[He's pretty cozy like this. The theater is a little chilly so with his wings wrapped around him he feels warm. They're pretty close to the screen, but so far they're just showing still images of advertisements so it's not so bad.]
[And for once... When Denji asks him to move the popcorn over, Angel only hesitates for a moment. And it's mostly due to not being sure how to do it. He looks at the little boat of a container holding the hot dog that's balanced precariously between his wing and the popcorn bucket and, deciding not to risk dropping it, instead picks it up and simply shoves the entire thing in his mouth, taking the hot dog down his throat in a single bite.]
[Someone behind them who was probably staring at the scene chokes. But Angel swallows, wiping a crumb off his finger, then manages to adjust the rest of the things to be able to remove the popcorn bucket safely as everything else settles in his lap.]
Here. [And he places it beside him, his wings sliding back to give him room to take it without touching them, either.]
[ Denji makes a lightly indignant noise as he watches their only hot dog disappear inside Angel's gullet. He didn't know his mouth could even open that wide — and, hey, weren't they supposed to share that?! Augh, whatever… Power's worse about hogging crap, so it's not as he isn't used to it… And they technically have more than enough other stuff to go around…
Pouting, he essentially punches his whole fist into the caramel side of the tub, grabbing as much as he can fill inside his cupped hand, a few puffy kernels tumbling down to the floor while he stuffs his mouth. It's so yummy, the scowl on his face suddenly disappears as he grabs some more. ]
Y'see? That's the stuff. I thought it was weird and, like, poopy-lookin' at first, but the hard shell's made out of — [ He pauses, thinking. Another fistful mushes into his mouth, sending more kernels into his lap. ] …Actually, I dunno, I mean — I'm not sure. I think it's basically sugar. Pretty sure that's what Miss Makima said. Anyway, it tastes good, right?
[ …The caramel side is about at halfway empty now, so they'll have to make do with mostly eating from the buttered side throughout the duration of the actual movie. In a fashion, eating a ton of your snacks before the movie's started is also a quintessential moviegoers experience. So, really, he's doing a tremendous job at showing Angel the ropes!
When it comes close to time for the lights to dim, Denji reminds Angel to go to the restroom a few extra times, trying to impress upon him how annoying it is when someone gets up in the middle of the movie. Movie theater etiquette and all that, which is rich coming from him, seeing how each time a new straggler funnels into the theater, a shocked look speeding their way, Denji chooses to ignore it. Like, what can they do at this point? Hang a jacket over Angel's halo? Then that'd be blocking everyone's view, and that's more rude! It's better if they just deal with it. ]
Seriously. [ Denji leans over again, voice dropped into a whisper as the lights begin to reduce in intensity. ] You better not pee in the middle of it!
[Each part is a little better than the last. If Denji actually thought he was going to be sharing any of this, or had the intention or willpower to hold back and allow the sharing, then he surely doesn't know Angel and his relation to food at all. He doesn't begrudge Denji for taking anything and, in turn, expects him not to begrudge him for taking anything in turn. He can have the whole side of caramel popcorn if he likes while Angel contents himself with slowly ripping apart the pretzel and eating it like that, occasionally grabbing a piece of popcorn, a sip from the way-too-sweet drink, a piece of candy... There's no real rhyme or reason, sometimes it's just where his hand reaches out to next. When Denji starts bothering him about going to the bathroom over and over, he finally huffs an annoyed sound and the theater goes dark (though their area stays dimly lit thanks to the ever-present nightlight).]
Devils don't pee.
[They do, but that's not really the point right now. He isn't about to explain how his digestion works. Someone behind him (maybe the same guy who watched him deepthroat a hotdog) grunts a quick, "Huh?!" at that statement, but Angel isn't paying attention. The movie is apparently going to start.]
[He doesn't know what he was expecting this movie to be about; the failure to defend your fallen comrades in the face of great destruction brought about by humanity's own hubris and journey toward self-annihilation wasn't it. Angel doesn't know a lot about human politics but it's pretty easy to follow everything. But when the main character's love interest is presumed dead and the man grits himself for revenge against some beast a hundred times his own size and a million times as powerful, Angel can't stomach his growing discomfort. His growing unease in the face of a suicidal attack as everyone around him tells him how stupid he is. How he's not going to win. How it's not worth dying for something like this. They can find another way.]
[But this is a movie, not real life. The love interest is okay in the end. The hero parachutes to safety as the monster is destroyed. Its body descends into the water and everyone is happy. Cheering, celebration. The two lovers reunite in a hospital. There's the tease of something more, of a re-emergence, of a battle that's never truly over. A pithy advertisement for round two, another round of the same story, repeated over and over. As the credits roll, Angel doesn't move, the empty remains of their foodstuff spread around him on the floor, in his lap, on the chair. He stares forward at the names scrolling up the screen, dead silent.]
[ There's a point where he stops reaching for the popcorn bucket, side of his jaw rested on his palm as he stares down the movie projection. It’s a lagging start for him. The scene setting for the main character's self-loathing, jumping then into this exhibition of what's always left after a war, what people always say it was all for: Other people, and the trauma reel that stretches on, outlasting the flagging smoke and flame and nationalist pride. It continues like that, with the action parts not being as much of a focus as he thought it'd be from the poster.
THE WOMAN: As flames took my parents, they ordered me to live. So whatever happens next, I know I must survive! That’s kept me going.
They stare at each other for a long time.
THE MAN: I can’t. They beckon to me in my dream every night. “Hurry and come,” they say. “Why are you still cheating death?”
THE MAN begins shaking again.
THE MAN: What if I’m really dead already? I died long ago on that island… and lie rotting. You and Akiko are just the last dream of a dead man.
THE WOMAN: You are alive!
It’s boring, for Denji. He can’t care about the main character any less, the turmoil inside him conflicted between dying in penance or living for retribution… He doesn't get what the fair-faced love interest sees in him at all. Why she's willing to sacrifice herself for him at the climax, and why he hears other people gasp, seeing her push him outside range of the shockwave following the creature's heat blast.
It's after the climax that Denji begins spending way more time following the story progression of each blink and microscopic movement in Angel’s expression than the actual film he paid actual money for. His gaze flickers over his way several times. The halo crowning the space above his head isn't the only oddity about him, it's the stillness in the way he sits there, well-kept, like something you secure in a glass case under very specific temperatures in dimmed light to avoid discoloring the pigmentation of his wafery frame. When he catches himself thinking something he's pretty sure he shouldn't, his eyes race to switch back to the screen.
Notably, he doesn't look away again until the main character is evaluating his jet right before what feels like the last battle. He's with one of the engineers, seeming to have resolved himself to carry out his vengeance, yet allowing, one last time, for his inner doubts to leak. "That’s funny. Part of me wants to live."
Like it just occurred to him. Like it hadn't been an underlying shadow this whole time haunting him far more than the comrades he left to die. What was it that Angel said last night?
DENJI: What's it like to live better? Is it dying?
ANGEL doesn't look back at him. What did his face look like? Did it sour? Did it reveal something?
ANGEL: Humans have everything. You're born, you fall in love. You get to die.
It's then ANGEL glances at him. Or did he? He did, didn't he?
ANGEL: That's why humans should suffer. There should be a punishment for not appreciating that kind of simple freedom.
DENJI: I think I get what you mean.
No, Denji didn't say that. But it probably doesn't matter what he really said back.
There's a crash as the main character's plane slams headfirst into the open mouth of the lizard creature, choking it for a few seconds, before taking out half its skull in an explosion. Someone in the theater is sniffling, believing the character to be dead, until the screen zooms on his ballooning parachute. A small group in the very back claps and laughs in relief, that feeling carrying throughout the remainder of the movie to its expected conclusion. Nobody moves throughout the credits until the screen fully blackens and the auditorium lights return to its default intensity. People pick up their trash, gradually filtering out of the aisles.
Most of their trays and boxes are empty, so Denji begins stacking those together, dusting off all the crumbs to the floor, while tossing their wrappers into their cups. ]
That was pretty whatever. Like, I get it's a prequel of a sequel of a sequel of something, so the lizard wasn't as powered up, but it still didn't feel like the real bad guy of the movie.
[ He gets up, moving for the exit to the room. ]
It was a solid six for me. But not every movie's going to be a ten out of ten, though. You have to keep watching to find the right one. [ So what if he's just repeating the same lines from his conversation with Makima? She was right. A pause, then he looks over his shoulder, prompting Angel for his own thoughts with: ] Well?
[Denji didn't like it...? Huh. Angel barely paid him any mind during the entire movie, so it's not like he was trying to gauge his enjoyment of the film. But when Denji finally turns to look at him, he isn't sure what to say. Did he enjoy it? Not really. Maybe it was the story, maybe it was the strange monster. Maybe it was the mass amounts of death and casualty that felt as if it only stood to make the monster seem worse. But what did it want? What was its goal? Just destruction and mayhem? Like any other devil?]
[He doesn't move from his seat, hands in his lap and a small kernel of popcorn stuck in his hair. His gaze moved from the blank screen to Denji looking at him, he finally shrugs his shoulders once.]
I think it felt too hopeful.
[As if a monster like that could be defeated by one man's pseudo-suicide attack. No, it would definitely take more than that. But how much more? Can something like that ever be truly destroyed?]
A single person can't hope to ever create that much change.
[He sits up as he says that, stretching his arms over his head. Most of the people have left but he can feel the stares from the ushers, waiting for them to leave both for their own peace of mind and so they can clean the theater. But Angel doesn't move to stand.]
I guess that's why this sort of thing is fictional, though.
[ This guy's so slow. Fully turned, arms crossed, Denji watches as he stretches his whole back out like a cat waking from a nap. At the very least, Angel's leisurely pace doesn't immediately tick him off this time — they're still good on time. No one's at risk of getting castigated if they're reported. Dismissing the looks angled at them by the ushers, Denji moves to hitch a seat up against Angel's armrest. ]
But it wasn't just him, right? He had all those other guys in the ships firin' at the thing, too. Trying to make it easier to take it down.
[ He stares at the screen in front of them, silver and empty. But he can still recall, the look of respect in their when the battle concluded. Of course the main character is going to do what main characters do: steal the show, drive the plot, pull peoples' heartstrings, make even skeptics root for him and salute his journey. They are what they are, and that's why everyone loves them by the end. ]
You don't like humans, anyway. Maybe you just didn't like it because it was too easy for them to be happy?
[ Was it really that easy of a time, though? There were still mass casualties. Homes lost, loyalties questioned. Guilt, fear, hesitation. If anything… ]
My take? The movie was too real for something that was supposed to be explosions and cool lizard powers. It felt like I was watching a history program on TV. Everyone just looked…
[ Hurt. Downtrodden. But what does he know. ]
…Well, it's just a movie. Next time, let's binge things back at the apartment! [ To avoid spending as much money as he is today. Please. ] If you like it when things feel more real, you should watch this nature documentary I saw once. It had, like, elephant mating stuff.
[ With a quick enough pluck to Angel's hair to bypass getting batted off, he tosses the popcorn kernel in his mouth and swings back to his feet. ]
C'mon. You ever been to an arcade? It's not far from here, and it's real close to this one café Power's been nagging me to try.
[It's uncomfortable when Denji, of all people, is able to nail why Angel didn't like the movie as much as he did. But it's not because he dislikes humans. He totally does - but their ability to be happy isn't governed by his opinion of them, either way. A movie that makes it that easy, for two people to avoid certain death and come together in the end... That sort of thing, he feels, just doesn't happen. But maybe that's why it happened on this screen, instead.]
[Apparently Denji expected it to just be the fight scenes, which Angel can forgive considering how excited he was. He's kind of like a dog in that way, just excited to see anything new. Surely that's the only reason he was interested in elephants mating. He's not really fond of seeing other movies after this, but maybe if they weren't so depressing he wouldn't mind. But if they were too happy he wouldn't like them, either...]
[But then Denji reaches towards him and, without understanding why he is, Angel instinctively turns his head as he tries to move away from the touch, trying to see the angle where his hand is going, trying to avoid it at the same time, and it's not going to his shoulder or his arm or anything but his hair. His hair? Right next to his - ]
[There's contact, only for a second, but it's there. The brush of Denji's thumb against the side of his cheek, a graze of skin over skin, and then Denji snags the popcorn that got stuck in his hair and pulls back. Angel doesn't move an inch even as Denji continues talking, blabbering on about some arcade and a cafe as Angel caculates what just happened. Touch, life. Halo. He starts to reach up to it, like by touching it he can better confirm what he already knows. No - What he's sure of. Hand half-raised toward it, but he's too afraid to confirm for real.]
[His eyes finally turn toward Denji and he looks deeply uncertain, almost - upset. Not like he'll cry, more like he's about to kick him again. His stomach is jumbling uncertainly, twisting and sloshing like cream. Or more like sour milk.]
Did you feel that?
[Maybe, just because he didn't, doesn't mean Denji didn't.]
[ Denji finishes sucking the butter from his fingers before meeting Angel's eyes, the color of his hands still healthy and moving as normal. No hint of rot or paleness. Feel what, is the question that's halfway out when the disinterest in his expression is chased away by the look Angel is pummeling him with. Confusion flits into caution. ]
Uh…
[ He thinks back to just a few seconds ago, the way Angel turned as if he were trying to parry his touch or something, how his thumb had glanced off his cheek. Soft, milky. Warmer than he thought. He always imagined the guy would run cold, for some reason.
…So maybe there'd been something brief. A prick. Something like the weakening of a nail before it folds backwards, snaps clean, but it hadn't been painful — just normal. Dead follicles dropping like leaves. Nothing as significant as that one trailer they watched with the two star-crossed lovers meeting after being separated by time and space, only for a brief brush of their fingers to unlock their memories of one another. But the way Angel's looking at him, he's not so sure how well the guy would take that. ]
Was I supposed to feeling something? [ And then, because he's expecting it, like when he dives his hand into Meowy's fluffy belly and she snaps her teeth at him in retaliation: ] Don't get mad at me. [ Or kick him again. ] Finders, keepers — if you wanted to save it for later, you shoulda been quicker. And I only touched you 'cause you turned! So don't hold that against me…
Now, seriously, let's go.
[ For a split moment, it appears he might reach over and lead Angel out by the wrist, since he hasn't seemed keen on making haste so far, but Denji's brow simply twitches and he turns. Tossing their trash on the way out, they go past the atrium to the exit, where the sun finds them at its highest peak. Other exiting moviegoers bring a hand up to their eyes to shield from the brightness, but Denji's a hound. Doesn't think about or mind that sort of stuff, just keeps trotting along down the path he thinks he knows. ]
[It's not like his power stings. It doesn't burn or ache or... hurt, to put it bluntly. But he knows it can be felt. He knows it's like a cold sponge suddenly sucking the moisture from your skin, a chilly breeze sliding through your very bones. But Denji just hops ahead like nothing at all happened. It should have been about a week, based on space of contact and length of time he spent actually touching him. Maybe six days or so. But he's just walking toward the exit like it didn't happen. And Angel suddenly wonders if maybe it's gone.]
[His legs pick him up at some point and follow Denji out of the theater, out into the harsh sun but Angel doesn't seem affected, just dazed, confused. Staring off into some undefined space. What were they doing next? He doesn't remember. Something about a cafe? Man, he wants to eat something. Watching this half human move through throngs of people so assuredly - turning through the crowd, sliding through tight spots, dodging clusters of people chatting. Angel looks down at his hand, staring at the three lines running across his palm as he walks. Heart, head, life - Is that how it goes? Something like that, he read once. But where did he read that?]
["Are you an angel?"]
[He doesn't look up at first, accustomed to ignoring most human voices since people don't usually talk to him in public because Aki Hayakawa walks in front of him and seems to exude some kind of authority that makes it clear he's in charge of the situation. But when Angel raises his head he realizes Denji is a good fifteen feet in front of him and they're separated by one or two people and the girl who is walking alongside him with wide eyes is much, much closer than he is.]
["Are you?" she asks when he finally looks at her. Angel nods his head, since, well, technically, yes, he'd say he's both. The girl's eyes light up in delight, maybe excitement, and as Angel tries to catch up to Denji, brain thronged with too many confusing thoughts, the sudden accompaniment of a human girl asking even more about if he'll give her a blessing or if she can pray with him are a little overwhelming.]
[ Their conversation in the theater is still weighing on his mind, surprisingly. As adept at sweeping he can't puzzle out under the rug as he is, you'd think this one would fit in well there with the rest of the clutter and the dirt and the indistinct chatterings of the folks at the bureau whenever they see a deceased hunter's belongings walked out. But he can't seem to do that with the dazed way Angel had reached for himself, a question in his eyes — then an answer.
So preoccupied, Denji doesn't realize he really has no clue where he's going until about halfway through their trek. And even after feeling nervous sweat begin to drop from his brow, he still has the nerve to keep walking on, pretending he has an idea of where they're going while pointing at the different sights in his periphery to distract Angel, so as not to seem even more the idiot that the devil probably already knows he is: Look at that store mascot, haha, isn't it kinda funny-looking; oh, I saw some people striking against this dog cafe once; that place is never open during the day, I've always wondered what goes on down there. He has Google Maps pulled up, but his phone data is really slow to connect right now. Damn it.
He pauses in the middle of walking to futz around with his phone, heedless to the people he's inconveniencing. They can walk around him for all he cares. From the corner of his something glints at him from beyond a shop window, and he realizes he's standing outside some cutely decorated anime merchandise store with blind boxes in the display.
Angels…? Oh, they have baby wings on their back… But they're so ugly. ]
Humans really do have weird ideas about you — huh? You — where did you go?!
[ No one's at his side when he turns, which… makes sense. Now that he's stopped to think about it, it was really weird to not hear Angel complain even once about the walking or respond to his titillating commentary. Sure, it's is a bad situation bordering on a fiasco — but that's how Aki would approach it. Denji? Cool as a cucumber. Getting lost in Tokyo is totally normal. It can't be that hard to find a guy with wings and a halo.
Denji stomps down the twinge of anxiety that twisting in his stomach. He curves his neck back to try seeing above the crowd. He doesn't panic, doesn't swivel like a screw coming uncorked in search of Angel. A look here and there. Nothing. Time to retrace the circuit he took them on. He forces his way between a couple holding hands, walks through a family of tourists taking a photo, bumps into some kids sharing a cone of ice cream. The scoop splatters on the sidewalk, and his sneakers track the vague imprint of the dessert as his easy strides steadily power into a full-blown sprint past the crowds, all the people suddenly obstacles to maneuver around. Halo, halo, halo — where the hell is that halo?
Ah.
Finally, he spots him. Really, he could have noticed he was back that way much sooner if he's just turned directly around in the first place, but whatever. It's fine. He shoots off. The picture of Angel's situations clears more and more with each guy (yes, he's aiming for the men) he throws off into the wayside to get to him. What's he doing with a human girl? Why is she looking at him like that? Why is she dressed like that? The questions number in the hundreds, but it's as he sees her begin to reach to touch Angel's hand, maybe to do some type of shared prayer, his thoughts split into zeroes.
His palm pushes into her chest; the strike is reserved by his standards, but it sends her sprawling across the path, wincing hard as she squeezes at her ankle. Denji has his other hand curled around Angel's slender wrist, wrenched away from her — mostly gripped around his sleeve, save for the slip of skin his thumb is pressed into. ]
…Sorry, lady, didn’t mean to touch your br… boob. [ In his head, "boob" sounds less dirty than "breast," apparently. Anyway, he's not apologizing for knocking her down. ] But you can’t grab this guy. He’s, uh, contagious. Tapeworms, y’know. [ After a moment, he helpfully adds: ] He doesn't wash his hands after he pees.
[ He looks at Angel, meaningfully.
Educational TV really does come in handy. Anyone who doesn't think so can suck it. Except his favorite programming hasn't taught him quite yet how to handle a crowd circling around a spectacle, glaring daggers at both the devil you're supposed to be supervising and, uh, you. Yikes. ]
[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.]
[ Denji hasn't noticed the new orientation of their hands, nor the way he marvels at something so easy as two hands fitting together, perfectly. No, he's still trying to do his job here. Things are getting out of hand; he has to do something. ]
Angel, devil, human — if you don't scram, I'm gonna chop all your asses into mince meat and make my own version of gyudon! Super ultra Denji special!
[ …So, of course, he's going to feed the terror licking up the backs of the people gathering around them, unfurling as fast as a wildfire gorging on dry brush and vegetation during a drought. Denji's definition of damage control is always going to be fighting fire with fire. To his credit, both spectators and intervening good samaritans do take a step back at the threat, someone dragging the devout girl back by her armpits, despite her cries claiming that Mr. Angel hasn't done anything wrong, hasn't committed any grave enough sins to be considered something so evil. There's his cue to exit stage left.
Not squandering another breath on this crap, Denji yanks Angel along with him, shoving away foreigner taking photos of what they probably believe is a street performance. With that, there's an opening for them to sail right into, running from the ruckus into a narrower passageway off to the side. There's clamor behind them. One person yelling for Public Safety, another shouting out after Angel — the girl's. Ballsier than the rest of them is the person who'd known from the get-go the Angel was a devil, because they try to give chase for the first few meters. But they're not like the freak humans employed at his workplace. When someone like Denji hooks a hand into the rim of an unattended bicycle, swings it out behind the two of them, they're obviously going to get tired. Lose the scent.
Denji takes them farther out, making one last sharp turn before they finally crash on some vacant street corner by a vending machine. Breaths coming out in puffs, he wrangles his hand out from Angels and slams his full arm against the cool machine, leaning his forehead against his wrist. ]
[Angel snaps out of it enough to recognize they're in a pickle and when Denji starts running, he follows at the same pace - surprisingly, maybe, but he can be quick when he needs to. He briefly considers lifting him up and just flying out of here, but he seriously hates using his wings like that and that kind of sighting would probably cause even more trouble... So running it is, all the way until they finally make it away from the crowd and can pause for breath, Angel nearly copying Denji's pose as he leans over and wheezes, both hands on his knees. One feels so much warmer than the other. Like he left it in the bath for too long while the other is cold and dry. Even as his breath is still heavy and face pale, he lifts that warm hand and stares at it, then raises his eyes to look at Denji.]
["I didn't think a devil and a human could actually live as one," he'd told Aki Hayakawa once. Maybe it was a slight, an attempt to rile him up, annoy him. But Aki didn't take the bait, simply saying, "It's useful in some ways. He recovers just like you devils do. It's like nothing can really kill him."]
I touched you, and you didn't die.
[Given the amount of time they ran with the full contact of his touch, he would have taken over a hundred years at this point. But he feels no different, can't feel any new life in his halo. And Denji is still standing, acting like nothing at all happened.]
[It's still hard to believe, but it's getting easier. Or maybe he just sees Denji as a willing test subject. Angel steps forward, raising both hands and placing them on Denji's cheeks, palms flat on his skin. Nothing. He squeezes a little, really pushes in - and nothing, nothing happens, no siphoning, nothing. It's like touching a glass window and seeing the idea of warmth inside without actually feeling the heat of the fire within. He moves one hand up to push Denji's hair back enough to expose his forehead, doing the same with his own, and pushes them both together, like the skin on his face might be different from his hands. Nothing.]
...You aren't dead.
[Said with his forehead still pressed into Denji's. He doesn't sound disappointed or upset or angry about it, though. There's still that quiet awe in his tone as he speaks.]
[ His eyes round, uncomprehending. Wallet, half out of his bag so that he can chuck change at the vending machine for a few cold drinks, suddenly tumbling to the toes of their shoes, where an unspoken DO NOT PASS perimeter has always been. The one Denji's been skipping in and out of all day, never expecting Angel to follow after. So of course it comes as a shock: The fingers diving through his hair, patting his face with hands as small as a child's brushing away invisible lines in the sand, instead sinking in, shifting through the grains to find sea glass to take home. But Denji's not that stupid. He knows Angel's looking for something else — or maybe he's already found it. Maybe that's why he isn't letting go.
…Oh, who the hell is he kidding. Even from up close, Angel's eyes inches away and redder than the lips of a rose, Denji can't read him any better than he can read Makima or the old man. Or Aki. ]
…You aren't pushin' me away.
[ It doesn't come out as an outburst, his voice quietly strained. Uncharacteristically, so. The connecting point of their foreheads is… Warm is putting it too kindly, it's sweltering and his clothes suddenly feel a few sizes too small, that must be why he can hardly get his words out. Crap, they shouldn't have ordered so much food back there. Double crap, he shouldn't have left the apartment without checking the weather forecast.
A nearby shop owner exits from their storefront to take out the trash, gives them an odd look, and quickly shuffles back in as Denji plants a hand dead center of Angel's face and shoves him into the vending machine, hard enough for it to shake and pop out a free drink. If he weren't busy frantically yelling and gesturing at Angel, he'd be rejoicing. ]
I mean, I've been telling you guys that this whole time! You think it was just for snots and hiccups? [ …Shits and giggles. He can't even think straight enough to get the idiom right. ] I can't die!
[No, of course he's not pushing him away. Doesn't Denji understand
this is unique? Unheard of before this moment? Even Makima wouldn't --
]
[But then he's being shoved off and into the vending machine and
Angel groans quietly, his wings flinching as they catch the majority of the
force and save him from actual harm. He frowns and reaches up to rub his
shoulder before looking at Denji with something like a glare, though it's
pretty mild compared to how it's been before. No, he can't do anything that
might scare him off. He needs to see how real this is.]
But you're still a little bit human... You must still have some amount of a
life span, even with a devil inside of you. [Right? He doesn't know
anything about what the contract is between him and that devil - maybe the
devil is protecting that life span?] But I can't take any of it. No
one else has ever been immune to that.
[Not that he knows, anyway. Not that he's been at liberty to test.
He has no desire to, either.]
Usually, people say it's a cold feeling... You don't feel that? [And
he's coming at him again, though this is becoming less about testing the
limit of his ability to touch Denji and more the simple desire to continue
that touch. Subconscious or not, that's why he's still moving forward to
try and grab at his exposed forearm.] Let me try here.
[ Angel's insistence and, to put it bluntly, his interest in him chisels out a grimace from Denji as he throws his arm back to avoid contact with him, the force of the movement nearly taking him off the pedestrian walkway. He catches himself, though, back knees hitting the raised guardrails.
Ugh, normally he's so much cooler than this… He's just never seen him like so determined before; he always thought Angel the sort to give up at the slightest inconvenience, which is why he hoped some harmless roughhousing would compel the winged devil to keep his distance. An obstacle he'd find not worth exerting the effort to vault over. But with the tables suddenly turned and seeing him advance, reach for him, like a moth that can't catch a hint — he has to question his own reticence.
Up to this point, he's been fine with pressing him down, nicking food from his hair, brushing his wings, grabbing him. Why is that? And why is he the one backing off now? ]
Geez! [ His arms fold across his chest, shoulders hunched and half-turned away. ] I told you already. Feels like nothing. When you were clinging to my hand like a baby, it was more like… I'unno. When someone blows out a candle.
[ Or feeling a hand down the underside of a pillow. Not cold, but cool. He'd even venture to describe it as refreshing. ]
Ya can't take my life span 'cause it's not yours to take. Make sense?
[ But it’s not Denji’s, either, no. His life's already promised to another purpose. It's not something he can freely give away anymore. He already made that trade, though some people would surely think of it as more a forfeiture. ]
[...No, it doesn't make sense. His power has no qualm with overwriting the claims of other devils. And if he gave his life to anyone else, like with the curse devil, then he would simply drop dead once surrendered. So what is it?]
[Angel flexes his fingers and seems to be considering touching Denji again despite his clear frustration with it... But he's reminded of how he felt last night, grabbed and yanked and patted all over. No, he'd rather not welcome the comparison.]
...It's strange. I've never touched a human without watching them die.
[So he's never been able to focus on the feeling of the touch. The texture of his skin, the warmth coming out of it, the feeling of callouses on his palm. Do all humans feel like that?]
[He holds his hand up, palm facing Denji, a sign that would mean Stop if not for what he says next.]
[ Without watching them die — it's not really said in a way that's meant to tug at his heartstrings or appeal to his sympathies, and, really, Denji's not a sap like that, so it wouldn't have worked even if that'd been the intent, but…
A moment goes by. Slowly but surely, like a porcupine whose burrs are ceding back into its spine after a threat passes, his shoulders slump forward, trying to relax. He huffs. ]
Are you serious? You feel the same as any person, duh… Not like you've got scales and lizard skin, or somethin'. You never, like, touch yourself?
[ In spite of his complaints, his hand moves, lays smooth against Angel's palm. Awkward, tense, and a bit twitchy every time he gets the sense that his fingers might interlace with his again, yes, but they're touching as requested. From an outsider's perspective, it nearly looks as if they're playing one of those hand games for children.
…His gaze averts. Angel's hand is soft and plush like one of his feathers, unmarred by anything noticeable. Like he's never really done any heavy-lifting. But he's seen him hold weapons before, so that can't be fully true — not unless they come out made of lighter material being from his halo. Which, who knows, could be possible? ]
You're squishy, [ he says, eyes trailing back to Angel's. ] The way cake's squishy and hard when you put it in, uh, f-fun… [ His brows furrow. ] Fondant? Yeah. That's how you feel.
[The idea that he could feel what his skin is like through the act of touching himself... It's odd, to Angel. It would be like feeling the texture of cloth when covered by another layer of it. It's too distant, not easily understood. But Denji's skin is so easy to understand. So different from what he has felt. How thin his fingers are, how firm his palm is. He stares at their union while Denji explains what it feels like to touch him and, for some really weird reason, he kind of wonders what Denji might taste like, too.]
[He lets his hand drop after a moment, still staring openly at the inches of exposed skin below the roll of Denji's sleeve. Different. He says he feels the same as any person, but Denji isn't squishy, isn't like fondant covering a moist cake. It's hard to comprehend. Like being able to touch a cloud without it dissipating beneath your fingers. Melting into cold vapor. No, Denji can't understand that, he knows.]
[So why does it have to be Denji who has to be the one to feel him?]
[The other side of the coin of touching: being touched. Simple things he hid himself away from, if not out of distaste then out of practicality. Yes, he hates humans, of course he does, of course. But the idea has crossed his mind. Once or twice, sure. The idea of someone touching him and Angel not minding it, them not being hurt by it. Taking his hand, rubbing something off his cheek, touching - the act of being felt.]
[And here stands Denji, capable of all those things and more. Why? Divine intervention? This is a cruel blessing, if that's the case.]
I wonder why it's you, then. Who can touch me without being hurt.
[ Is he trying to say he's disappointed it's not someone else? Still ruffled and perturbed by the whole thing, Denji feels his eye twitch while listening to Angel, then lets his own empty hand fall.
With how freely Denji trespasses others' comfort zones — not to mention, how up to very recently he slept every single night with a devil huddled in a ball on his chest — it's probably true. He wouldn't understand what it feels like to have to avoid, and be avoided, in an interaction, so commonplace, mice and cockroaches have experienced touch more than Angel has before. Of course he wouldn't he get it.
But what he does know is what happens when something you've never had suddenly materializes within reach. ]
Dontcha get tired of thinkin' so hard?
[ Hell if Denji knows how the physiology of a devil hybrid works. It just does what it's supposed to when it's supposed to: heals him, keeps him from dying, makes his cells multiply and resurface from rigor mortis faster than a shinkansen. Maybe his body's just really good at outrunning Angel's ability. Simple as that.
He bends down next to the vending machine's dispenser, pulling out the yogurt drink that'd popped down from Angel's collision. ]
It's just like when we played that game last night. Sometimes you pull a 21, sometimes you pull a dud. It is what it is. There's no special reason to it…
[ That's not divine intervention. That's just nature. ]
[It is what it is. Sometimes it feels depressing to have the same idea about life as Denji. Even though he lives a life seeing the glass as half full and Angel sees it half empty, their words sometimes align in odd ways.]
Moving...
[That's right, he was following Denji to something. What was it he wanted to do...? Something about an arcade? He has no idea what they'll do at an arcade, but he's pretty sure he mentioned something about a cafe, too. Maybe he can get him to buy him more food. Because yes, even after eating one of everything the concession stand had to offer, he can still eat more. And he hasn't even had to piss yet.]
...Yeah. I'm ready.
[And he is. This time he can stay close to Denji, not separated by other people as he doesn't need to avoid him as much. Doesn't need to keep his distance, and in fact, doesn't need to keep any distance. He keeps pace with him easily, and with it, wonders how close is too close, anyway. For someone who has spent most of his life staying a polite distance away to avoid possible contact, the sudden dropping of that guard is strange. He could just reach down and grab Denji's hand if he wanted to. And his own does brush against it every now and then, like he's testing it. Seeing if it really still doesn't kill him. How the tables have turned.]
[It's not that his halo is glowing brighter now. More like it's gone more white than yellow.]
Do you have some kind of card for an arcade, too? [Last time he had Aki's money cards, this time he had something on his phone to get all that food. Denji must be made of discount cards.]
[ Denji always takes up too much space when he walks. Sometimes he marches, sometimes his limbs swing all over the place because he's fighting off Power, or he's over-gesticulating, or simply because he's stretching arms back in a yawn. Before, when the space between them could be measured in whole bodies, there was no worrying about knocking someone over or poking a few eyeballs out. Now, as Angel matches his strides, wings bouncing along behind him, it's like being excessively conscientious of a newborn duckling sticking by his side — he's not going too fast for him, is he? Nobody suspicious is tailing them, right? Denji isn't the fussy type, doesn't have the same protective instincts for others like someone he knows, but it wouldn't be good to have a repeat of that close call from earlier.
That's probably the only reason why he doesn't tell him to cut it out with all touching on the way to the arcade: It lets Denji know he's still there.
…But, geez, could he be less obvious about it… ]
Card? [ Brown eyes flicker toward him, startled. He'd barely realized they were standing in front of the game center. ] Oh, yeah…
[ Of course Denji has a card for this place as well — Power and he share this one, though, as enforced by Aki, since taking turns makes them more thoughtful about what they're spending money on. He's pretty sure there should be some tokens leftover for them to spend on the best games at least. Where did he put that thing again?
He flips through his wallet. There are bills, coins, more pointless membership cards, a lot of which are to places he's only been to once. But none of them belonging to the arcade. ]
What?! It's not here!
[ He vividly remembers pounding on the bathroom door, yelling at Power to remember to flush and fork over the card before he left, but whether or not she did either of those things… The stupid Shit Devil! Their card had well over 200 tokens on there. And though it'd be easy to buy another card or just go it old school with coins, but if they play too many games that'd probably take them through over half their budget. Not good when they've got other places to go, plus another cab to catch at the end.
Weakly, he counts his current change, then turns to Angel. ]
Uh, here's the deal, [ Denji says, beginning to lead them inside. ] I've only got enough to let us play one game. So we gotta make it count. There are, like, racing and drums and fighter games somewhere in here… The UFO claw catcher thingy… Oh, there's one where this little guy pops out of a hole and you whack 'em. I really like that one.
[ But ultimately, he'll let Angel have the pick. He technically didn't pick the movie, so here's his second chance! ]
[He has so many cards. Angel watches him dig through his wallet for the missing arcade card and can't help but wonder if this is common for a human to have so many cards. Compared to Aki Hayakawa's wallet, it's thick and plentiful... Does that mean it's unusual to have a lot of cards? He's pretty sure he's only ever seen him use one or two, usually he pays for things with cash... Then again, he doesn't really consider Aki Hayakawa a shining beacon of normalcy in human society, so this really feels like comparing apples to oranges right now. And a normal human may as well be a carrot or something.]
Ehh... I don't like picking stuff.
[Naturally, he denies the chance. Angel lets his eyes trail through the arcade, not moving from his spot to get a better look at anything in specific...]
[...until his eyes land on the last thing Denji mentioned, staring at it as it plays its little idle movements. Every now and then, a black-colored monster pops out, a big "D" written on its front. It has evil-looking red eyes and a big, toothy smirk. He watches it pop up in different holes as the automatic tinny voice orders, Slay the devil!]
That thing?
[Does he come here for training or something...?]
Why do you like it so much? It looks like work to me.
[As in, their job. Why would Denji do his job on his days off?]
Hey, hey, get it right! It's not work, it's fun. Pretty sure you've never heard of it cooped up in that jail cell of yours.
[ Angel said he didn't like picking stuff, but bringing Denji's attention to something is as good making a decision, in his book. Whether his little tag-along wants to or not, he's now making his way toward the arcade game. There are some single-player iterations of the machine, but this one is for two players to compete for who can whack the Devil fastest — right now, it's preoccupied by some middle school-age kids. ]
This thing's the best for when you're pent up and wanna take it out on something. But without getting guts on your uniform. Or, like, getting in trouble for killing anything you're not supposed to.
[ Standing behind the kids, he watches a boy fling his mallet at the jeering devil and miss, hitting an empty hole. ]
[Yeah, he's heard of fun. That's what he assumed an arcade was full of. Instead it's noisy, cramped, and the floor is a little bit sticky in some spots. Angel follows Denji to the machine, watching the youngsters do their best at the fight, but he's following the devils more than the hammers. Pop, pop, pop... Slowly, his head begins to tilt, eyes trained on the left-most machine.]
It's in a pattern.
[He points at it as the boy on the right grins as he wins, the other boy demanding a second go. They don't even look at Denji or Angel as they both push a couple tokens into the machines and the fight begins anew. As it starts up, Angel again points to the left-most machine.]
Look... Every five devils, it goes to the top left corner, then moves down two, and over two. Then it goes to the center, and goes down one. Then, it...
[As Angel speaks, the machine does just as he predicts, following the pattern he voices from his brief watching. Every now and then it pops up in a semi-random spot, but Angel figures even that must have some kind of rationale to it. Maybe the pattern isn't so obvious anyone could figure it out after one or two observations, but Angel frowns like he's watching someone struggle over tying a basic knot.]
This looks way too easy, with that kind of logic to it.
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[And for once... When Denji asks him to move the popcorn over, Angel only hesitates for a moment. And it's mostly due to not being sure how to do it. He looks at the little boat of a container holding the hot dog that's balanced precariously between his wing and the popcorn bucket and, deciding not to risk dropping it, instead picks it up and simply shoves the entire thing in his mouth, taking the hot dog down his throat in a single bite.]
[Someone behind them who was probably staring at the scene chokes. But Angel swallows, wiping a crumb off his finger, then manages to adjust the rest of the things to be able to remove the popcorn bucket safely as everything else settles in his lap.]
Here. [And he places it beside him, his wings sliding back to give him room to take it without touching them, either.]
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Pouting, he essentially punches his whole fist into the caramel side of the tub, grabbing as much as he can fill inside his cupped hand, a few puffy kernels tumbling down to the floor while he stuffs his mouth. It's so yummy, the scowl on his face suddenly disappears as he grabs some more. ]
Y'see? That's the stuff. I thought it was weird and, like, poopy-lookin' at first, but the hard shell's made out of — [ He pauses, thinking. Another fistful mushes into his mouth, sending more kernels into his lap. ] …Actually, I dunno, I mean — I'm not sure. I think it's basically sugar. Pretty sure that's what Miss Makima said. Anyway, it tastes good, right?
[ …The caramel side is about at halfway empty now, so they'll have to make do with mostly eating from the buttered side throughout the duration of the actual movie. In a fashion, eating a ton of your snacks before the movie's started is also a quintessential moviegoers experience. So, really, he's doing a tremendous job at showing Angel the ropes!
When it comes close to time for the lights to dim, Denji reminds Angel to go to the restroom a few extra times, trying to impress upon him how annoying it is when someone gets up in the middle of the movie. Movie theater etiquette and all that, which is rich coming from him, seeing how each time a new straggler funnels into the theater, a shocked look speeding their way, Denji chooses to ignore it. Like, what can they do at this point? Hang a jacket over Angel's halo? Then that'd be blocking everyone's view, and that's more rude! It's better if they just deal with it. ]
Seriously. [ Denji leans over again, voice dropped into a whisper as the lights begin to reduce in intensity. ] You better not pee in the middle of it!
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[Each part is a little better than the last. If Denji actually thought he was going to be sharing any of this, or had the intention or willpower to hold back and allow the sharing, then he surely doesn't know Angel and his relation to food at all. He doesn't begrudge Denji for taking anything and, in turn, expects him not to begrudge him for taking anything in turn. He can have the whole side of caramel popcorn if he likes while Angel contents himself with slowly ripping apart the pretzel and eating it like that, occasionally grabbing a piece of popcorn, a sip from the way-too-sweet drink, a piece of candy... There's no real rhyme or reason, sometimes it's just where his hand reaches out to next. When Denji starts bothering him about going to the bathroom over and over, he finally huffs an annoyed sound and the theater goes dark (though their area stays dimly lit thanks to the ever-present nightlight).]
Devils don't pee.
[They do, but that's not really the point right now. He isn't about to explain how his digestion works. Someone behind him (maybe the same guy who watched him deepthroat a hotdog) grunts a quick, "Huh?!" at that statement, but Angel isn't paying attention. The movie is apparently going to start.]
[He doesn't know what he was expecting this movie to be about; the failure to defend your fallen comrades in the face of great destruction brought about by humanity's own hubris and journey toward self-annihilation wasn't it. Angel doesn't know a lot about human politics but it's pretty easy to follow everything. But when the main character's love interest is presumed dead and the man grits himself for revenge against some beast a hundred times his own size and a million times as powerful, Angel can't stomach his growing discomfort. His growing unease in the face of a suicidal attack as everyone around him tells him how stupid he is. How he's not going to win. How it's not worth dying for something like this. They can find another way.]
[But this is a movie, not real life. The love interest is okay in the end. The hero parachutes to safety as the monster is destroyed. Its body descends into the water and everyone is happy. Cheering, celebration. The two lovers reunite in a hospital. There's the tease of something more, of a re-emergence, of a battle that's never truly over. A pithy advertisement for round two, another round of the same story, repeated over and over. As the credits roll, Angel doesn't move, the empty remains of their foodstuff spread around him on the floor, in his lap, on the chair. He stares forward at the names scrolling up the screen, dead silent.]
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As flames took my parents, they ordered me to live. So whatever happens next, I know I must survive! That’s kept me going.
They stare at each other for a long time.
THE MAN:
I can’t. They beckon to me in my dream every night. “Hurry and come,” they say. “Why are you still cheating death?”
THE MAN begins shaking again.
THE MAN:
What if I’m really dead already? I died long ago on that island… and lie rotting. You and Akiko are just the last dream of a dead man.
THE WOMAN:
You are alive!
It’s boring, for Denji. He can’t care about the main character any less, the turmoil inside him conflicted between dying in penance or living for retribution… He doesn't get what the fair-faced love interest sees in him at all. Why she's willing to sacrifice herself for him at the climax, and why he hears other people gasp, seeing her push him outside range of the shockwave following the creature's heat blast.
It's after the climax that Denji begins spending way more time following the story progression of each blink and microscopic movement in Angel’s expression than the actual film he paid actual money for. His gaze flickers over his way several times. The halo crowning the space above his head isn't the only oddity about him, it's the stillness in the way he sits there, well-kept, like something you secure in a glass case under very specific temperatures in dimmed light to avoid discoloring the pigmentation of his wafery frame. When he catches himself thinking something he's pretty sure he shouldn't, his eyes race to switch back to the screen.
Notably, he doesn't look away again until the main character is evaluating his jet right before what feels like the last battle. He's with one of the engineers, seeming to have resolved himself to carry out his vengeance, yet allowing, one last time, for his inner doubts to leak. "That’s funny. Part of me wants to live."
Like it just occurred to him. Like it hadn't been an underlying shadow this whole time haunting him far more than the comrades he left to die. What was it that Angel said last night?
What's it like to live better? Is it dying?
ANGEL doesn't look back at him. What did his face look like? Did it sour? Did it reveal something?
ANGEL:
Humans have everything. You're born, you fall in love. You get to die.
It's then ANGEL glances at him. Or did he? He did, didn't he?
ANGEL:
That's why humans should suffer. There should be a punishment for not appreciating that kind of simple freedom.
DENJI:
I think I get what you mean.
No, Denji didn't say that. But it probably doesn't matter what he really said back.
There's a crash as the main character's plane slams headfirst into the open mouth of the lizard creature, choking it for a few seconds, before taking out half its skull in an explosion. Someone in the theater is sniffling, believing the character to be dead, until the screen zooms on his ballooning parachute. A small group in the very back claps and laughs in relief, that feeling carrying throughout the remainder of the movie to its expected conclusion. Nobody moves throughout the credits until the screen fully blackens and the auditorium lights return to its default intensity. People pick up their trash, gradually filtering out of the aisles.
Most of their trays and boxes are empty, so Denji begins stacking those together, dusting off all the crumbs to the floor, while tossing their wrappers into their cups. ]
That was pretty whatever. Like, I get it's a prequel of a sequel of a sequel of something, so the lizard wasn't as powered up, but it still didn't feel like the real bad guy of the movie.
[ He gets up, moving for the exit to the room. ]
It was a solid six for me. But not every movie's going to be a ten out of ten, though. You have to keep watching to find the right one. [ So what if he's just repeating the same lines from his conversation with Makima? She was right. A pause, then he looks over his shoulder, prompting Angel for his own thoughts with: ] Well?
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[He doesn't move from his seat, hands in his lap and a small kernel of popcorn stuck in his hair. His gaze moved from the blank screen to Denji looking at him, he finally shrugs his shoulders once.]
I think it felt too hopeful.
[As if a monster like that could be defeated by one man's pseudo-suicide attack. No, it would definitely take more than that. But how much more? Can something like that ever be truly destroyed?]
A single person can't hope to ever create that much change.
[He sits up as he says that, stretching his arms over his head. Most of the people have left but he can feel the stares from the ushers, waiting for them to leave both for their own peace of mind and so they can clean the theater. But Angel doesn't move to stand.]
I guess that's why this sort of thing is fictional, though.
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But it wasn't just him, right? He had all those other guys in the ships firin' at the thing, too. Trying to make it easier to take it down.
[ He stares at the screen in front of them, silver and empty. But he can still recall, the look of respect in their when the battle concluded. Of course the main character is going to do what main characters do: steal the show, drive the plot, pull peoples' heartstrings, make even skeptics root for him and salute his journey. They are what they are, and that's why everyone loves them by the end. ]
You don't like humans, anyway. Maybe you just didn't like it because it was too easy for them to be happy?
[ Was it really that easy of a time, though? There were still mass casualties. Homes lost, loyalties questioned. Guilt, fear, hesitation. If anything… ]
My take? The movie was too real for something that was supposed to be explosions and cool lizard powers. It felt like I was watching a history program on TV. Everyone just looked…
[ Hurt. Downtrodden. But what does he know. ]
…Well, it's just a movie. Next time, let's binge things back at the apartment! [ To avoid spending as much money as he is today. Please. ] If you like it when things feel more real, you should watch this nature documentary I saw once. It had, like, elephant mating stuff.
[ With a quick enough pluck to Angel's hair to bypass getting batted off, he tosses the popcorn kernel in his mouth and swings back to his feet. ]
C'mon. You ever been to an arcade? It's not far from here, and it's real close to this one café Power's been nagging me to try.
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[Apparently Denji expected it to just be the fight scenes, which Angel can forgive considering how excited he was. He's kind of like a dog in that way, just excited to see anything new. Surely that's the only reason he was interested in elephants mating. He's not really fond of seeing other movies after this, but maybe if they weren't so depressing he wouldn't mind. But if they were too happy he wouldn't like them, either...]
[But then Denji reaches towards him and, without understanding why he is, Angel instinctively turns his head as he tries to move away from the touch, trying to see the angle where his hand is going, trying to avoid it at the same time, and it's not going to his shoulder or his arm or anything but his hair. His hair? Right next to his - ]
[There's contact, only for a second, but it's there. The brush of Denji's thumb against the side of his cheek, a graze of skin over skin, and then Denji snags the popcorn that got stuck in his hair and pulls back. Angel doesn't move an inch even as Denji continues talking, blabbering on about some arcade and a cafe as Angel caculates what just happened. Touch, life. Halo. He starts to reach up to it, like by touching it he can better confirm what he already knows. No - What he's sure of. Hand half-raised toward it, but he's too afraid to confirm for real.]
[His eyes finally turn toward Denji and he looks deeply uncertain, almost - upset. Not like he'll cry, more like he's about to kick him again. His stomach is jumbling uncertainly, twisting and sloshing like cream. Or more like sour milk.]
Did you feel that?
[Maybe, just because he didn't, doesn't mean Denji didn't.]
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Uh…
[ He thinks back to just a few seconds ago, the way Angel turned as if he were trying to parry his touch or something, how his thumb had glanced off his cheek. Soft, milky. Warmer than he thought. He always imagined the guy would run cold, for some reason.
…So maybe there'd been something brief. A prick. Something like the weakening of a nail before it folds backwards, snaps clean, but it hadn't been painful — just normal. Dead follicles dropping like leaves. Nothing as significant as that one trailer they watched with the two star-crossed lovers meeting after being separated by time and space, only for a brief brush of their fingers to unlock their memories of one another. But the way Angel's looking at him, he's not so sure how well the guy would take that. ]
Was I supposed to feeling something? [ And then, because he's expecting it, like when he dives his hand into Meowy's fluffy belly and she snaps her teeth at him in retaliation: ] Don't get mad at me. [ Or kick him again. ] Finders, keepers — if you wanted to save it for later, you shoulda been quicker. And I only touched you 'cause you turned! So don't hold that against me…
Now, seriously, let's go.
[ For a split moment, it appears he might reach over and lead Angel out by the wrist, since he hasn't seemed keen on making haste so far, but Denji's brow simply twitches and he turns. Tossing their trash on the way out, they go past the atrium to the exit, where the sun finds them at its highest peak. Other exiting moviegoers bring a hand up to their eyes to shield from the brightness, but Denji's a hound. Doesn't think about or mind that sort of stuff, just keeps trotting along down the path he thinks he knows. ]
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[It's not like his power stings. It doesn't burn or ache or... hurt, to put it bluntly. But he knows it can be felt. He knows it's like a cold sponge suddenly sucking the moisture from your skin, a chilly breeze sliding through your very bones. But Denji just hops ahead like nothing at all happened. It should have been about a week, based on space of contact and length of time he spent actually touching him. Maybe six days or so. But he's just walking toward the exit like it didn't happen. And Angel suddenly wonders if maybe it's gone.]
[His legs pick him up at some point and follow Denji out of the theater, out into the harsh sun but Angel doesn't seem affected, just dazed, confused. Staring off into some undefined space. What were they doing next? He doesn't remember. Something about a cafe? Man, he wants to eat something. Watching this half human move through throngs of people so assuredly - turning through the crowd, sliding through tight spots, dodging clusters of people chatting. Angel looks down at his hand, staring at the three lines running across his palm as he walks. Heart, head, life - Is that how it goes? Something like that, he read once. But where did he read that?]
["Are you an angel?"]
[He doesn't look up at first, accustomed to ignoring most human voices since people don't usually talk to him in public because Aki Hayakawa walks in front of him and seems to exude some kind of authority that makes it clear he's in charge of the situation. But when Angel raises his head he realizes Denji is a good fifteen feet in front of him and they're separated by one or two people and the girl who is walking alongside him with wide eyes is much, much closer than he is.]
["Are you?" she asks when he finally looks at her. Angel nods his head, since, well, technically, yes, he'd say he's both. The girl's eyes light up in delight, maybe excitement, and as Angel tries to catch up to Denji, brain thronged with too many confusing thoughts, the sudden accompaniment of a human girl asking even more about if he'll give her a blessing or if she can pray with him are a little overwhelming.]
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So preoccupied, Denji doesn't realize he really has no clue where he's going until about halfway through their trek. And even after feeling nervous sweat begin to drop from his brow, he still has the nerve to keep walking on, pretending he has an idea of where they're going while pointing at the different sights in his periphery to distract Angel, so as not to seem even more the idiot that the devil probably already knows he is: Look at that store mascot, haha, isn't it kinda funny-looking; oh, I saw some people striking against this dog cafe once; that place is never open during the day, I've always wondered what goes on down there. He has Google Maps pulled up, but his phone data is really slow to connect right now. Damn it.
He pauses in the middle of walking to futz around with his phone, heedless to the people he's inconveniencing. They can walk around him for all he cares. From the corner of his something glints at him from beyond a shop window, and he realizes he's standing outside some cutely decorated anime merchandise store with blind boxes in the display.
Angels…? Oh, they have baby wings on their back… But they're so ugly. ]
Humans really do have weird ideas about you — huh? You — where did you go?!
[ No one's at his side when he turns, which… makes sense. Now that he's stopped to think about it, it was really weird to not hear Angel complain even once about the walking or respond to his titillating commentary. Sure, it's is a bad situation bordering on a fiasco — but that's how Aki would approach it. Denji? Cool as a cucumber. Getting lost in Tokyo is totally normal. It can't be that hard to find a guy with wings and a halo.
Denji stomps down the twinge of anxiety that twisting in his stomach. He curves his neck back to try seeing above the crowd. He doesn't panic, doesn't swivel like a screw coming uncorked in search of Angel. A look here and there. Nothing. Time to retrace the circuit he took them on. He forces his way between a couple holding hands, walks through a family of tourists taking a photo, bumps into some kids sharing a cone of ice cream. The scoop splatters on the sidewalk, and his sneakers track the vague imprint of the dessert as his easy strides steadily power into a full-blown sprint past the crowds, all the people suddenly obstacles to maneuver around. Halo, halo, halo — where the hell is that halo?
Ah.
Finally, he spots him. Really, he could have noticed he was back that way much sooner if he's just turned directly around in the first place, but whatever. It's fine. He shoots off. The picture of Angel's situations clears more and more with each guy (yes, he's aiming for the men) he throws off into the wayside to get to him. What's he doing with a human girl? Why is she looking at him like that? Why is she dressed like that? The questions number in the hundreds, but it's as he sees her begin to reach to touch Angel's hand, maybe to do some type of shared prayer, his thoughts split into zeroes.
His palm pushes into her chest; the strike is reserved by his standards, but it sends her sprawling across the path, wincing hard as she squeezes at her ankle. Denji has his other hand curled around Angel's slender wrist, wrenched away from her — mostly gripped around his sleeve, save for the slip of skin his thumb is pressed into. ]
…Sorry, lady, didn’t mean to touch your br… boob. [ In his head, "boob" sounds less dirty than "breast," apparently. Anyway, he's not apologizing for knocking her down. ] But you can’t grab this guy. He’s, uh, contagious. Tapeworms, y’know. [ After a moment, he helpfully adds: ] He doesn't wash his hands after he pees.
[ He looks at Angel, meaningfully.
Educational TV really does come in handy. Anyone who doesn't think so can suck it. Except his favorite programming hasn't taught him quite yet how to handle a crowd circling around a spectacle, glaring daggers at both the devil you're supposed to be supervising and, uh, you. Yikes. ]
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["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.]
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Angel, devil, human — if you don't scram, I'm gonna chop all your asses into mince meat and make my own version of gyudon! Super ultra Denji special!
[ …So, of course, he's going to feed the terror licking up the backs of the people gathering around them, unfurling as fast as a wildfire gorging on dry brush and vegetation during a drought. Denji's definition of damage control is always going to be fighting fire with fire. To his credit, both spectators and intervening good samaritans do take a step back at the threat, someone dragging the devout girl back by her armpits, despite her cries claiming that Mr. Angel hasn't done anything wrong, hasn't committed any grave enough sins to be considered something so evil. There's his cue to exit stage left.
Not squandering another breath on this crap, Denji yanks Angel along with him, shoving away foreigner taking photos of what they probably believe is a street performance. With that, there's an opening for them to sail right into, running from the ruckus into a narrower passageway off to the side. There's clamor behind them. One person yelling for Public Safety, another shouting out after Angel — the girl's. Ballsier than the rest of them is the person who'd known from the get-go the Angel was a devil, because they try to give chase for the first few meters. But they're not like the freak humans employed at his workplace. When someone like Denji hooks a hand into the rim of an unattended bicycle, swings it out behind the two of them, they're obviously going to get tired. Lose the scent.
Denji takes them farther out, making one last sharp turn before they finally crash on some vacant street corner by a vending machine. Breaths coming out in puffs, he wrangles his hand out from Angels and slams his full arm against the cool machine, leaning his forehead against his wrist. ]
Dude. What was that about?
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["I didn't think a devil and a human could actually live as one," he'd told Aki Hayakawa once. Maybe it was a slight, an attempt to rile him up, annoy him. But Aki didn't take the bait, simply saying, "It's useful in some ways. He recovers just like you devils do. It's like nothing can really kill him."]
I touched you, and you didn't die.
[Given the amount of time they ran with the full contact of his touch, he would have taken over a hundred years at this point. But he feels no different, can't feel any new life in his halo. And Denji is still standing, acting like nothing at all happened.]
[It's still hard to believe, but it's getting easier. Or maybe he just sees Denji as a willing test subject. Angel steps forward, raising both hands and placing them on Denji's cheeks, palms flat on his skin. Nothing. He squeezes a little, really pushes in - and nothing, nothing happens, no siphoning, nothing. It's like touching a glass window and seeing the idea of warmth inside without actually feeling the heat of the fire within. He moves one hand up to push Denji's hair back enough to expose his forehead, doing the same with his own, and pushes them both together, like the skin on his face might be different from his hands. Nothing.]
...You aren't dead.
[Said with his forehead still pressed into Denji's. He doesn't sound disappointed or upset or angry about it, though. There's still that quiet awe in his tone as he speaks.]
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…Oh, who the hell is he kidding. Even from up close, Angel's eyes inches away and redder than the lips of a rose, Denji can't read him any better than he can read Makima or the old man. Or Aki. ]
…You aren't pushin' me away.
[ It doesn't come out as an outburst, his voice quietly strained. Uncharacteristically, so. The connecting point of their foreheads is… Warm is putting it too kindly, it's sweltering and his clothes suddenly feel a few sizes too small, that must be why he can hardly get his words out. Crap, they shouldn't have ordered so much food back there. Double crap, he shouldn't have left the apartment without checking the weather forecast.
A nearby shop owner exits from their storefront to take out the trash, gives them an odd look, and quickly shuffles back in as Denji plants a hand dead center of Angel's face and shoves him into the vending machine, hard enough for it to shake and pop out a free drink. If he weren't busy frantically yelling and gesturing at Angel, he'd be rejoicing. ]
I mean, I've been telling you guys that this whole time! You think it was just for snots and hiccups? [ …Shits and giggles. He can't even think straight enough to get the idiom right. ] I can't die!
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[No, of course he's not pushing him away. Doesn't Denji understand this is unique? Unheard of before this moment? Even Makima wouldn't -- ]
[But then he's being shoved off and into the vending machine and Angel groans quietly, his wings flinching as they catch the majority of the force and save him from actual harm. He frowns and reaches up to rub his shoulder before looking at Denji with something like a glare, though it's pretty mild compared to how it's been before. No, he can't do anything that might scare him off. He needs to see how real this is.]
But you're still a little bit human... You must still have some amount of a life span, even with a devil inside of you. [Right? He doesn't know anything about what the contract is between him and that devil - maybe the devil is protecting that life span?] But I can't take any of it. No one else has ever been immune to that.
[Not that he knows, anyway. Not that he's been at liberty to test. He has no desire to, either.]
Usually, people say it's a cold feeling... You don't feel that? [And he's coming at him again, though this is becoming less about testing the limit of his ability to touch Denji and more the simple desire to continue that touch. Subconscious or not, that's why he's still moving forward to try and grab at his exposed forearm.] Let me try here.
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[ Angel's insistence and, to put it bluntly, his interest in him chisels out a grimace from Denji as he throws his arm back to avoid contact with him, the force of the movement nearly taking him off the pedestrian walkway. He catches himself, though, back knees hitting the raised guardrails.
Ugh, normally he's so much cooler than this… He's just never seen him like so determined before; he always thought Angel the sort to give up at the slightest inconvenience, which is why he hoped some harmless roughhousing would compel the winged devil to keep his distance. An obstacle he'd find not worth exerting the effort to vault over. But with the tables suddenly turned and seeing him advance, reach for him, like a moth that can't catch a hint — he has to question his own reticence.
Up to this point, he's been fine with pressing him down, nicking food from his hair, brushing his wings, grabbing him. Why is that? And why is he the one backing off now? ]
Geez! [ His arms fold across his chest, shoulders hunched and half-turned away. ] I told you already. Feels like nothing. When you were clinging to my hand like a baby, it was more like… I'unno. When someone blows out a candle.
[ Or feeling a hand down the underside of a pillow. Not cold, but cool. He'd even venture to describe it as refreshing. ]
Ya can't take my life span 'cause it's not yours to take. Make sense?
[ But it’s not Denji’s, either, no. His life's already promised to another purpose. It's not something he can freely give away anymore. He already made that trade, though some people would surely think of it as more a forfeiture. ]
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[Angel flexes his fingers and seems to be considering touching Denji again despite his clear frustration with it... But he's reminded of how he felt last night, grabbed and yanked and patted all over. No, he'd rather not welcome the comparison.]
...It's strange. I've never touched a human without watching them die.
[So he's never been able to focus on the feeling of the touch. The texture of his skin, the warmth coming out of it, the feeling of callouses on his palm. Do all humans feel like that?]
[He holds his hand up, palm facing Denji, a sign that would mean Stop if not for what he says next.]
You try, here. I want to know what I feel like.
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A moment goes by. Slowly but surely, like a porcupine whose burrs are ceding back into its spine after a threat passes, his shoulders slump forward, trying to relax. He huffs. ]
Are you serious? You feel the same as any person, duh… Not like you've got scales and lizard skin, or somethin'. You never, like, touch yourself?
[ In spite of his complaints, his hand moves, lays smooth against Angel's palm. Awkward, tense, and a bit twitchy every time he gets the sense that his fingers might interlace with his again, yes, but they're touching as requested. From an outsider's perspective, it nearly looks as if they're playing one of those hand games for children.
…His gaze averts. Angel's hand is soft and plush like one of his feathers, unmarred by anything noticeable. Like he's never really done any heavy-lifting. But he's seen him hold weapons before, so that can't be fully true — not unless they come out made of lighter material being from his halo. Which, who knows, could be possible? ]
You're squishy, [ he says, eyes trailing back to Angel's. ] The way cake's squishy and hard when you put it in, uh, f-fun… [ His brows furrow. ] Fondant? Yeah. That's how you feel.
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[He lets his hand drop after a moment, still staring openly at the inches of exposed skin below the roll of Denji's sleeve. Different. He says he feels the same as any person, but Denji isn't squishy, isn't like fondant covering a moist cake. It's hard to comprehend. Like being able to touch a cloud without it dissipating beneath your fingers. Melting into cold vapor. No, Denji can't understand that, he knows.]
[So why does it have to be Denji who has to be the one to feel him?]
[The other side of the coin of touching: being touched. Simple things he hid himself away from, if not out of distaste then out of practicality. Yes, he hates humans, of course he does, of course. But the idea has crossed his mind. Once or twice, sure. The idea of someone touching him and Angel not minding it, them not being hurt by it. Taking his hand, rubbing something off his cheek, touching - the act of being felt.]
[And here stands Denji, capable of all those things and more. Why? Divine intervention? This is a cruel blessing, if that's the case.]
I wonder why it's you, then. Who can touch me without being hurt.
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With how freely Denji trespasses others' comfort zones — not to mention, how up to very recently he slept every single night with a devil huddled in a ball on his chest — it's probably true. He wouldn't understand what it feels like to have to avoid, and be avoided, in an interaction, so commonplace, mice and cockroaches have experienced touch more than Angel has before. Of course he wouldn't he get it.
But what he does know is what happens when something you've never had suddenly materializes within reach. ]
Dontcha get tired of thinkin' so hard?
[ Hell if Denji knows how the physiology of a devil hybrid works. It just does what it's supposed to when it's supposed to: heals him, keeps him from dying, makes his cells multiply and resurface from rigor mortis faster than a shinkansen. Maybe his body's just really good at outrunning Angel's ability. Simple as that.
He bends down next to the vending machine's dispenser, pulling out the yogurt drink that'd popped down from Angel's collision. ]
It's just like when we played that game last night. Sometimes you pull a 21, sometimes you pull a dud. It is what it is. There's no special reason to it…
[ That's not divine intervention. That's just nature. ]
Now, you ready to get movin' again or what?
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Moving...
[That's right, he was following Denji to something. What was it he wanted to do...? Something about an arcade? He has no idea what they'll do at an arcade, but he's pretty sure he mentioned something about a cafe, too. Maybe he can get him to buy him more food. Because yes, even after eating one of everything the concession stand had to offer, he can still eat more. And he hasn't even had to piss yet.]
...Yeah. I'm ready.
[And he is. This time he can stay close to Denji, not separated by other people as he doesn't need to avoid him as much. Doesn't need to keep his distance, and in fact, doesn't need to keep any distance. He keeps pace with him easily, and with it, wonders how close is too close, anyway. For someone who has spent most of his life staying a polite distance away to avoid possible contact, the sudden dropping of that guard is strange. He could just reach down and grab Denji's hand if he wanted to. And his own does brush against it every now and then, like he's testing it. Seeing if it really still doesn't kill him. How the tables have turned.]
[It's not that his halo is glowing brighter now. More like it's gone more white than yellow.]
Do you have some kind of card for an arcade, too? [Last time he had Aki's money cards, this time he had something on his phone to get all that food. Denji must be made of discount cards.]
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That's probably the only reason why he doesn't tell him to cut it out with all touching on the way to the arcade: It lets Denji know he's still there.
…But, geez, could he be less obvious about it… ]
Card? [ Brown eyes flicker toward him, startled. He'd barely realized they were standing in front of the game center. ] Oh, yeah…
[ Of course Denji has a card for this place as well — Power and he share this one, though, as enforced by Aki, since taking turns makes them more thoughtful about what they're spending money on. He's pretty sure there should be some tokens leftover for them to spend on the best games at least. Where did he put that thing again?
He flips through his wallet. There are bills, coins, more pointless membership cards, a lot of which are to places he's only been to once. But none of them belonging to the arcade. ]
What?! It's not here!
[ He vividly remembers pounding on the bathroom door, yelling at Power to remember to flush and fork over the card before he left, but whether or not she did either of those things… The stupid Shit Devil! Their card had well over 200 tokens on there. And though it'd be easy to buy another card or just go it old school with coins, but if they play too many games that'd probably take them through over half their budget. Not good when they've got other places to go, plus another cab to catch at the end.
Weakly, he counts his current change, then turns to Angel. ]
Uh, here's the deal, [ Denji says, beginning to lead them inside. ] I've only got enough to let us play one game. So we gotta make it count. There are, like, racing and drums and fighter games somewhere in here… The UFO claw catcher thingy… Oh, there's one where this little guy pops out of a hole and you whack 'em. I really like that one.
[ But ultimately, he'll let Angel have the pick. He technically didn't pick the movie, so here's his second chance! ]
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Ehh... I don't like picking stuff.
[Naturally, he denies the chance. Angel lets his eyes trail through the arcade, not moving from his spot to get a better look at anything in specific...]
[...until his eyes land on the last thing Denji mentioned, staring at it as it plays its little idle movements. Every now and then, a black-colored monster pops out, a big "D" written on its front. It has evil-looking red eyes and a big, toothy smirk. He watches it pop up in different holes as the automatic tinny voice orders, Slay the devil!]
That thing?
[Does he come here for training or something...?]
Why do you like it so much? It looks like work to me.
[As in, their job. Why would Denji do his job on his days off?]
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[ Angel said he didn't like picking stuff, but bringing Denji's attention to something is as good making a decision, in his book. Whether his little tag-along wants to or not, he's now making his way toward the arcade game. There are some single-player iterations of the machine, but this one is for two players to compete for who can whack the Devil fastest — right now, it's preoccupied by some middle school-age kids. ]
This thing's the best for when you're pent up and wanna take it out on something. But without getting guts on your uniform. Or, like, getting in trouble for killing anything you're not supposed to.
[ Standing behind the kids, he watches a boy fling his mallet at the jeering devil and miss, hitting an empty hole. ]
These guys kinda suck at playing, though…
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It's in a pattern.
[He points at it as the boy on the right grins as he wins, the other boy demanding a second go. They don't even look at Denji or Angel as they both push a couple tokens into the machines and the fight begins anew. As it starts up, Angel again points to the left-most machine.]
Look... Every five devils, it goes to the top left corner, then moves down two, and over two. Then it goes to the center, and goes down one. Then, it...
[As Angel speaks, the machine does just as he predicts, following the pattern he voices from his brief watching. Every now and then it pops up in a semi-random spot, but Angel figures even that must have some kind of rationale to it. Maybe the pattern isn't so obvious anyone could figure it out after one or two observations, but Angel frowns like he's watching someone struggle over tying a basic knot.]
This looks way too easy, with that kind of logic to it.
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not me losing this notif 💀
no worries!! dw notifs are so easy to lose track of 😭
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