[ While the swat of Aki's hand does puncture a hole in Denji's buoyancy, as does how naturally he reaches for the slighter devil immediately, neither of those things are what ultimately brings him down. ]
My clothes? But — they're mine!
[ At the same time that Angel's protests jump out, so do Denji's, his voice rising with incredulity, in spite of the warning he received earlier. So what if Powy gets into his laundry all the time. That's Powy, that's different from sharing his things with another guy. It's also different when he's being demanded to by Aki. Then again, is the alternative that Aki share his stuff with him? Because he also doesn't like that idea very much.
Denji eyes Angel, the sweet exhilaration of doing something praiseworthy having capsized, like how a leaking boat at max capacity might, coldly sinking to the bed of his stomach. His gaze switches to Aki, briefly, hoping a little that he'll have a change of heart, remember all the nice things he's done for him this evening and say, "Actually, it's perfectly fine that Angel is covered in street dirt."
When that doesn't happen, he slinks off to his bedroom, mumbling something about how his clothes aren't covered in anything and that he did his laundry yesterday like he was supposed to. After a couple minutes, he comes out with… a pink knitted sweater, red shorts embroidered with a little impish devil in the corner (think ), and striped socks. These are absolutely not Denji's clothes. ]
Umm, I did Power's laundry yesterday, too. I think he'd probably fit into her stuff.
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My clothes? But — they're mine!
[ At the same time that Angel's protests jump out, so do Denji's, his voice rising with incredulity, in spite of the warning he received earlier. So what if Powy gets into his laundry all the time. That's Powy, that's different from sharing his things with another guy. It's also different when he's being demanded to by Aki. Then again, is the alternative that Aki share his stuff with him? Because he also doesn't like that idea very much.
Denji eyes Angel, the sweet exhilaration of doing something praiseworthy having capsized, like how a leaking boat at max capacity might, coldly sinking to the bed of his stomach. His gaze switches to Aki, briefly, hoping a little that he'll have a change of heart, remember all the nice things he's done for him this evening and say, "Actually, it's perfectly fine that Angel is covered in street dirt."
When that doesn't happen, he slinks off to his bedroom, mumbling something about how his clothes aren't covered in anything and that he did his laundry yesterday like he was supposed to. After a couple minutes, he comes out with… a pink knitted sweater, red shorts embroidered with a little impish devil in the corner (think
Umm, I did Power's laundry yesterday, too. I think he'd probably fit into her stuff.