[ Like still snow that hasn't before been tracked through, unfamiliar with what it hasn't been robbed of yet, Denji considers the remaining tenure to Aki's life with deathly blankness. How long has it been since she stood outside that hospital room? Last thought about what it'd feel like when Aki's neck, warm and pulsing with blood, finally hits the chopping block? They've known each other an extra few months since then; Aki's seen her cut her teeth into devil guts too many times to count, Denji's watched her burn through smoking alternatives after quitting cold turkey. And in that time…

Surely, something's changed. Must have if she's here sitting in the woman's lap, willingly. She just isn't certain if it matters. ]

Probably. [ Heels digging into the curve of Aki's hips, Denji drags herself forward, nearly putting them chest to chest, breath to breath. Has to tip her chin up to look at her, just like that time they were lost in the shafts of that stupid hotel. Just like it, but not quite there. They could be closer. ] You sure don't look that bothered by it.

[ One hand slowly sneaks up her side, rucks up Aki's shirt, the folds pressed into her armpit. Her palm grips against a clean line of slightly raise skin, the darkened scar meant for Denji — though, with her abilities, a thing like this never would have left a mark. ]

That's right, you didn't even look that scared when you got this. That was always weird to me.