[ Isn't that obvious? Her disregard for others isn't that special — and therefore, isn't that offensive to him at this point. Idly watching a new group of cosplayers file into the cafe, he looks as if he couldn't care less if Power sold him out for her cat a second time, much less if Angel reached over, tried to curled a hand around the sinew of his ankle, thumbed at every crease in his heel, and squeezed the life out of him. ]
And yeah, it's messed up, but that's her buddy. [ Someone on the outside looking in probably wouldn't get it, that when you have a buddy, a companion you'd give your life to, a friend you want to live in your stead — it's too easy to make any agreement. ] It's like, y'know, if — [ How should he put this? Who's the closest thing to a friend for Angel? ] If Aki were being held hostage or somethin'! You'd do the same thing.
[ Like how he risked punishment the week before to come along with Denji and cheer him up with his frying pan. It's a similar principle. ]
[...Probably true. Angel has never seen her interact with the cat for extended periods but the single morning he was there, he saw enough.]
[But when Denji gives an example of a situation where Angel might act similarly, selling someone else out to benefit his buddy - Aki - his face sours a little. Brows pinch inward, lips purse slightly. Nothing too heavy in terms of a change in reaction, not like he bit into a lemon again, but the change is there.]
I don't think I'd bother with anything like that.
[Why would he care, after all? It sounds like he'd get a day off.]
That human can take care of himself... I don't care one way or another what happens to him.
[So, in the end, he really doesn't get it. Is there anything he would value enough to do something like that? Probably not.]
[ Wait, for a second there… Nah, probably just a twitch.
At least he gave it some thought before answering, even if that answer emits only his usual nonchalance. Tepid, broaching on unfeeling, like Angel is staring outside a window and merely saying what he sees: A pigeon hopping on the ground in wait of bread crumbs, a human that's going to die, anyway; it's all the same, and it's how a devil like him should feel about a devil hunter like Hayakawa Aki. ]
…Me neither. I don't care what happens.
[ To him and Power, Aki's their live-in handler, first. Whatever else he is to them, second. Nowhere in that overlap is he their buddy. ]
Matter of fact, I'd be the first one to throw a party! He's the most annoying-est guy, ever! Public enemy #1!
[ Denji's finger jumps high, pointing at some unseeable first-place peak Aki surely must be standing at the top of. The sudden movement startles the server that returns to their table just then, a tray of their plates and drinks juddering in their hands. He doesn't give them a second glance, only lowering his arm to make room for their food to be set down. ]
I mean, you know that! He must nag you all the time, right? Always goin' on about something — don't speak so loud or stop trackin' blood all over the floor! Weh, weh, weh! For him, there's a rule for everything.
[Angel wonders about that. Does he bring up Aki Hayakawa this much because it's one of the few people they have in common? Or does he actually depend on the man without realizing it? He doesn't know. Doesn't care, either, because suddenly there's food being placed in front of them, mirrored images of the same meal and his expression simmers into a look of satisfaction, like someone just fluffed his cushion. Yeah, this was definitely worth it.]
Mmm, not as much anymore... [He cuts into the pancakes with the side of his fork, sawing out a slice.] He used to order me around a lot, but he sort of laid off after awhile. [Some sort of truce was developed, based on how much Angel would tepidly argue with his demands. Instead of outright ordering him around, he'll just make suggestions or begin walking in some direction. Angel is more likely to follow along when that's the case. He pushes the bite into his mouth and feels the spongy cake melt on his tongue, syrup sweet and clinging slightly to the edge of his lips. Yeah, all human food really is incredible.] But I think you should do what he says, though. In your case.
[ There's something novel to the brightness in Angel's expression, the moist glisten around his mouth. It's not like Denji toiled over the meal himself, but it's still a nice feeling, knowing that he was a part of a moment that made Angel this happy. It's even enough to make Denji forget to dig into his own plate for a split second.
But then Angel's making a suggestion, and Denji's hastily busying himself with lathering excess syrup all over his plate, though he doesn't really need to, using the little pitcher left behind by their server. At first, only pretending to give it some thought, until his mind snags on his words and he actually winds up pondering what's being said to him.
Laid off… He can see that, for Angel. Being partners in the line of duty, it's easier to fall into a routine with one another, kinda like how Denji's gotten used to parsing when Power's about to go ballistic on some small fry devils to avoid facing the head honcho. Or how sometimes a mixture of both taunt and praise can move her to comply with actual team tactics. The more you lay your life down with someone, the more you understand what makes them tick, he guesses.
Whether it works the same way when you live your life with someone, he's still trying to figure that one out.
Pausing to savor his spoonful of sugar-sogged pancake, the rose flavor harmonizing well with the sweetness in every piece that disappears down his stomach, he washes the taste down with his tea. Then, asks: ] How's my case different from yours?
[ Aside from the obvious difference in home arrangements. ]
I dunno if his way is always the right one, but guess I could give it a shot. If you think that'd make him stop busting my balls.
[As a carnivore, Angel thought at some point it was strange he enjoys the taste of fruity or flowery things. Maybe it was the first time he had something sweet? Or maybe it was further back than that. Maybe it's because he'll eat more or less anything, regardless of whether it came from a corpse or a plant. At the end of the day, if it tastes good, that's all that matters. Maybe one day he'll get poisoned and that'll be the end of that. How nice that would be...]
[Picking up the syrup once Denji is finished, he adds a bit more to his own plate to dip each bite into as he seems to allow the idea of doing as Aki says sometimes. That's good. He thinks his own reasoning for Denji doing this is obvious, but he answers why their situations are different, anyway:] Because you're an idiot... I think he knows better than you.
[Angel saw that firthand during that fight with the typhoon devil and the bomb girl. Even if it had worked in the end, it was still stupid. He doesn't put too fine a point on it, but the difference between them has definitely been expressed by saying it like that: Angel thinks he's smarter than Denji.]
But yeah, he'll probably stop busting your balls as much. [He sets his fork down to pick up his glass of tea and try it. ...This, he's not as fond of, but he drinks the rest of it anyway despite the brief scrunch of his nose. Food is food. Even in liquid form.] He's the sort of human who likes to be in control of everything. And you're an out-of-control sort. That's probably why he's like that with you, and not me.
Hey! I can be smart! Just you wait 'til ya see me with glasses on. My IQ jumps up by, like, ten points —
[ Even though pancakes are a relatively straightforward meal, somehow, some way, Denji throws his plate into disarray. Flecks of food fly and stick to his fingers, syrup gunking the handles of his utensils every time a bite gets shoved into his mouth, which immediately he scrapes his teeth along to avoid wasting all that delectable sweetness. So now he's got spit on his hands as well. And this is him being thoughtful in a public establishment, having a civil conversation with a colleague. As Angel continues talking, however, his eating slows down, the prongs of his fork hovering over his pancakes. ]
…Oh, so that's how stuff works between you two. You let him feel like he's in control.
[ For some reason, it's easy to accept the conclusion Angel draws. He doesn't need supporting evidence, doesn't need an exact timeline summing up his why. Probably because, on some level, he understands that Angel knows Aki better than he ever will — it's why he reached out to him that night, specifically. He's aware of it, and it's something he can respect as a fact of reality, the same way he gets that flies are just trying to survive when they buzz around your food.
But it's not any less grating. Denji swipes another piece into his mouth, looking down. ]
[Maybe he is a little smarter than Angel gave him credit for. He's at least able to understand Angel's thought process behind letting Aki do and say whatever he wants, if it means getting him off his back. Though at the final remark regarding his treatment of the other human...]
Well, I am an angel.
[This time, he does mean it mostly as a joke, though it doesn't come off as one with his monotone voice. His eyes follow the way Denji messes his plate, syrup stuck to his cheek, a sheen of shiny sugar right next to his mouth. His mouth that's... What. What is that expression? He isn't sure how to take it, nor the way in which he made his supposition about Angel being nice.]
You don't think I'm nice to you? [Look at him, he's sitting in a restaurant eating food Denji is buying for him. That's nice as hell. So maybe it's not that, but who he's nice to.] Or you don't think he deserves that? [Beat.] I mean, given the chance, he might freely kill either of us if he was allowed to. [He says it like that's a given, despite knowing full well it's completely false.]
[ An explosive snort shakes from him, which could be misinterpreted as recognition: That the joke is a joke, that he understands the intentional irony underpinning Angel's words, because, clearly, you can't change a devil's nature, no matter what uniform you order it to wear or what ring of light curtains his pretty red hair.
But no, that's not it. The thing is, he's not that clever when it comes to things he finds amusing. After all, Denji snickers at balls written out on a chalkboard and juvenile pranks, like replacing Aki's shoelaces with instant ramen noodles. And right now, it's the very thought of seeing himself reflected in Aki's unsheathed blade that has his shoulders trembling from the effort to contain his giggles. Also, the crumbs pasted to the top of Angel's upper lip, giving him a weird, little food mustache, aren't helping. ]
Pfft, good one.
[ While that mysterious tangle beneath the cord in his chest still thrums restlessly, he can feel its threads slowly start to relax and loosen up its squeeze. He even has the good humor to brush a finger up the bridge of his nose, pushing up an imaginary pair of glasses. ]
Actually, I think it's both. You're not as nice to me as you are to him and that guy doesn't deserve me kissing his ass! [ And yet he'll freely do so at the offer of a gum stick. ] There's only one ass I wanna kiss, and that's Miss Makima's. Hehe…
[ His laugh trails off into a bout of silence. Quiet as he licks his lips, lapping up the extra dose of sugar like a shot of courage, and after seeming to think about something, he leans forward. ]
The part I don't get — why be nice to him if you wanna die? It's easier to leave a dude for dead if he pisses you off. [ Aki wouldn't. But if they're talking in falsehoods, he'll pose his own. ] If you hate him enough. I know that's what I would do.
[Is the Chainsaw laughing at him, or with him? Angel isn't sure. He watches with a neutral expression as he fantasizes about kissing Makima's ass, not agreeing or disagreeing with the statements - both that he's not nice to Denji and that Aki doesn't deserve, at the very least, Denji's kindness. It's not until Denji openly asks why Angel doesn't simply step aside if Aki were in the path of death that makes his brows creep up, high on his brow behind the mess of hair he calls bangs. Leave him for dead if he pissed him off... If he hated him enough - That's what Denji would do?]
[Of course, he doesn't hate Aki Hayakawa, not any more than any other human. He's been assigned his duty of obeying him and protecting humans via killing his own kind, but Denji makes it sound like it's so simple, that he could just jump in the path of death and this suffering game would be over. But the last time that happened...]
[He really did think he would die that day. Looked forward to it, in that brief flash of acceptance. Would he slam into a building and split in two? Be sent flying into the sea and drown under the waves? What would have finally killed him? But he never got to find out.]
[Angel is so used to lying and saying what he prefers to be true that he doesn't question the words he, himself, says very often. Hearing Denji call his bluff is as uncomfortable as it is wounding thanks to that. But he simply stares at him, hands on either side of his plate, half obscured past his sleeves.]
Sounds like a lot of effort, to hate someone that much.
[...Well, it does.]
Do you know about Sisyphus, Chainsaw-kun? [He's guessing not.] It's a myth about a man who cheated death and was cast into hell. The gods hated him for thinking so highly of himself and cursed him to push a boulder up a hill as punishment. But the moment before the boulder reaches the top of the hill, it falls back down to the base and he's forced to do it all over again, for eternity.
[Or something like that. He's not that interested in stories from that mythology - there are too many names to remember.]
...But some people think, maybe, that even though the gods wanted to drive him mad, that there must be parts of Sisyphus' punishment that aren't so bad. Some parts of his life that must be enjoyable, pushing that boulder, with how monotonous and repetetive it is... You know, the relief in knowing what to expect. Every time he reaches the top of the hill, the boulder rolls back down, and he might think, "I get to do this once again."
[Not that the hell in that story sounds anything like the hell he doesn't remember, but still. The idea is there.]
...If I were to let Aki Hayakawa die, or fool him into killing me, then maybe my boulder reaches the top of the hill... Then what? [He frowns, reaching to pick up his fork again.] They probably won't feed me pancakes in hell.
[ A lot of effort, he says. That may or may not be true; Denji doesn't feel strongly about it one way or another, doesn't say back that if he had to guess, maybe, maybe, all it takes is a second. Only a single second of letting hot fury and fear roar its wretched harmony in your ears, the kind of coalescence that happens when the shadow surges out from its pre-defined form and eclipses the body. It's easy to give up control to something else willing to bear the weight of the sun. As for the leaving for dead stuff, that's easy, too — all that is, is running, if you've got legs to run with. Gravel chewing at your feet. A pain, but a swallowable one.
Again, though, that's just his guess. Anyway, Angel moves the conversation right along, and he's perfectly fine with that.
The devil's right to assume that Denji doesn't know a single thing about Greek mythos. His brows squinch as he takes another sip from his glass, skeptical about how this story relates to what they're discussing, or if it's a change of topic altogether. But the more he follows the analogy, he realizes that Sisyphus feels strangely close to Angel's existence. That he pushes a boulder that fruitlessly rolls up and up that hill toward death, just to narrowly miss reaching the summit of what he wants. But in that fruitlessness, he finds — pancakes?
…It's true, pancakes are pretty great, especially these ones. Trying to pretend that Angel hasn't lost him, Denji nods slowly. ]
Yeah, you'd probably have to hunt down the Pancake Devil… That'd suck, 'cause after you eat 'em up, they're just gone until they die again here. It's not the same.
[ Not for the first time in this exchange, Denji pauses, seeming to struggle to articulate his thoughts regarding the tale. He's never been a person who cares about speaking with discretion, but this feels like a rare moment he actually understands something about Angel: He's capable of finding release outside of sleep and dying. So Denji should say something thoughtful, right? ]
I dunno what you're being punished for, but if that's how it is, you should spend your time doing more fun things like this, until you get bored or sick of having a good time. Or you're really ready to die, whatever. [ … ] And you can do it with us, that way you can get a free pass. Miss Makima's nice, so I betcha she'll get it.
[Angel repeats the words under his breath. Annoyance seeps through him. And of course, he tops it off with a comment about her. How, of course she'll be more than happy to allow him these moments of happiness. Of course she's nice enough to let a devil like him experience fleeting joy instead of finally letting him die. Because it's Makima. No one else in Public Safety has the power to be kind or thoughtful - or the power not to be. He didn't lie when he told Aki he was always ready to die. And he would have, that day. It would have been so easy. But of course - maybe she told him that was unacceptable. Maybe that's why he really said all of that to him.]
[He stares down at his plate, meal half-finished. He's not hungry now. Doesn't want to enjoy this if it means it's just a salve until the next burn of suicidality hits. And the boy sitting in front of him is least capable of doing anything about it. No, instead, he just crows on and on about his crush and how it's fine to shluff up the hill with that damn boulder if you get a snack on the way.]
[Isn't this the opposite of what he was just claiming? But hearing it from a human just feels so insulting. From this human who can't seem to recognize all the things he has. Freedom, money, a home, emotion. He can touch people. He can be touched. And most importantly...]
...What's it like, then? [He doesn't look up, still staring down at the red pancakes on his plate, their bodies hacked into smaller bites fit for eating.] What's dying like?
[ Unlike Angel, his appetite staunchly forges ahead. He picks up where he left off in his dessert, chews at the scoop of delicately whipped custard browned to perfection — as if it were no different from grass pulled from dirt. A simpleton farm animal that hasn't ever considered what it's being fed, for whom does it live, or what slaughterhouse it'll be delivered to the next morning. Assured and comfortable in its own complacence. Fodder doesn't need to think about its own death, not when life's this good.
So why does this winged devil keep worrying about it with that weird expression, when they both serve the same purpose? The same utility? ]
Dying's dying. It's… [ It's hard to explain, if you haven't experienced it yourself. But that's such a cop-out answer, he can't bring himself to complete the thought. Denji huffs. ] It tastes like nothing, dude. [ As he voices his thoughts, his mouth is all bloodied in pink syrup, red crumbs dotting his teeth. He doesn't bother wiping any of it away. ] Smells like nothing, sounds like nothing, feels like nothing. Haven't you ever been hurt real bad?
[ He's talking insides liquidized, throat ripped into a second smile. Happens to Power when she isn't careful, but squeeze a sack of blood into her fast enough and she's just fine. ]
It stinks at first, 'cause you're like, 'Ah, balls, where did my hand go? And my legs?! Ouch!' The good thing is, after awhile, ya don't feel the ouch the way you should. You know when you've standing outside in the cold for too long and your nuts get numb? It's like that. Then, you realize you don't feel anything at all, and stuff is going blurry, or dark, or white, I dunno, it depends — honestly, if you're not insta-killed, your head just gets really slow. Things are hard to remember.
[ But mostly… ]
When you're dying, it feels a lot like you're just waiting for it to happen.
["Waiting for it to happen," huh... Does that mean Angel has been dying this whole time?]
[Maybe. Every breath is one step closer to death, after all, but it's not really what Denji means, he knows. His description doesn't sound pleasing, but it's also soothing to hear, that there's something final in it. Slowing down until eventually you completely stop. The slow, slow descent into nothingness. But one part keeps making him pause, enough to frown softly.]
I haven't.
[Been hurt real bad, that is. He's a defensive build, staying out of combat, but when he does have to he usually gets in close and kills in a single swipe. It doesn't take much, so it's not common for him to get more than a few scratches, maybe a few feathers missing. Makima didn't place him right below Kishibe in the power scale for nothing.]
[Does that mean Denji is more prepared than him? He's always though of himself as ready to die at any moment, no matter what happens. But lately it's harder. Lately he has to actually work more, put in more effort. Try to survive. It's not for himself, though. He's always been ready, always prepared to kick the bucket at any moment. Come what may. He doesn't care. But now that he's hearing how it really feels, how death comes slow and steady... Would that mean he would have to spend that whole time watching him, watching the despair on his face and the regret and the desperation to stop it again? Would he feel every second like it's an eternity, being shaken, dragged to safety, blood dumped down his throat? The issue is, he doesn't know. He's never been hurt bad enough to see how he would react.]
He told me he's sick of the people around him dying. That I should go somewhere far away if I'm going to.
[He's never discussed that with anyone, but it sits in the back of his mind at all times. Annoyingly, like a constant debate. Back and forth. Unending. Pushing the boulder up the hill, watching it roll back down.]
I wonder if it's because of you, too. Watching you die, even though you come back...
[A huff. Not a grunt, not a sigh - but not quite a laugh or a chuckle, either.]
[ There isn't anything on his plate anymore, Denji notices with a jolt, a mild widening of his eyes accompanying the stab of the metal edge of his spoon into empty, pale ceramic. This happens to coincides with Angel telling him that, maybe, he's played a part in Aki's so-called clinginess. Clinginess he's not sure he's ever been on the receiving end of, but has to take the other devil's word for it. He's banking on Angel not caring enough to bring up the correlation.
After a moment, he sets aside his utensils, along with the baffled stare he'd leveled at Angel, shifting to dip his head in a kind of shrug. The placement of his shoulders landing at a slant, his cheek coming to rest on one of his palms. ]
…Yeah. That sounds like him.
[ Lukewarm agreement, like he doesn't care, despite the impatient twist in his gut that's dying to prod at what else Angel knows. What else Aki's told him, but not Denji — except for that one time that first day, a warning to get lost, and after that, never again. He's not sure that counts, though. It feels different, and there's a sorry part of his pride that would rather feign understanding, than admit to not knowing this side of Aki for some reason. ]
So you're gonna stop trying in front of him, then?
[ To die. To leave. To slough off life and go to that final sleeping place. Whatever euphemism or not, Angel wants to use for it.
Their server stops by to check on them, but Denji just waves them off, doesn't even ask for the check. They'll be back. ]
[Denji is done with his meal, but Angel doesn't process that he still has food on his plate until the server comes over and Denji waves them off. He looks down at his dishes and drags a finger through the syrup, licking it off his finger as he thinks over that question. Has he stopped trying in front of him? Probably. He puts a lot more effort into living nowadays.]
I don't think I want him to cling to me any harder. I'd just end up killing him, myself.
[Passively, not purposefully. He drags another finger through the syrup and sucks it clean with a silent sound, still thinking.]
It's strange to be cared for, as a devil, isn't it. We aren't creatures that care for one another. So it was strange when he told me that.
[Ahh, he's not going to eat this. In a rare act of caring, himself, he raises his eyes and pulls the finger free from his mouth to ask Denji,] You want the rest?
[ "It's strange to be cared for, as a devil, isn't it."
Inexplicably, it's this sentence that triggers a special switch in his head, one that shoots a memory through him too fast, too clear, it blinds him to everything else, like a gun flashing, a bullet hitting its mark. Denji, shoved to the ground as Aki partitions himself between him and that scaredy-cat girl's knife. The pained cringe rippling out the other man's body as steel dug into his rib cage, but still there was a sharpness to his gaze, sharper than any bladed point — stupid commitment. Dumbass conviction, in only the way heroes in action anime are ever able to get away with.
And yes, he'd thought it'd been strange. That another human could hate him so much and still want him to live. Maybe not for the same reasons Aki had wanted Angel to live, but it'd still… cracked a door in him the slightest bit open. He's not sure how else to describe it. ]
Yeah.
[ He says, finally, as he rakes a spread hand across Angel's plate, strings of sugar dangling from his wrist as he lifts it to his face to lick up. Copying the way Angel had delicately caught the syrup with his mouth without drizzling it all over the tablecloth. Obviously, Denji's less successful at this. ]
That guy's a strange one. Cares too much. Should be careful about who it is he's being nice to. But I think when he dies, that means a whole lotta people will show up during that, uh, sad people thing and cry, the way he always does about dead people. It's called a funeral, I heard…
[Yeah, he does cry a lot. Isn't how this all started? From his tears? What was it even for, at the end? Angel watches dully as Denji laps at his sticky wrist.]
A funeral, yeah. [How much longer? Two years? Two years, and then maybe he'll get to die, too.]
[What a depressing thought. He sighs and leans back against his seat, staring morosely up at the ceiling through his halo. Waiting for one person to die so that no one will be left who cares about you. Humans truly do deserve to die slowly and painfully, for all the trouble they're worth.]
Well... Maybe at his funeral, you can be the one to kill me. Since you're apparently the only one who won't get hurt doing that. [So there's something to look forward to. Dying here the same way he remembers dying there. Or at least, in a similar vein.] Just go vuun-vuun and make it quick.
[ This time, when their server drops by with the check, Denji pauses in mopping up the last of the syrup with his tongue to flip out his wallet and drop a few gummed up bills into the tray. Overhearing the last snippet of what Angel says, the person looks somewhat disturbed as they rush away from their table.
Denji, on the other hand, considers the prospect of killing him with only vague distaste, not because he's opposed to it — he thinks he could do it, can't think of any reason why he wouldn't be able to — but because, well, isn't that kinda too lovey-dovey of an idea? ]
Eh? I don't wanna.
[ Not looking at Angel, he wipes his moist palm against the tablecloth. ]
So as soon as the dude you're living for drops dead, suddenly you can't go on or something…? Why do I gotta play the part of reuniting you guys in the afterlife? [ A soft snort. ] Plus, that'd definitely piss off that guy and make 'em come back as a ghost to haunt me! I'd have no privacy to jerk it anymore! Talk about the worst case scenario…
[ The server returns shortly, placing his change on the table, then departs again to tend to another guest. Stuffing his money into a pocket, he starts to get up. Lead them out. ]
If you want me to do that, you'd have to gimme somethin' real good to pay me back.
[What, he really thinks he'd be a ghost because Denji killed his buddy at his funeral...?]
[Actually, that sounds just like him. Angel frowns, closing his eyes loosely. Pay him back... What could he even offer that he'd want? His frown deepens.]
It's not like I'm living for him, but...
[But he can't explain it. He's keenly, uncomfortably aware of the fact that his death might actually matter to someone now and that feeling is disturbing. He's a devil. No devil nor human should care if he lives or dies. But that human might cry if he gets torn to shreds. And that's...]
[He sighs, looking down again as Denji gets up. Great, they have to walk again...]
The only thing you're interested in is sex, anyway... I can't think of anything else you'd consider "real good."
[ Angel's so pitiful walking alongside him, as if he's being towed forward by an invisible rope, that it almost makes Denji want give him a break and casually agree to murdering him.
…But really? Angel can't think to even draw inspiration from all the places Denji's taken him to so far? Each location was technically related to his interests… Movies, games, food. Although, yeah, if there were a boob store he were old enough to get into, he probably would have taken Angel there first. He's a pretty simple guy. Still, he's not going to spell it out for him.
If Angel's serious about dying after Aki's gone, he'll find a way — either to convince someone else, if not Denji, or end things on his own. ]
It's gotta be something super impressive, [ he tells him, glancing from one side of the street to the next before crossing. ] Not you're regular ol' jam you can get from the market! I'll tell ya that.
[ Denji pauses, for a moment, as they reach the other end, looking around. They haven't been walking long, but it looks as if he's inadvertently led them into a residential area. Hmm, he pulls his phone out. ]
Uh, hold on, lemme check how far the karaoke place is.
[He stops when Denji mentions that, surprised. They're going to karaoke? Did he forget that was part of the plan?]
[Probably, somewhere in the fog of today. After everything else that happened - first the movies, which was exhausting in its own way, then...]
[...Hold on. Can he still touch him? Or did that wear off? Without any sort of preamble or permission asked, he reaches out to touch Denji's arm again, pressing his palm over his skin and waiting for a moment. But yet again, just like the ten other times he's touched him, nothing happens.]
...Something like that would be possible, with you.
[The realization comes slow. Never before has he seriously thought about his inability to have sexual relations with anyone, but being in proximity with the guy who seems to have that running as a background track in his mind makes it too easy to think about. He says it has to be super impressive, and wouldn't that be pretty impressive?]
How far is it? [He leans over to look at the phone, but the glint from his halo makes it hard to see the screen.]
[ Indeed, the hardly-there sensation of Angel's hand curved around his forearm doesn't atrophy his systems, doesn't bring him to his knees as death binds him down to the earth. No. Feels more harmless than that. But weird, as if the dainty feet of a curious sparrow are perched on his arm. Like he's being trusted not to move too suddenly. Though Denji doesn't outwardly react as Angel sews himself into his space, it's that touch he pays close attention to as he stares hard at his screen, missing whatever it is the shorter devil mumbles.
This is so awkward.
Coughing, Denji tilts his phone screen for him to see (and to adjust the glare from his halo). There's a dotted path leading them to some karaoke joint rated 2.1 stars. Well, it's close by. ]
Seven minutes. C'mon, that's back the way we came — [ He tugs his arm away, rushing to take them back down the street they'd just crossed — but a long honk screams his way, his instincts kicking him back far away enough to avoid a collision with a delivery motorcyclist. ] Watch it, prick!
[ His eyes flash up to the crossing signal and, ugh, it's red. So, technically, his fault. After a moment, the signal changes to green. ]
…Alrighty, now let's go.
[ He feels kinda dumb for taking them in the wrong direction in the first place, but, luckily, seven minutes isn't a far walk. Remembering what happened last time he walked ahead of him, Denji matches his strides to Angel's all the way to the karaoke place. He looks a little disgruntled while doing so, but miraculously keeps his complaints about the slower pace to himself.
When they arrive, the reason for the location's low rating makes itself obvious. The six-story building itself is a bit rundown, and the front counter is vacant; it takes Denji hollering through the opening to get anyone to greet them, record the number of hours they'll be there for, and grubbily take his payment. He only has enough cash for one hour. The rest of the money Aki shared with him will have to be saved for getting them home.
The elevator chimes as they reach the floor where their karaoke booth's located. ]
Here we are! Karaoke paradise.
[ The 'paradise' in question is a small ass, dark room with blinking lights moving in a circle around the seating area. It has all the usual hallmarks of a karaoke booth. There's a menu sitting atop the table for food and drinks, a large monitor displaying the song-picking interface. Denji kneels beside the cabinet full of sound equipment that's there, pulling a mic and flipping its switch before slapping the head of it against his palm to test the sound. An echo-y thump bursts from the speakers. Okay, so it works.
He holds the mic out to Angel. ]
So, like, just pick a song and try to sing along with the lyrics. And you really have to sing for it to be fun! Don't hold back!
[He's heard of these places. Humans go here on the weekends, get drunk with friends and sing all night. Angel has never been, has never experienced anything he could call "friendship," much less inebriation. Strolling at his own pace to the building, he stares up at its height before coming inside with him, his neck still tilted to look up even as he moves inside. It's a strange sort of place. The sort of place he'd expect to be sent to kill his own kind than come here on the weekend for fun. Fun?]
[As he stands in the dark room with blinking lights, he realizes this is Denji's idea of fun. A human's idea of fun. He stares at the proffered microphone, the echo of their voices when it occasionally picks them up. The little sofa, the table, the large binder. A human's idea of fun.]
[Of course he can't understand that. Angel doesn't move from where he stands, arched in the doorway with the closed door behind him.]
I don't know any music, Chainsaw-kun.
[How can he possibly pick anything, anyway? He doesn't want to. And, as is well known in their bureau, whatever he doesn't want to do simply won't be done.]
[Crossing behind Denji, he moves to sit down in the seating area, his wings pulling back a little as he adjusts himself. The lights make it a little hard to focus his eyes.]
Why do you want to sing here?
[A human's idea of fun, attempted with a half-human and a half-angel. It doesn't make sense to him. What did Denji hope to get out of this experience?]
[ His arm lowers as he ignores the mic. That's fine, he'll just set it on the mic on the table for later, then.
Denji takes the other mic along with him as he sits on the opposite end of the seat, back facing toward Angel. Balancing the binder between his knees, he flips through the pages of the vast catalog of songs; it may not come as a surprise, but a lot of these he doesn't recognize right off the bat. There are codes assigned to each song, so that's probably what they have to enter into the tablet-thing. Adding the tablet to his already full lap, Denji selects a code at random to type into the text field.
It's as he's doing this that he says to Angel, ] Isn't this "something different from usual"? [ It's different from Denji's usual, anyway. Maybe Angel's been to one of these before, and that's why he's not impressed… ] That's what you asked me to show you.
[ A music video plays across the screen, the lyrics flashing out against an instrumental of synthetic percussion, but Denji doesn't bother lifting the mic to his mouth. If Angel's not going to sing, they may as well put something on in the background. ]
I've always wanted to play around inside these places. You know about high school students, right? I hear that loads of 'em come here with their buds and girls from their class. It's supposed to be so fun that they even lose track of time and stay out past the last train time!
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[ Isn't that obvious? Her disregard for others isn't that special — and therefore, isn't that offensive to him at this point. Idly watching a new group of cosplayers file into the cafe, he looks as if he couldn't care less if Power sold him out for her cat a second time, much less if Angel reached over, tried to curled a hand around the sinew of his ankle, thumbed at every crease in his heel, and squeezed the life out of him. ]
And yeah, it's messed up, but that's her buddy. [ Someone on the outside looking in probably wouldn't get it, that when you have a buddy, a companion you'd give your life to, a friend you want to live in your stead — it's too easy to make any agreement. ] It's like, y'know, if — [ How should he put this? Who's the closest thing to a friend for Angel? ] If Aki were being held hostage or somethin'! You'd do the same thing.
[ Like how he risked punishment the week before to come along with Denji and cheer him up with his frying pan. It's a similar principle. ]
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[But when Denji gives an example of a situation where Angel might act similarly, selling someone else out to benefit his buddy - Aki - his face sours a little. Brows pinch inward, lips purse slightly. Nothing too heavy in terms of a change in reaction, not like he bit into a lemon again, but the change is there.]
I don't think I'd bother with anything like that.
[Why would he care, after all? It sounds like he'd get a day off.]
That human can take care of himself... I don't care one way or another what happens to him.
[So, in the end, he really doesn't get it. Is there anything he would value enough to do something like that? Probably not.]
Would you do that? If something happened to him.
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At least he gave it some thought before answering, even if that answer emits only his usual nonchalance. Tepid, broaching on unfeeling, like Angel is staring outside a window and merely saying what he sees: A pigeon hopping on the ground in wait of bread crumbs, a human that's going to die, anyway; it's all the same, and it's how a devil like him should feel about a devil hunter like Hayakawa Aki. ]
…Me neither. I don't care what happens.
[ To him and Power, Aki's their live-in handler, first. Whatever else he is to them, second. Nowhere in that overlap is he their buddy. ]
Matter of fact, I'd be the first one to throw a party! He's the most annoying-est guy, ever! Public enemy #1!
[ Denji's finger jumps high, pointing at some unseeable first-place peak Aki surely must be standing at the top of. The sudden movement startles the server that returns to their table just then, a tray of their plates and drinks juddering in their hands. He doesn't give them a second glance, only lowering his arm to make room for their food to be set down. ]
I mean, you know that! He must nag you all the time, right? Always goin' on about something — don't speak so loud or stop trackin' blood all over the floor! Weh, weh, weh! For him, there's a rule for everything.
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Mmm, not as much anymore... [He cuts into the pancakes with the side of his fork, sawing out a slice.] He used to order me around a lot, but he sort of laid off after awhile. [Some sort of truce was developed, based on how much Angel would tepidly argue with his demands. Instead of outright ordering him around, he'll just make suggestions or begin walking in some direction. Angel is more likely to follow along when that's the case. He pushes the bite into his mouth and feels the spongy cake melt on his tongue, syrup sweet and clinging slightly to the edge of his lips. Yeah, all human food really is incredible.] But I think you should do what he says, though. In your case.
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But then Angel's making a suggestion, and Denji's hastily busying himself with lathering excess syrup all over his plate, though he doesn't really need to, using the little pitcher left behind by their server. At first, only pretending to give it some thought, until his mind snags on his words and he actually winds up pondering what's being said to him.
Laid off… He can see that, for Angel. Being partners in the line of duty, it's easier to fall into a routine with one another, kinda like how Denji's gotten used to parsing when Power's about to go ballistic on some small fry devils to avoid facing the head honcho. Or how sometimes a mixture of both taunt and praise can move her to comply with actual team tactics. The more you lay your life down with someone, the more you understand what makes them tick, he guesses.
Whether it works the same way when you live your life with someone, he's still trying to figure that one out.
Pausing to savor his spoonful of sugar-sogged pancake, the rose flavor harmonizing well with the sweetness in every piece that disappears down his stomach, he washes the taste down with his tea. Then, asks: ] How's my case different from yours?
[ Aside from the obvious difference in home arrangements. ]
I dunno if his way is always the right one, but guess I could give it a shot. If you think that'd make him stop busting my balls.
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[Picking up the syrup once Denji is finished, he adds a bit more to his own plate to dip each bite into as he seems to allow the idea of doing as Aki says sometimes. That's good. He thinks his own reasoning for Denji doing this is obvious, but he answers why their situations are different, anyway:] Because you're an idiot... I think he knows better than you.
[Angel saw that firthand during that fight with the typhoon devil and the bomb girl. Even if it had worked in the end, it was still stupid. He doesn't put too fine a point on it, but the difference between them has definitely been expressed by saying it like that: Angel thinks he's smarter than Denji.]
But yeah, he'll probably stop busting your balls as much. [He sets his fork down to pick up his glass of tea and try it. ...This, he's not as fond of, but he drinks the rest of it anyway despite the brief scrunch of his nose. Food is food. Even in liquid form.] He's the sort of human who likes to be in control of everything. And you're an out-of-control sort. That's probably why he's like that with you, and not me.
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[ Even though pancakes are a relatively straightforward meal, somehow, some way, Denji throws his plate into disarray. Flecks of food fly and stick to his fingers, syrup gunking the handles of his utensils every time a bite gets shoved into his mouth, which immediately he scrapes his teeth along to avoid wasting all that delectable sweetness. So now he's got spit on his hands as well. And this is him being thoughtful in a public establishment, having a civil conversation with a colleague. As Angel continues talking, however, his eating slows down, the prongs of his fork hovering over his pancakes. ]
…Oh, so that's how stuff works between you two. You let him feel like he's in control.
[ For some reason, it's easy to accept the conclusion Angel draws. He doesn't need supporting evidence, doesn't need an exact timeline summing up his why. Probably because, on some level, he understands that Angel knows Aki better than he ever will — it's why he reached out to him that night, specifically. He's aware of it, and it's something he can respect as a fact of reality, the same way he gets that flies are just trying to survive when they buzz around your food.
But it's not any less grating. Denji swipes another piece into his mouth, looking down. ]
You're nice to him.
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Well, I am an angel.
[This time, he does mean it mostly as a joke, though it doesn't come off as one with his monotone voice. His eyes follow the way Denji messes his plate, syrup stuck to his cheek, a sheen of shiny sugar right next to his mouth. His mouth that's... What. What is that expression? He isn't sure how to take it, nor the way in which he made his supposition about Angel being nice.]
You don't think I'm nice to you? [Look at him, he's sitting in a restaurant eating food Denji is buying for him. That's nice as hell. So maybe it's not that, but who he's nice to.] Or you don't think he deserves that? [Beat.] I mean, given the chance, he might freely kill either of us if he was allowed to. [He says it like that's a given, despite knowing full well it's completely false.]
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But no, that's not it. The thing is, he's not that clever when it comes to things he finds amusing. After all, Denji snickers at balls written out on a chalkboard and juvenile pranks, like replacing Aki's shoelaces with instant ramen noodles. And right now, it's the very thought of seeing himself reflected in Aki's unsheathed blade that has his shoulders trembling from the effort to contain his giggles. Also, the crumbs pasted to the top of Angel's upper lip, giving him a weird, little food mustache, aren't helping. ]
Pfft, good one.
[ While that mysterious tangle beneath the cord in his chest still thrums restlessly, he can feel its threads slowly start to relax and loosen up its squeeze. He even has the good humor to brush a finger up the bridge of his nose, pushing up an imaginary pair of glasses. ]
Actually, I think it's both. You're not as nice to me as you are to him and that guy doesn't deserve me kissing his ass! [ And yet he'll freely do so at the offer of a gum stick. ] There's only one ass I wanna kiss, and that's Miss Makima's. Hehe…
[ His laugh trails off into a bout of silence. Quiet as he licks his lips, lapping up the extra dose of sugar like a shot of courage, and after seeming to think about something, he leans forward. ]
The part I don't get — why be nice to him if you wanna die? It's easier to leave a dude for dead if he pisses you off. [ Aki wouldn't. But if they're talking in falsehoods, he'll pose his own. ] If you hate him enough. I know that's what I would do.
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[Of course, he doesn't hate Aki Hayakawa, not any more than any other human. He's been assigned his duty of obeying him and protecting humans via killing his own kind, but Denji makes it sound like it's so simple, that he could just jump in the path of death and this suffering game would be over. But the last time that happened...]
[He really did think he would die that day. Looked forward to it, in that brief flash of acceptance. Would he slam into a building and split in two? Be sent flying into the sea and drown under the waves? What would have finally killed him? But he never got to find out.]
[Angel is so used to lying and saying what he prefers to be true that he doesn't question the words he, himself, says very often. Hearing Denji call his bluff is as uncomfortable as it is wounding thanks to that. But he simply stares at him, hands on either side of his plate, half obscured past his sleeves.]
Sounds like a lot of effort, to hate someone that much.
[...Well, it does.]
Do you know about Sisyphus, Chainsaw-kun? [He's guessing not.] It's a myth about a man who cheated death and was cast into hell. The gods hated him for thinking so highly of himself and cursed him to push a boulder up a hill as punishment. But the moment before the boulder reaches the top of the hill, it falls back down to the base and he's forced to do it all over again, for eternity.
[Or something like that. He's not that interested in stories from that mythology - there are too many names to remember.]
...But some people think, maybe, that even though the gods wanted to drive him mad, that there must be parts of Sisyphus' punishment that aren't so bad. Some parts of his life that must be enjoyable, pushing that boulder, with how monotonous and repetetive it is... You know, the relief in knowing what to expect. Every time he reaches the top of the hill, the boulder rolls back down, and he might think, "I get to do this once again."
[Not that the hell in that story sounds anything like the hell he doesn't remember, but still. The idea is there.]
...If I were to let Aki Hayakawa die, or fool him into killing me, then maybe my boulder reaches the top of the hill... Then what? [He frowns, reaching to pick up his fork again.] They probably won't feed me pancakes in hell.
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Again, though, that's just his guess. Anyway, Angel moves the conversation right along, and he's perfectly fine with that.
The devil's right to assume that Denji doesn't know a single thing about Greek mythos. His brows squinch as he takes another sip from his glass, skeptical about how this story relates to what they're discussing, or if it's a change of topic altogether. But the more he follows the analogy, he realizes that Sisyphus feels strangely close to Angel's existence. That he pushes a boulder that fruitlessly rolls up and up that hill toward death, just to narrowly miss reaching the summit of what he wants. But in that fruitlessness, he finds — pancakes?
…It's true, pancakes are pretty great, especially these ones. Trying to pretend that Angel hasn't lost him, Denji nods slowly. ]
Yeah, you'd probably have to hunt down the Pancake Devil… That'd suck, 'cause after you eat 'em up, they're just gone until they die again here. It's not the same.
[ Not for the first time in this exchange, Denji pauses, seeming to struggle to articulate his thoughts regarding the tale. He's never been a person who cares about speaking with discretion, but this feels like a rare moment he actually understands something about Angel: He's capable of finding release outside of sleep and dying. So Denji should say something thoughtful, right? ]
I dunno what you're being punished for, but if that's how it is, you should spend your time doing more fun things like this, until you get bored or sick of having a good time. Or you're really ready to die, whatever. [ … ] And you can do it with us, that way you can get a free pass. Miss Makima's nice, so I betcha she'll get it.
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[Angel repeats the words under his breath. Annoyance seeps through him. And of course, he tops it off with a comment about her. How, of course she'll be more than happy to allow him these moments of happiness. Of course she's nice enough to let a devil like him experience fleeting joy instead of finally letting him die. Because it's Makima. No one else in Public Safety has the power to be kind or thoughtful - or the power not to be. He didn't lie when he told Aki he was always ready to die. And he would have, that day. It would have been so easy. But of course - maybe she told him that was unacceptable. Maybe that's why he really said all of that to him.]
[He stares down at his plate, meal half-finished. He's not hungry now. Doesn't want to enjoy this if it means it's just a salve until the next burn of suicidality hits. And the boy sitting in front of him is least capable of doing anything about it. No, instead, he just crows on and on about his crush and how it's fine to shluff up the hill with that damn boulder if you get a snack on the way.]
[Isn't this the opposite of what he was just claiming? But hearing it from a human just feels so insulting. From this human who can't seem to recognize all the things he has. Freedom, money, a home, emotion. He can touch people. He can be touched. And most importantly...]
...What's it like, then? [He doesn't look up, still staring down at the red pancakes on his plate, their bodies hacked into smaller bites fit for eating.] What's dying like?
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So why does this winged devil keep worrying about it with that weird expression, when they both serve the same purpose? The same utility? ]
Dying's dying. It's… [ It's hard to explain, if you haven't experienced it yourself. But that's such a cop-out answer, he can't bring himself to complete the thought. Denji huffs. ] It tastes like nothing, dude. [ As he voices his thoughts, his mouth is all bloodied in pink syrup, red crumbs dotting his teeth. He doesn't bother wiping any of it away. ] Smells like nothing, sounds like nothing, feels like nothing. Haven't you ever been hurt real bad?
[ He's talking insides liquidized, throat ripped into a second smile. Happens to Power when she isn't careful, but squeeze a sack of blood into her fast enough and she's just fine. ]
It stinks at first, 'cause you're like, 'Ah, balls, where did my hand go? And my legs?! Ouch!' The good thing is, after awhile, ya don't feel the ouch the way you should. You know when you've standing outside in the cold for too long and your nuts get numb? It's like that. Then, you realize you don't feel anything at all, and stuff is going blurry, or dark, or white, I dunno, it depends — honestly, if you're not insta-killed, your head just gets really slow. Things are hard to remember.
[ But mostly… ]
When you're dying, it feels a lot like you're just waiting for it to happen.
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[Maybe. Every breath is one step closer to death, after all, but it's not really what Denji means, he knows. His description doesn't sound pleasing, but it's also soothing to hear, that there's something final in it. Slowing down until eventually you completely stop. The slow, slow descent into nothingness. But one part keeps making him pause, enough to frown softly.]
I haven't.
[Been hurt real bad, that is. He's a defensive build, staying out of combat, but when he does have to he usually gets in close and kills in a single swipe. It doesn't take much, so it's not common for him to get more than a few scratches, maybe a few feathers missing. Makima didn't place him right below Kishibe in the power scale for nothing.]
[Does that mean Denji is more prepared than him? He's always though of himself as ready to die at any moment, no matter what happens. But lately it's harder. Lately he has to actually work more, put in more effort. Try to survive. It's not for himself, though. He's always been ready, always prepared to kick the bucket at any moment. Come what may. He doesn't care. But now that he's hearing how it really feels, how death comes slow and steady... Would that mean he would have to spend that whole time watching him, watching the despair on his face and the regret and the desperation to stop it again? Would he feel every second like it's an eternity, being shaken, dragged to safety, blood dumped down his throat? The issue is, he doesn't know. He's never been hurt bad enough to see how he would react.]
He told me he's sick of the people around him dying. That I should go somewhere far away if I'm going to.
[He's never discussed that with anyone, but it sits in the back of his mind at all times. Annoyingly, like a constant debate. Back and forth. Unending. Pushing the boulder up the hill, watching it roll back down.]
I wonder if it's because of you, too. Watching you die, even though you come back...
[A huff. Not a grunt, not a sigh - but not quite a laugh or a chuckle, either.]
He's so clingy.
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After a moment, he sets aside his utensils, along with the baffled stare he'd leveled at Angel, shifting to dip his head in a kind of shrug. The placement of his shoulders landing at a slant, his cheek coming to rest on one of his palms. ]
…Yeah. That sounds like him.
[ Lukewarm agreement, like he doesn't care, despite the impatient twist in his gut that's dying to prod at what else Angel knows. What else Aki's told him, but not Denji — except for that one time that first day, a warning to get lost, and after that, never again. He's not sure that counts, though. It feels different, and there's a sorry part of his pride that would rather feign understanding, than admit to not knowing this side of Aki for some reason. ]
So you're gonna stop trying in front of him, then?
[ To die. To leave. To slough off life and go to that final sleeping place. Whatever euphemism or not, Angel wants to use for it.
Their server stops by to check on them, but Denji just waves them off, doesn't even ask for the check. They'll be back. ]
'less you want him to cling harder to you.
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I don't think I want him to cling to me any harder. I'd just end up killing him, myself.
[Passively, not purposefully. He drags another finger through the syrup and sucks it clean with a silent sound, still thinking.]
It's strange to be cared for, as a devil, isn't it. We aren't creatures that care for one another. So it was strange when he told me that.
[Ahh, he's not going to eat this. In a rare act of caring, himself, he raises his eyes and pulls the finger free from his mouth to ask Denji,] You want the rest?
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Inexplicably, it's this sentence that triggers a special switch in his head, one that shoots a memory through him too fast, too clear, it blinds him to everything else, like a gun flashing, a bullet hitting its mark. Denji, shoved to the ground as Aki partitions himself between him and that scaredy-cat girl's knife. The pained cringe rippling out the other man's body as steel dug into his rib cage, but still there was a sharpness to his gaze, sharper than any bladed point — stupid commitment. Dumbass conviction, in only the way heroes in action anime are ever able to get away with.
And yes, he'd thought it'd been strange. That another human could hate him so much and still want him to live. Maybe not for the same reasons Aki had wanted Angel to live, but it'd still… cracked a door in him the slightest bit open. He's not sure how else to describe it. ]
Yeah.
[ He says, finally, as he rakes a spread hand across Angel's plate, strings of sugar dangling from his wrist as he lifts it to his face to lick up. Copying the way Angel had delicately caught the syrup with his mouth without drizzling it all over the tablecloth. Obviously, Denji's less successful at this. ]
That guy's a strange one. Cares too much. Should be careful about who it is he's being nice to. But I think when he dies, that means a whole lotta people will show up during that, uh, sad people thing and cry, the way he always does about dead people. It's called a funeral, I heard…
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A funeral, yeah. [How much longer? Two years? Two years, and then maybe he'll get to die, too.]
[What a depressing thought. He sighs and leans back against his seat, staring morosely up at the ceiling through his halo. Waiting for one person to die so that no one will be left who cares about you. Humans truly do deserve to die slowly and painfully, for all the trouble they're worth.]
Well... Maybe at his funeral, you can be the one to kill me. Since you're apparently the only one who won't get hurt doing that. [So there's something to look forward to. Dying here the same way he remembers dying there. Or at least, in a similar vein.] Just go vuun-vuun and make it quick.
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Denji, on the other hand, considers the prospect of killing him with only vague distaste, not because he's opposed to it — he thinks he could do it, can't think of any reason why he wouldn't be able to — but because, well, isn't that kinda too lovey-dovey of an idea? ]
Eh? I don't wanna.
[ Not looking at Angel, he wipes his moist palm against the tablecloth. ]
So as soon as the dude you're living for drops dead, suddenly you can't go on or something…? Why do I gotta play the part of reuniting you guys in the afterlife? [ A soft snort. ] Plus, that'd definitely piss off that guy and make 'em come back as a ghost to haunt me! I'd have no privacy to jerk it anymore! Talk about the worst case scenario…
[ The server returns shortly, placing his change on the table, then departs again to tend to another guest. Stuffing his money into a pocket, he starts to get up. Lead them out. ]
If you want me to do that, you'd have to gimme somethin' real good to pay me back.
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[Actually, that sounds just like him. Angel frowns, closing his eyes loosely. Pay him back... What could he even offer that he'd want? His frown deepens.]
It's not like I'm living for him, but...
[But he can't explain it. He's keenly, uncomfortably aware of the fact that his death might actually matter to someone now and that feeling is disturbing. He's a devil. No devil nor human should care if he lives or dies. But that human might cry if he gets torn to shreds. And that's...]
[He sighs, looking down again as Denji gets up. Great, they have to walk again...]
The only thing you're interested in is sex, anyway... I can't think of anything else you'd consider "real good."
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…But really? Angel can't think to even draw inspiration from all the places Denji's taken him to so far? Each location was technically related to his interests… Movies, games, food. Although, yeah, if there were a boob store he were old enough to get into, he probably would have taken Angel there first. He's a pretty simple guy. Still, he's not going to spell it out for him.
If Angel's serious about dying after Aki's gone, he'll find a way — either to convince someone else, if not Denji, or end things on his own. ]
It's gotta be something super impressive, [ he tells him, glancing from one side of the street to the next before crossing. ] Not you're regular ol' jam you can get from the market! I'll tell ya that.
[ Denji pauses, for a moment, as they reach the other end, looking around. They haven't been walking long, but it looks as if he's inadvertently led them into a residential area. Hmm, he pulls his phone out. ]
Uh, hold on, lemme check how far the karaoke place is.
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[He stops when Denji mentions that, surprised. They're going to karaoke? Did he forget that was part of the plan?]
[Probably, somewhere in the fog of today. After everything else that happened - first the movies, which was exhausting in its own way, then...]
[...Hold on. Can he still touch him? Or did that wear off? Without any sort of preamble or permission asked, he reaches out to touch Denji's arm again, pressing his palm over his skin and waiting for a moment. But yet again, just like the ten other times he's touched him, nothing happens.]
...Something like that would be possible, with you.
[The realization comes slow. Never before has he seriously thought about his inability to have sexual relations with anyone, but being in proximity with the guy who seems to have that running as a background track in his mind makes it too easy to think about. He says it has to be super impressive, and wouldn't that be pretty impressive?]
How far is it? [He leans over to look at the phone, but the glint from his halo makes it hard to see the screen.]
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This is so awkward.
Coughing, Denji tilts his phone screen for him to see (and to adjust the glare from his halo). There's a dotted path leading them to some karaoke joint rated 2.1 stars. Well, it's close by. ]
Seven minutes. C'mon, that's back the way we came — [ He tugs his arm away, rushing to take them back down the street they'd just crossed — but a long honk screams his way, his instincts kicking him back far away enough to avoid a collision with a delivery motorcyclist. ] Watch it, prick!
[ His eyes flash up to the crossing signal and, ugh, it's red. So, technically, his fault. After a moment, the signal changes to green. ]
…Alrighty, now let's go.
[ He feels kinda dumb for taking them in the wrong direction in the first place, but, luckily, seven minutes isn't a far walk. Remembering what happened last time he walked ahead of him, Denji matches his strides to Angel's all the way to the karaoke place. He looks a little disgruntled while doing so, but miraculously keeps his complaints about the slower pace to himself.
When they arrive, the reason for the location's low rating makes itself obvious. The six-story building itself is a bit rundown, and the front counter is vacant; it takes Denji hollering through the opening to get anyone to greet them, record the number of hours they'll be there for, and grubbily take his payment. He only has enough cash for one hour. The rest of the money Aki shared with him will have to be saved for getting them home.
The elevator chimes as they reach the floor where their karaoke booth's located. ]
Here we are! Karaoke paradise.
[ The 'paradise' in question is a small ass, dark room with blinking lights moving in a circle around the seating area. It has all the usual hallmarks of a karaoke booth. There's a menu sitting atop the table for food and drinks, a large monitor displaying the song-picking interface. Denji kneels beside the cabinet full of sound equipment that's there, pulling a mic and flipping its switch before slapping the head of it against his palm to test the sound. An echo-y thump bursts from the speakers. Okay, so it works.
He holds the mic out to Angel. ]
So, like, just pick a song and try to sing along with the lyrics. And you really have to sing for it to be fun! Don't hold back!
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[As he stands in the dark room with blinking lights, he realizes this is Denji's idea of fun. A human's idea of fun. He stares at the proffered microphone, the echo of their voices when it occasionally picks them up. The little sofa, the table, the large binder. A human's idea of fun.]
[Of course he can't understand that. Angel doesn't move from where he stands, arched in the doorway with the closed door behind him.]
I don't know any music, Chainsaw-kun.
[How can he possibly pick anything, anyway? He doesn't want to. And, as is well known in their bureau, whatever he doesn't want to do simply won't be done.]
[Crossing behind Denji, he moves to sit down in the seating area, his wings pulling back a little as he adjusts himself. The lights make it a little hard to focus his eyes.]
Why do you want to sing here?
[A human's idea of fun, attempted with a half-human and a half-angel. It doesn't make sense to him. What did Denji hope to get out of this experience?]
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Denji takes the other mic along with him as he sits on the opposite end of the seat, back facing toward Angel. Balancing the binder between his knees, he flips through the pages of the vast catalog of songs; it may not come as a surprise, but a lot of these he doesn't recognize right off the bat. There are codes assigned to each song, so that's probably what they have to enter into the tablet-thing. Adding the tablet to his already full lap, Denji selects a code at random to type into the text field.
It's as he's doing this that he says to Angel, ] Isn't this "something different from usual"? [ It's different from Denji's usual, anyway. Maybe Angel's been to one of these before, and that's why he's not impressed… ] That's what you asked me to show you.
[ A music video plays across the screen, the lyrics flashing out against an instrumental of synthetic percussion, but Denji doesn't bother lifting the mic to his mouth. If Angel's not going to sing, they may as well put something on in the background. ]
I've always wanted to play around inside these places. You know about high school students, right? I hear that loads of 'em come here with their buds and girls from their class. It's supposed to be so fun that they even lose track of time and stay out past the last train time!
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