He breathed like he couldn't, ejected tears just for the droplets to pour right back into his wailing mouth; when he gasped for air between sobs, his lungs rattled awfully, unable or unwilling to let oxygen in for him, he couldn't say. For the way he was crying, someone might have thought he wounded himself — and in a manner of speaking, maybe he was wounded. His own body knew he had to be punished, knew it had to inflict something on him, so why not this guilt? Why not this hot torsion in his chest rubbing in how he'd done something so terrible to someone he loved so dearly? ]
SorrysorrysorryI'msorry — hic — ah? [ He stopped rocking. He did not stop sniveling. ] …chita, didja say somethin'?
[ His gaze hoisted up from the bundle of breathing fur, and with it came away the mottled face of a teenage boy, sticky and flushed, a string of snot still stretched between his leaking nose and Pochita's head. The devil in question whimpered, staring up at him with — some emotion Denji couldn't discern. Nonetheless, he wriggled restlessly in his arms, paws propped on Denji's chest to stand and lap at his wet chin.
That's a no, then. Denji's gaze listlessly traveled upward, landing on the wary young boy standing on the raised road. At least he looked young. Younger than him. Cheeks a little chubby, like he goes home to meals already set on the table. ]
You know him? [ It seemed to him that the two had come from the same direction, so, first, he looked to Pochita to vouch for their foreign company. From him, came a prompt, Arf!
In an instant, his expression visibly softened. He took a moment to stroke the devil dog's head. Slightly inclining his face, Denji regarded the boy once more. Okay. ]
no subject
He breathed like he couldn't, ejected tears just for the droplets to pour right back into his wailing mouth; when he gasped for air between sobs, his lungs rattled awfully, unable or unwilling to let oxygen in for him, he couldn't say. For the way he was crying, someone might have thought he wounded himself — and in a manner of speaking, maybe he was wounded. His own body knew he had to be punished, knew it had to inflict something on him, so why not this guilt? Why not this hot torsion in his chest rubbing in how he'd done something so terrible to someone he loved so dearly? ]
SorrysorrysorryI'msorry — hic — ah? [ He stopped rocking. He did not stop sniveling. ] …chita, didja say somethin'?
[ His gaze hoisted up from the bundle of breathing fur, and with it came away the mottled face of a teenage boy, sticky and flushed, a string of snot still stretched between his leaking nose and Pochita's head. The devil in question whimpered, staring up at him with — some emotion Denji couldn't discern. Nonetheless, he wriggled restlessly in his arms, paws propped on Denji's chest to stand and lap at his wet chin.
That's a no, then. Denji's gaze listlessly traveled upward, landing on the wary young boy standing on the raised road. At least he looked young. Younger than him. Cheeks a little chubby, like he goes home to meals already set on the table. ]
You know him? [ It seemed to him that the two had come from the same direction, so, first, he looked to Pochita to vouch for their foreign company. From him, came a prompt, Arf!
In an instant, his expression visibly softened. He took a moment to stroke the devil dog's head. Slightly inclining his face, Denji regarded the boy once more. Okay. ]
…Yeah, 'm peachy. You, uh — ya found him?