[ The second the boy refuses the money, pushes it back to Denji, his hand swiftly sweeps over his open palm, reclaiming them — all but snatches the items out of his hand, honestly. He's not going to argue with someone who doesn't know a gift horse from an ass horse. This was was the only amount of cash he had left on him after paying out his savings just to travel out there, so back into the relativee security of his pocket they go.

Pinching the hanky around his nostrils to squeeze out what excess mucus he could, Denji turns his eye back to Pochita. The effect on his voice is a distorted, hopelessly clogged inflection. ]

…You were scared, eh? I know. Me too. [ He sets the (ruined) rag down on his lap, smothering a hand over the top of the devil's head again, the short strands of fur where he rubbed him swept up unevenly from the rest of his coat. ] It'll never happen again. I promise.

[ He just has to get acclimated. Moving from one place to the next always sets him on edge — it's a different headspace to be in, and he's certainly not much of a logistics guy. ]

Hey, so whaddaya want then? [ Still petting Pochita, Denji finally addresses the boy without glancing back at him. ] For bein' a good smearitan. This is your last chance to ask for a reward before the two of us jet. Just name the first thing that pops in that bitty head of yours.