[He gets told all the time that he walks slow, which doesn't bother him because why waste the effort for a brisk pace? Nothing he's ever going toward is anything he wants to meet, so going at his own pace is more than fine in his book. Except when this girl is following him and the gap between himself and Denji keeps growing and he can't see a way through the various humans in front of, around, and behind him to get closer. And she keeps talking.]
["My parents died in a devil attack," she tells him, almost sounding happy about this, but maybe she's just excited to talk to him. Some humans are like that. "The last thing my mother ever told me was to pray every day, and that heaven would send a guardian angel to look out for me. Can you tell me who they are, or how I can talk to them? Oh, are you a guardian angel? Or what kind of angel are you?"]
[He doesn't say anything to her, staring forward with heavy-knit brows as someone passes in front of his field of vision and, once they move, the blond head he was following is gone. His pace slows as he tries to figure out where he went but then someone knocks into him from the back and instead he tries to move to the edge of the sidewalk where a car blares past, too close for comfort. And she's still talking.]
["I heard angels come down from heaven to deliver messages. Maybe I'm not the person you're supposed to give a message to... Can I help you find the right person? ... Hey, maybe if I pray with you, I can find my guardian angel, right? Since I found you, after all. Will you, Mr. Angel?" And from the corner of his eye he sees her reaching down toward his hand, a motion as casual as a wave, a nod, a bow. But Denji was fine. When he touched him, he was fine. Nothing happened. Is it gone? Is she going to touch him and lose nothing? He turns to stare at her, his hand still, serious contemplation in his eyes. Like he might actually let her.]
[And then she's down on the ground wincing in pain as Denji stands beside him, apologizing for the attack to her breasts. Angel looks from him to her and then down at the hand on his wrist. Mostly on his sleeve, but when he turns his hand in his grip it reveals more of his wrist, more nude skin, his palm sliding against Denji's. Even as he tells the girl that Angel doesn't wash his hands and has a parasite infection, none of that actually computes in his brain. Cupping around his palm, fingers folding over the edge of his hand. He stares down at the clasp of their hands in something like awe. It's...]
Warm.
["Did that devil just kick her?" he hears someone whisper harshly, but he doesn't react to it. The girl has sat up and seems to be trying to stand, trying to say something about looking for her guardian angel. But someone else is quick to point out the obvious - "That's not an angel, that's a devil!" And Angel doesn't have the brain power to explain that he's technically both, still stuck staring down at their clasped hands like he just connected the circle of life.]
no subject
["My parents died in a devil attack," she tells him, almost sounding happy about this, but maybe she's just excited to talk to him. Some humans are like that. "The last thing my mother ever told me was to pray every day, and that heaven would send a guardian angel to look out for me. Can you tell me who they are, or how I can talk to them? Oh, are you a guardian angel? Or what kind of angel are you?"]
[He doesn't say anything to her, staring forward with heavy-knit brows as someone passes in front of his field of vision and, once they move, the blond head he was following is gone. His pace slows as he tries to figure out where he went but then someone knocks into him from the back and instead he tries to move to the edge of the sidewalk where a car blares past, too close for comfort. And she's still talking.]
["I heard angels come down from heaven to deliver messages. Maybe I'm not the person you're supposed to give a message to... Can I help you find the right person? ... Hey, maybe if I pray with you, I can find my guardian angel, right? Since I found you, after all. Will you, Mr. Angel?" And from the corner of his eye he sees her reaching down toward his hand, a motion as casual as a wave, a nod, a bow. But Denji was fine. When he touched him, he was fine. Nothing happened. Is it gone? Is she going to touch him and lose nothing? He turns to stare at her, his hand still, serious contemplation in his eyes. Like he might actually let her.]
[And then she's down on the ground wincing in pain as Denji stands beside him, apologizing for the attack to her breasts. Angel looks from him to her and then down at the hand on his wrist. Mostly on his sleeve, but when he turns his hand in his grip it reveals more of his wrist, more nude skin, his palm sliding against Denji's. Even as he tells the girl that Angel doesn't wash his hands and has a parasite infection, none of that actually computes in his brain. Cupping around his palm, fingers folding over the edge of his hand. He stares down at the clasp of their hands in something like awe. It's...]
Warm.
["Did that devil just kick her?" he hears someone whisper harshly, but he doesn't react to it. The girl has sat up and seems to be trying to stand, trying to say something about looking for her guardian angel. But someone else is quick to point out the obvious - "That's not an angel, that's a devil!" And Angel doesn't have the brain power to explain that he's technically both, still stuck staring down at their clasped hands like he just connected the circle of life.]