[ Looking back on all that time chucked away at moving from place to place, maybe a more grown-up Denji will wonder what would have happened. If he'd stayed put. If things would have been different had he not bathed and splashed with Pochita in the rivers of Gunma, plowed his way through the azalea gardens of Niigata, trespassed the deeply forested shrines of Iwate. If he hadn't scrounged up his savings to cross the pond to Hokkaido on a ferry. Would he have been happier? Lonelier? Deader? Would the people around him been spared if he actually did what he should have, and paid his pound of flesh? Brokered his fate into a blood debt on someone else's balance sheet?
Or maybe a more grown-up Denji will have the wisdom to look back with the pained acceptance that none of it would have changed a thing. The logging industry in the northernmost region of the country would have been just as enticingly profitable. The winters, still as sharp as claws on his skin. He would have still opened the rattling door to let Aki in. ]
Oh, hell yeah! Get in here, shrimp.
[ It's not so hard building a life on the road when you've got a buddy to take care of and a reason to keep running away. After months of camping out in a battered tent and breathing through his mouth to avoid gagging on the scent of old brine clinging to its canvas walls (he's never diving through a fishmonger's dumpster again), it's not the snowfall that shepherds him into a dusty shed. Rather, a noisy pup who nags and tugs and paws at his pants leg until he finally relents to taking shelter in an abandoned woodshed. And he's not talking about his devil companion.
The Denji who rushes to shut out the whipping gales behind the bundled boy, turning with a hollow-cheeked grin, is neither too young or too old. Definitely too skinny, though. Not that a kid would be able to tell the difference. A high-pitched arf comes from a little nest of blankets and pillows strewn in one corner, close to where a propane heater is unevenly keeping the structure warm. The devil hops up on his hind legs, tail a'wagging.
He dusts at Aki's shoulder as he leads him into taking a seat, cleaning away the pale specks salting his overcoat. Doesn't really have to, since all that will be melting away soon enough. ]
Me n' Pochita haven't had breakfast or lunch yet, so ya got here right on time. You eat anything yet? There's 'nuff to split three-ways.
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Or maybe a more grown-up Denji will have the wisdom to look back with the pained acceptance that none of it would have changed a thing. The logging industry in the northernmost region of the country would have been just as enticingly profitable. The winters, still as sharp as claws on his skin. He would have still opened the rattling door to let Aki in. ]
Oh, hell yeah! Get in here, shrimp.
[ It's not so hard building a life on the road when you've got a buddy to take care of and a reason to keep running away. After months of camping out in a battered tent and breathing through his mouth to avoid gagging on the scent of old brine clinging to its canvas walls (he's never diving through a fishmonger's dumpster again), it's not the snowfall that shepherds him into a dusty shed. Rather, a noisy pup who nags and tugs and paws at his pants leg until he finally relents to taking shelter in an abandoned woodshed. And he's not talking about his devil companion.
The Denji who rushes to shut out the whipping gales behind the bundled boy, turning with a hollow-cheeked grin, is neither too young or too old. Definitely too skinny, though. Not that a kid would be able to tell the difference. A high-pitched arf comes from a little nest of blankets and pillows strewn in one corner, close to where a propane heater is unevenly keeping the structure warm. The devil hops up on his hind legs, tail a'wagging.
He dusts at Aki's shoulder as he leads him into taking a seat, cleaning away the pale specks salting his overcoat. Doesn't really have to, since all that will be melting away soon enough. ]
Me n' Pochita haven't had breakfast or lunch yet, so ya got here right on time. You eat anything yet? There's 'nuff to split three-ways.