to the side, rivulets pouring down their legs. It really does feel just fine. ]

…!

[ Unable to contain the jerk to his shoulders, he matches the unwavering gaze set upon him with his own startled one. The belief in Aki's eyes, the promise and the assurance. That's the thing that's unfair.

Dogs are so much easier to understand. Not even just because Denji's always held a special kinship to their kind. Pretend all you want that they're tame, loving creatures that can assimilate into a society, live in a house with other people, have their own food bowl, sleep in your bed — but they're animals unbeholden to human reasoning and intent. They still lose control, still open the door, still let the birthday candles whoosh out with a bang. But unlike humans, the accountability doesn't belong to them; that sits in the hands of their owner. ]

Sure, I know that. I know… [ Strained as the words are, he manages to force them out in a full breath. He knows that he's never once doubted that Aki has wanted to hurt him. Or anybody, for that matter. Just as Denji never wanted to kill Aki or Power. What humans want doesn't always align with the reality. ]

You're you. But, uh, bein' what we are. [ Hybrids. Half-breeds. ] I get that sometimes who we are changes.

[damngun]

[It's the truth but Aki wishes he had the courage to correct him, that he and Denji are different in this respect. Because when Denji changes, he's the same. He still has the same crooked moral compass, the same crazy movements and grit to his voice. But Aki...]

[He doesn't know why it happens, just that it hasn't in months. Apparently the last time was when he was asleep. He took over out of nowhere and made an attempt at escape - if it could even be called that when it seems like all he did was wander around looking for people to kill. He didn't succeed that time, but given the blood Aki woke up to today, he has to assume this time was different.]

[And Aki feels responsible, no matter if it's himself or the other one. If Gun kills someone, it's because he didn't keep his end of the bargain, that he didn't keep the leash tight enough. He promised he could control Gun and time and time again it's proven to him that he can't. Gun is and always will be stronger. He would never, in a million years, have been strong enough on his own to topple this devil. That's why Makima had to do it, herself.]

I know.

[At some point he dropped his gaze. Maybe being a dog is better than being saddled with humanity.]

...I'd rather you kill him, than let it happen again.

[Which, Denji won't do. Others would, or will, but Denji won't, even though he's the most capable. He could rip open his heart and split Gun into a million tiny pieces all over again, hurl them out into the ocean where they could sink and degrade. But he won't. He reaches across to rub at his shoulder, habitually run his finger over the seam of skin that was patched by a devil somehow. Twice, now.]

But I overpowered him this time. I don't know how. [Nor does he recall surrendering last time Gun faced Denji, either. Each time, it's only felt cold when he woke.] I woke up, and... Last time, I was asleep for a day or so. [So something changed, but he can't say what.]

[digestate]

Why would you…

[ He hates that Aki says it at all. But knowing that he offers it as an easy way out, a contingency, for his sake?

As he continues speaking, Denji turns away from him, wiping his suddenly wet and sticky nose against his arm, hoping that it's natural. And if it isn't, maybe he'll sell it by busying his hands; he gathers a couple of hair products from the shelf, a bar of soap clutched in the same hand he's holding the shower head with. It slides from his grip, slapping against his toes. He bends over to pick it up, slipping slightly again, but still managing on his own to navigate his clumsiness without showing his ass. When he stands back up, he's face-to-face with — air, where Aki's limb should be. Fingernails. Creases in his hands. Hair on the back of his knuckles. Skin, muscle, bone — warmth.

This time, it's the bottles in his arms that clatter to the ground.

God. This is hell. ]

My bad.

[ In pin-drop silence, he gets back on his knees. He ignores the water dripping from his bangs into his eyes, sliding down the inner corner from his nose to his lips. Salt sticks to his tongue. He gulps it down, too preoccupied praying that a colossal hand would bloom from the hollow widening inside his chest. Come drag him to a hiding place inside himself. Even that evergreen glade would do. There, he wouldn't have to think about how there are no other alternatives, no branching paths, no dead-ends. No door out of this rat maze they've been wandering, slamming their heads into the walls trying to get out, ever since Makima.

Before her.

Who even fucking knows how long everything has been so useless. ]

Ggh — nnrgh —

[ The shower head coils on the ground. A hand covers his eyes. He's not crying. He's just trying to squeeze his brain out like the last bit of toothpaste from a flattened tube.

Except a memory is what emerges, instead, possessing him, retold in a mumbling mess. A defective, dark-splotched film reel. Barely trustworthy, really, but it's what Denji has. ]

Haha… That's right. Y'did something like that… Was after I said — [ Ah, he did say that, didn't he? Weird. Why did Denji do that? He doesn't dare repeat himself. ]

And then your hands got all twisted up. Thought somethin' was breakin' in you, thought you were dying. But it was just you breakin' out. I guess. I dunno how ya did it, either. But y'still managed t'do it.

[ Quiet. Then, in a tiny voice, he adds: ] So maybe you could do it again.

[damngun]

[The breakdown should have been expected. He should have known he was going to say something to ruin this, that he couldn't keep it back. How could he, when he can't even keep it from his own mind? The past year, if he hasn't been wishing for death, it's been wishing for a do-over. For Denji to be the one to kill him, for Gun to be the one to fail. And apparently Denji has been wishing for the exact same. For the hell that Aki is living in to have been reality. Their split truths each other's paradise. How unfair is that, he thinks. That he can't tell him about the daydreams he's allowed himself to reside in without Denji telling him how awful that dream is to live out.]

[The soap and shampoo clatter to the ground and Aki wants to habitually reach down to help, but he knows - He remembers. He said he wouldn't touch him. He promised he wouldn't set a hand on him, not even a brushed foot or the side of his arm. He said he would wait for Denji after Denji so patiently waited for him. Right? That's the kind of trade they used to make, Denji so petulant in his hatred for quid-pro-quo that he would make sure any favor was paid back before it could be used against him. Aki watches him rise back up along his left side and the spray of water against his skin feels like ice despite the warm heat. He can see it coming before it even hits.]

[It's a good thing he has no arm there. His mind commands it to reach out and grasp him, pull him in as he makes that disgusting sound. But of course there's nothing there to listen to such an order.]

[Aki has no memory of the story Denji tells him, the messy, soupy recollection of something he did, or maybe Gun did. He suggests Aki could do that again, next time, and Aki wants to tell him, Of course I can't. Doesn't he know anything? The last time Gun went beserk, the last time Gun forced his way out and overpowered him, it took ten men to create an opening for Mirror to shove him back into that cell. Gun didn't fade until he wore himself out, powerless and weak. What was different about this time? Why did he...]

[His eyes widen. The chunk. The flesh. The veiny metal, cool on his skin and oddly smooth like a pill as it slid down his throat, combined with the rest of him, solidified into the mass in his chest, in his heart. Sent heat radiating through him and ecstasy lighting up every nerve. Full. He was full, finally, after so long, he felt just a bit satisfied. Like a rock in a shoe finally freed from beneath his heel. Like a pair of pants that fit just right - For the first time in ages, his body was his own just a bit more. But whose, exactly?]

Shit.

[And Denji had told him not to. Denji told him he was being stupid. To drink his own blood instead, to take it from him and ignore the feeling deep in his gut - deep in his heart - that the bullet would fix him, somehow. A drinker promising this time is different. An addict begging for just one more tab.]

["I'd taste way better. Promise."]

[Denji had been wrong when he'd said that. Nothing had ever tasted better than that. But right before it... Right before that, what they'd done in that bar as rain kept them trapped. What Denji had said. His desperation, his begging. Apologies, requests. His eyes clench closed, grasp tight on his own thigh to keep from breaking his own promise from just moments ago. Can he even...?]

Denji... [His eyes lift. Stare at where Denji's hand hides his own eyes, what keeps him from meeting his gaze. After everything, this request might be too much to ask, might be like asking a pomeranian to play friendly with a pitbull. But Aki stretches his neck anyway, removing his hand from his own skin and pushing it behind his back. Holstering the only weapon he has right now.]

Denji - Bite me, please. ["Make me yours," he wishes he could say. Can't he ask for that, too?]