Chapter Text
It’s a bit like a dream, the aftermath of a devil attack.
What’s left behind is a mess of supernatural carnage, splattered over the picture of mundanity. Students and salarymen simply walk around the mess on their commutes. Car horns blare at the inconvenience of a detour brought about by a shredded devil limb barricading a busy street.
Police clean and public safety devil hunters patrol; searching for anything of importance left behind. Searching for a piece of the Gun Devil’s flesh.
At this point, Aki is more than used to the scene. He’s been here time and time again for years now; from small, concentrated attacks to block-wide catastrophes.
He’s stepping over a fleshy lump of the Typhoon Devil’s remains when he parts from Kishibe for the day.
There’s a cafe he likes to stop by whenever he gets the chance, just a few blocks ahead. It’s where he told Angel to meet him when they split up this morning.
It’s quiet when he arrives.
A few patrons sit amongst the tables and booths, reading newspapers and sipping from mismatched mugs like there isn’t scattered gore and debris painting the street just outside.
Tucked into the far corner of the cafe, right in the center of an old, well-loved couch, sits Angel.
He’s hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands closing around the mug resting atop the old, wooden coffee table in front of him.
Aki makes his way over and sinks down in the spot next to him.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Angel doesn’t glance over as he brings the mug to his lips. It’s comically large in his small hands, which secure either side in a white knuckle grip.
Something is off.
An unsettling sharpness cuts through the fatigue in his eyes, gazing out at nothing over the rim of the mug.
Aki shifts slightly, as if to better observe him. He leans back just a hair; head tilting like he’s mapping a large, detailed painting hung on a museum wall.
“You’re staring,” Angel says, gaze just as fixed and distant.
Aki blinks as he rights his posture. “You seem off.”
Angel’s already still hands seize up completely. He hesitates there for a suspended moment before carefully setting the mug down and turning to face Aki.
Partially obscured under a curtain of vermillion hair, Angel scrutinizes him. Flecks of various reds and browns and golds shimmer like a geode within his irises. Aki can count them, he realizes; can see just how thick each individual eyelash is, can make out the faintest freckles dusting over his cheekbones. Over the deadliest skin he’s ever seen—skin, he notices, he’s fairly close to.
His jaw locks shut after an inhale, like holding his breath will act as some sort of defense against Angel’s skin.
“Perspective, I guess,” Angel’s voice cuts through his train of thought. The devil glances away as he shrugs, posture melting back into something slouched and familiar. Still, his eyes betray him.
Aki frowns. “Perspective?”
Angel huffs a little sigh. “Perspective.” He slumps further down into the couch.
A small spike of irritation stabs at Aki’s temple. Of course he won’t elaborate, of course Aki will have to drag it out of him—
“You could’ve let me go,” Angel continues, nipping Aki’s irritation in the bud. “I would have been fine dying. I’m not exactly suited to a pseudo-human life.” He pauses here, turning to look Aki in the eye once more. “But you saved me.”
Aki’s jaw tenses. “I didn’t want to watch you die,” he reasons automatically.
“Yeah, you said that. Doesn’t change the fact that you saved me. At the expense of your own life, I might add.”
He’s right. Aki knows he’s right, but for a reason he won’t rationalize, he simply won’t accept it.
“I guess,” he concedes. “I don’t have much time left anyway.”
Angel stares at him as a thick silence unfurls between them.
The weight of his unreadable gaze is unsettling, but Aki can’t find it within himself to look away. After several long, uncomfortable seconds, Angel shifts.
“You have a contract,” he says, more a statement than a question.
“I have a few.”
“But you have one that you gave up most of your life for.”
His back tenses involuntarily, pressing against the sword strapped to it. “Yeah.”
Silence takes hold before he glances back at Angel. There’s an expectant look on his face; something equal parts impatient and understanding.
Aki sighs and shifts in his seat.
“The Curse Devil,” he begins, “will attack anyone I stab three times with this.” Carefully, he draws the sword from its sheath and lowers it to his lap, turning it over in his hands as Angel leans in closely to inspect it. “In exchange, my lifespan decreases with each use.”
Angel’s head jerks up—slightly but sharply—to fix Aki with a look he can’t totally read. It’s not quite pity, not quite judgment, not quite concern. “I’m guessing you try not to use it, then?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“But you have used it. Enough to have little time left.”
Aki’s gaze drifts back to the blade. “Yeah.”
When he meets Angel’s eyes again, he’s a little startled to find them wide and brimming with guilt. Angel is still in a way that makes Aki think he’d emit static electricity if touched. A pang of worry tears up his spine. “What is it?”
“How much time did you have left when you grabbed my hand?”
Oh.
“Two years,” Aki’s voice feels soft when it leaves his mouth, as though to soothe Angel’s worries. He doesn’t want him to feel guilty for those two months; it wasn’t his fault.
“So I didn’t kill you…” Angel mumbles, almost to himself, as he sinks back into a slouch.
“No,” Aki answers. A beat later, he huffs a small, bemused laugh. “No, of course not.”
From beneath his thick eyelashes, Angel shoots him an ungrateful glare. His eyes still have that strange sharpness to them.
Aki frowns. “Is that why you’re acting like this?”
“Like what?”
“Not…yourself.” His voice tapers, unsure of what he’s chosen to say a beat too late.
Angel studies him; elbow propped up on his knee as his head tilts into the support of his hand. A thick curtain of red swoops lazily from one side of his face to the other. He blinks a few times beneath it, before his eyes drift to some nondescript spot near his mug.
“I’m having memories,” he begins. A look of mild frustration takes over his face, nose scrunching in concentration. “Or—no, more like…the shadows of memories. Or…I don't know, dream residue of memories, you know?”
He glances up at Aki for affirmation, and for the first time today, his eyes look familiar. Softer. Less…haunted, in a way.
Aki nods.
“When I thought I was gonna die, I saw someone. Someone familiar. But it’s like…” he sits up straight again, leaning toward Aki like what he’s about to share is an important secret. “Not just a face. I remember a kind of saltwater smell, mixed with smoke. And sounds—the waves, voices I knew, warmth that…I didn’t know was possible for me to feel.”
He pauses again to stare at Aki. There’s something new there; something so human, it would be unsettling if it weren’t so mesmerizing.
Angel looks hopeful.
A gentle brightness radiates from his every feature as Aki studies him; tries to map each component of this expression so he can process it.
It dawns on him, after a long, silent moment spent trying to memorize Angel’s look of hope that he’s expected to say something.
“So…” he starts, unsure. “Are you…telling me your life flashed before your eyes?”
Angel’s eyes brighten and he leans closer. “Yes— but not a life I remember. Not clearly anyway. It’s like I have all the details of the picture, just not the picture itself.”
Aki shoulders slacken as the understanding clicks. “That’s why you’re so off today.”
“Yeah,” Angel confirms, easing back into his own personal bubble. “Except—” he jerks forward again, “it isn’t that, exactly—it’s not the life I’m dwelling on. That is bothering me, but…it’s something that has passed. I can’t get whatever that part of my life was back.” His face scrunches up in another concentrated frown. “The thing that’s bothering me is…I had something to lose. Something tangible. And all of a sudden, I can remember the feeling of it so clearly.”
Ice creeps into Aki’s veins. This kind of loss he can relate to, more than he’d like.
The urge to reach out to Angel—to comfort him, put a hand on his shoulder—comes to him unbidden. He watches his hand land on the surface of the suit jacket as if removed from it completely; presses ever so slightly against the bony frame of the devil.
It’s safe, of course. There are two thick layers of fabric between their skin.
But ever since Aki grabbed his bare hand, touch feels loaded.
It isn’t fear. He knows what that feels like. The very real possibility that Angel could siphon more of his life, even by accident, doesn’t concern him the way it maybe should.
What’s unsettling him about touching Angel—what’s grabbing his attention so—is how aware he’s become of his hand.
He can feel the surface of his palm as it molds to the contours of Angel’s bones. The pressure of his narrow fingers as they curve over his shoulder—as they engulf it, really. The sensation is somewhat out of body; as though his hand is the surface being touched, not the one touching. It’s a small distinction, but it’s more than enough to notice. And it confuses him.
“Angel,” he begins, voice a little too dry. What can he even say? That he understands? The sense of loss Angel grapples with is the extent of it. There is context he doesn’t know and Angel doesn’t remember; context from before his birth, probably.
Context that applies to Angel’s experience as a devil.
For his part, Angel doesn’t seem to be concerned with Aki’s commentary, or lack thereof. His gaze has drifted down to his lap, where his palms are upturned; fingers flexing and relaxing as if to assure the devil they’re still there.
“I remember her touch.”
It’s so quiet. So small. Unsure, even.
Then it hits Aki. Her.
“The person you saw?”
Angel’s hands ball into fists and his wings tense defensively, giving Aki a start. Loosening his grip from Angel’s shoulder, he leans back and turns away.
A thick, melancholic quiet envelops their little bubble.
Not that Aki notices it, exactly. His mind is reeling. This new understanding of Angel completely clashes with his preconceived notions. The thought of the devil caring for a human being, the way Aki thinks he means, is something to wrap his head around. The lack of context doesn’t help. Neither does the overbearing weight of guilt he’s getting from the impression he’s caused Angel some distress.
Aki grimaces.
He’s doing it again. Subconsciously sympathizing where he shouldn’t.
The rustle of fabric shakes him from his own head. Angel is on his feet.
“Are we done?” He asks softly, unfocused gaze drilling a hole through the wall opposite.
Aki’s mouth opens again, a bit at a loss. “Uh…yeah, I guess.”
Angel nods once, curtly, but doesn’t move yet.
“Are you okay?” Aki asks. It comes out hesitantly, like he’s afraid of startling the devil.
“I’m—” Angel whips around, finally facing Aki again. His eyes are a storm. Not with anger, but with the concentrated effort to latch onto a memory that has no foothold. “I’ll be fine. I just need to think.” With another small nod, he walks away.
Aki watches as he passes through the door. As he crosses the street and turns the corner.
The idea that Angel once cared about a human being enough to look as affected as he did is taking its sweet time sinking in.
Part of Aki feels that’s unfair; he’s worked with Angel long enough now to acknowledge his propensity for kindness. Another part of Aki, the part that’s gotten him through hell and confidently sacrificed a good chunk of his lifespan to see his goals through, chastises him for his vulnerability toward the devil.
Because he is a devil.
The reminder loops in his brain, a barrier fencing in everything he feels. But it’s an empty mantra, really. A barrier made of paper.
If he’s honest with himself, Aki knows it would hurt him—maybe the way Himeno’s death hurt him—if something happened to Denji. Or Power, even. Maybe taking them in has made him soft.
But then again, they’re not true devils.
And in the context of his status as a devil hunter, Aki has always been soft.
Angel’s wellbeing concerns him.
The truth roots itself in the rich soil of his gut, and he does all he can to ignore it. It’s not exactly easy when he’s sat alone in a cafe, with no preoccupation but to stare at the half-finished, creamer-laden coffee left by the colleague he’s dwelling on.
By no fault but his own, Aki feels worse.
Distraction always comes sooner or later.
Especially since he’s opened his home to two rowdy devilmen.
“You are too sensitive!” Power snaps, thrashing in Denji’s arms. “You owe me!!”
She dips her head, mouth widening to gnaw at his exposed wrist.
Aki’s hand closes around a glass and he flings it at her, dousing both his roommates in a small splash of water.
It works like a charm.
They freeze for a startled second, then recoil; their screaming match morphing into petulant whines and groans.
“What the fuck, Aki?” Denji gripes, dropping Power to rub the water from his eyes. Power follows suit, more preoccupied with the section of hair now plastered to her face than Denji’s blood.
That’s all it takes to diffuse their disputes. They’re like cats, really.
“Power,” Aki starts, tired, “you have to ask Denji before you drink his blood.”
She pouts. “But he owes me!”
“Bullshit!” Denji barks. “It’s not my fault we didn’t kill any devils today.”
“That’s because they’re all afraid of you now. ‘Tis your fault!”
“Maybe you should work harder, then.”
Power gasps a theatrical, offended gasp.
Bickering bounces back and forth like a ping pong ball between them, but at least physically, they’ve been subdued.
It’s not perfect, but it’s leagues better than it was when they first moved in.
An exasperated sigh pushes itself from Aki’s chest and he slouches, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.
All things considered, he likes it better this way. Denji and Power keep him preoccupied. Preoccupation keeps him from slipping down the spiral in his mind.
Plus…he’s not alone. And, yeah, they’re entertaining. He supposes.
A knock raps against his front door; sharp and solid, cutting through the fuzzy din of a headache and the unintelligible jumble of a petty argument.
Aki is on his feet before he’s aware of it.
“Who’s that?” Denji calls after him.
Aki doesn’t answer verbally; doesn’t even consider the question himself before he swings the front door open.
It’s Angel.
Alone, illuminated in the yellow glow of Aki’s open door; harsh against the deep dark blue of the surrounding night. His wings are relaxed; hands bunching up the hem of his oversized t-shirt to fit into the pockets of his lounge pants.
He blinks up at Aki. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Aki responds, softly. A moment of unenlightening silence passes before he steps aside and gestures into the apartment.
Angel enters wordlessly.
“Oh, hey Angel,” Denji greets. Every ounce of curiosity he’d had seconds ago has evaporated completely.
Angel offers him a soft but strained smile.
“Hi Angel!” Power calls, sing-song, even as she retreats into Denji’s room with Meowy in her arms.
“Hi, Power,” Angel replies, notably friendlier.
The door clicks shut behind Aki and Angel turns to face him.
“Can we talk?”
They end up on the balcony outside Aki’s bedroom. He’s furiously smoking a freshly lit cigarette; chasing the calming burn of the nicotine in preparation for whatever Angel has to say.
A gentle whooshing sound rushes past Aki’s right, then Angel is seated gracefully on the balcony next to him, wings extended.
“What if I got you out of your contract with the Curse Devil?”
Aki chokes on the inhale. Smoke claws down his throat and he doubles over; plucks the cigarette from his mouth and smothers the coughing fit his sleeve.
“How—” he sputters, latching onto the railing. His head is suddenly reeling; trying to process Angel’s proposal beneath the burning fog of the botched drag. It plays on a loop in his brain—the words out and contract ringing like a siren each time.
Angel watches patiently from his perch, hands clasped in his lap.
“You can do that?” Aki manages.
The corners of Angel’s mouth quirk up. “I can, but it’s not that simple.”
A familiar feeling of unease flares to life in Aki’s gut. It’s the same one he’s felt in every contract he’s made; in every ounce of trust he’s ever extended to a devil.
With Angel, however, it’s notably different. Wariness alights not so much like a roaring inferno, but like a single candle.
“I can’t get the years you lost back,” Angel continues, barely-there smile slipping away. “Those are already gone, I’m sorry.”
Aki knows this.
“But I can guarantee you won’t lose any more, if you make a contract with me instead.”
When he meets Angel’s eyes, it feels like the first time doing so. The way the devil is perched up on the balcony puts him at eye-level with Aki, and in the dim city lighting fighting back the crystalline glow of the moon and stars, every fleck of red is a deep, rich shade of wine. There’s a quiet and brimming quality to them in this moment; something that seems to reach for Aki—to search him—not knowing like he’s used to, but pleading.
It’s then that Aki recognizes vulnerability in Angel.
“What do you get out of it?”
Angel tenses ever so slightly; jaw tightening, a sharp inhale drawn through the nose—so subtle it would have gone unnoticed were Aki any further away.
But his geode eyes seem almost to wobble within his rigid mask, and instantly that vulnerability is magnified.
“I will void your contract with the Curse Devil and offer you full use of my weapon,” Angel begins.
Aki’s lips part in surprise—weapon ? He can’t be referring to the infamous lifespan weapon…can he?
“In exchange,” the devil continues, bringing Aki’s running thoughts to a halt. “I get…your touch. Whenever I need it.”
He blinks several times, gaze averting beneath those hypnotizing, feathery eyelashes. Aki watches them flutter; thoughts of a supernatural weapon and the gravity of Angel’s requirements to access it melting like butter off his dwindling focus.
The gentle pink warming the porcelain of Angel’s skin eases into his periphery, softening his perception even further.
The proposed contract is a soupy din, looping in his ears as if heard from deep underwater.
—full use—
Angel’s eyes dart to his for a split second, then away once more.
—my weapon—
A gust of wind pulls a silken strand of Angel’s hair across his nose.
—your touch—
—your touch—
—your touch—
Aki blinks.
I get…your touch. Whenever I need it.
Aki’s back hits the wall before he even realizes he’s moved.
“But…” he starts. His mind has snapped into focus now, rationalizing Angel’s offer and how fucking impossible it is. “Are you kidding me, Angel?” The moment he’s said it, the anger clicks and floods throughout him. “How the hell does that guarantee I won’t lose any more years off my life? Touch is the most sure-fire way for you to kill me. Are you insane?”
Angel blinks, unphased. “No. It’s a—”
“Is this your idea of a joke? Are you really so bored?”
“—loophole—”
“Don’t waste my time like this—”
“Aki,” Angel’s voice whips through the tension, hitting Aki like a smack in the face. He shuts right up. Angel has never sounded like this before. “Listen to me. I’ve been thinking a lot today,” he pauses to hop down from the railing. “I know what human touch feels like. I’ve felt it before. Not in the way you saved me—that was fine too, I guess—but I’ve felt intentional touch. Kind, warm, human touch.” He takes a step closer, eyes boring into Aki’s. “I crave it.”
Aki is familiar with fear, exceedingly so. The fear that strikes him when Angel speaks those three words, however, is unique. Subtle. Intriguing.
“But I don’t want to kill people,” the devil continues. “It always sucks. I really don’t want to kill you.”
A small wave of relief sweeps through Aki’s joints unbidden—just enough to rob them of their tension.
“So this morning, when we talked, I realized something: contracts have rules.”
“You’re just now realizing this?” Aki gripes before he can help it.
“Shut up,” Angel retorts, nose scrunching. “I’m trying to help us both out here. Contracts are binding. If you make a contract with me, you’re protected by it. I won’t be able to kill you. If I do, then I’m fucked too.”
Aki stares at him for a brief moment, fighting the urge to distrust. “But what about the Curse Devil?”
Angel cocks his head. “Hmm? Oh. That’ll be easy.”
How enlightening.
“How?” Aki grits out.
A smug little smirk creeps across Angel’s lips. “It’s scared of me.”
The idea that any devil would fear the Angel Devil seems, at first, like complete and utter bullshit. But as Aki stares into the blood red glint of his eyes, the minimal space between them thick with risk, his doubt withers.
This is the first time since their introduction that the Angel Devil has made Aki feel small.
“Do we have a deal?” Angel asks. His eyes are softer.
Wariness still clings to Aki’s intuition, causing him to hesitate. “Why?”
“What do you mean ‘why?’”
“I mean why?”
The subtle air of confidence dissipates just noticeably enough as Angel’s brow furrows. “I told you why.”
“Yeah, but—” a heavy sigh pushes itself from his lungs, “—why? Why does it mean so much to you? Why do you…crave it, as you say?”
In his eyes alone, Angel flinches. Narrow limbs of guilt splinter Aki’s defenses.
He opens his mouth to backtrack, but Angel cuts him off.
“Does it really matter?”
It’s barely a mumble, but it rings out in the space between them. Angel has retreated; the sharpness in his eyes dulled, his shoulders and wings relaxed almost to sagging. He looks small again—crawled back into his physical stature.
The sight sets Aki’s guilt alight.
“It doesn’t,” he firmly responds. “I’ll make this contract with you.”
There really isn’t any feeling to a contract. Loss of a body part or a sensation is felt, of course, if that’s what the contracted devil requires. But when the terms are something like half a lifespan, or a memory, or the comfort of human touch, no turning point is felt. No sweeping sensation that the contract is sealed. Not until that side of the deal is acted upon, anyway.
So, the full body chill that ripples up Aki’s spine when he accepts Angel’s terms is entirely foreign.
The restless, white noise of Tokyo zips into a vacuum and the wind ceases its whistling. Lights only land on Angel; only cast him in yellow highlights and bluish shadow. The rest of the world in Aki’s periphery, even as near as his balcony railing, blurs into obscurity.
It’s just him and the Angel Devil, sealed into a narrow and endless bubble by contract.
Slowly, Angel’s hand raises. His palm is facing Aki in a placating gesture; hovering midway between their bodies.
A thrill shoots up his spine. It’s not unlike the sensation an adventurous child might get, seeing a gap between two cliffs, cut by a creek running between them. The thrill of a leap; no matter how big or small the risk. The adrenaline of the running start; the spike of fear that propels the leap itself—no turning back.
Aki mirrors Angel; lifts his palm so it hovers mere centimeters away.
Angel’s hand is about half the size of his. It’s pale and delicate looking, like the rest of him. Almost like glass. If Aki didn’t know better, he could probably shatter it with a hard enough squeeze.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he presses their palms together.
Angel flinches just slightly, like he didn’t expect Aki to reciprocate, and sucks in a little breath. A chill runs over the surface of Aki’s skin as the cool texture of Angel’s palm permeates his own.
This isn’t the first time they’ve touched, of course. But in the chaos of that moment; with the muscles in his arms screaming and desperation thick amidst the typhoon raging around them, Aki hardly registered the feeling of Angel’s skin against his own.
He’s like marble. Soft and hard at the same time; cold and perfectly smooth.
The feeling of him is an utter contradiction. In the years he’s worked for public safety, Aki has never touched something that felt so uncanny, yet so alive.
It takes a whole moment for him to realize he’s curled his fingers around Angel’s hand—engulfed it really—his subconscious physically seeking a logical explanation for the devil’s skin.
Then all at once he returns to himself, hand jerking back as survival instincts take the wheel. Angel stumbles a little with the force of it, and Aki tries not to wince at his own lack of composure.
“How long?” He blurts before he can stop himself.
Angel blinks a few times, seemingly coming out of his own daze. When his eyes meet Aki’s, they’re perfectly clear. “Nothing.”
A loaded silence packs the space between them and Aki’s jaw clenches. “You’re sure?”
Angel doesn’t flinch. “Certain.” He takes a step closer and Aki ignores the instinct to back away. “Let me prove it.”
He dips his head slightly—just enough for the halo hovering over him to tilt Aki’s way. Its circumference expands smoothly, almost mechanically, like an automatic door sliding open.
“Usage. Give it a number in time,” Angel explains. “The higher the number, the more powerful the weapon.”
Aki’s eyes flit between the devil and his expanded halo, open and waiting. Hesitantly, he reaches out, palm upturned beneath the glowing ring.
“Usage…two months.”
A force tugs at his hand then, and he finds himself reaching up; hand disappearing into the halo. The itch in his palm matches that of the sensation he feels when pulling his sword from its sheath. His fingers curl around a cold, hard hilt, and he pulls down.
What emerges is a knife, unlike any he’s ever seen. It’s not that big, but it’s wickedly sharp: a perfect steel blade bursting from an asymmetrical opal handle like a geyser. The blade curves around one edge—like a machete, but with a razor-thin notch bisecting the radius. A nasty chill runs up his spine as he stares at it. There is no questioning the magnitude of damage this blade could inflict.
“I’d go with something more like five or ten years if I were you,” Angel pipes up. “That’ll get you something you could actually use.”
“This looks pretty useful,” Aki counters, somewhat absentmindedly, as he turns the knife over in his hands.
The glow of Angel’s halo shifts away, catching every little fleck of color in the handle as it goes. It settles above his head once more as his posture straightens, scrutinizing gaze fixed on Aki.
“You used the two months I took,” he states. There’s a guilty edge to his voice.
Aki frowns. “I suppose I did,” he responds, a little distantly, before he finally looks up. “Is this something I can hold onto?”
Angel sighs as though inconvenienced. “They’re attached to me. Sort of. You can hold onto a weapon for a little while, but eventually it has to come back. That, or wear out. Each form is finite.”
Aki frowns down at the knife. Two months of his life, sculpted into a beautiful and deadly blade. One that will wither away soon enough. It makes sense, he supposes; Angel’s weapon is shaped from siphoned lifespans.
Small, marble hands close around his wrist, and he freezes. Two pale thumbs press against his pulse point, soothing despite their chill. He watches Angel grip him; watches as those cool palms soften and lose tension against his wrist.
It takes a moment for him to realize this is an attempt at comfort.
Another for him to realize their contract is, in fact, sealed.
He can touch Angel. No consequences to his life. An imposing force of supernatural weaponry at his disposal. Not another year, month, day, minute of his limited lifespan to be shaved off.
And so Aki allows his wrist to go limp in Angel’s gentle grip. He places his free hand atop the devil’s. He watches as Angel’s eyes flash with something wanting, focus unwavering from where their skin meets.
“You okay?” Aki asks, despite himself.
“Yeah,” Angel answers immediately, eyes unmoving. “You’re…you’re really warm.”
What happens next, Aki chooses not to justify to himself. Maybe he’ll chalk it up to instinct, his default excuse. Or maybe to the influence of Denji and Power in his daily life, slowly but surely chipping away at his walls. Maybe a moment of vulnerability left in the wake of Himeno’s death, which he knows he’ll never fully recover from.
Maybe he just wants to feel and not think.
So he doesn’t second guess himself when his hand skates up Angel’s arm and slips over his shoulder. When it loops around his narrow frame and tugs him in, cutting off the surprised sound the devil lets out, geode eyes blown wide. When he embraces the Angel Devil, who has never been held—not without killing someone in the process.
For a long, confused moment Angel doesn’t move; just stands stiffly in Aki’s arms, face pressed to his chest, shoulders up by his ears. Then the moment passes and Angel hugs back—arms winding tightly around Aki’s waist, hands gripping almost painfully at his back. The desperation—the relief in his body can be felt. He presses in, squeezes, and holds on; comfortably cool against Aki’s body like the welcome chill of an untouched pillow at night.
They hover there on the balcony, holding each other as the white noise of the Tokyo night around them weaves through the wind.
After what feels like forever and no time at all, Angel speaks. It’s soft; so soft that Aki feels the vibration of his voice against his sternum more than he hears it.
“Thanks.”
A couple seconds tick by, the single word playing on a high speed loop in Aki’s brain before he tilts his face down, buries his nose in the silky, soft red, and tightens his grip. The halo tilts, seeming to make room for him; to invite him closer into Angel’s personal bubble and take up space within it. The glow it casts over his face even softens.
Something about this feels dreamlike. There’s an element to this contract that hasn’t been included in any other contract he’s ever made, or heard of. Calling it hope feels foolish, so maybe it’s peace?
Regardless, he feels untethered from reality as—against all odds—he holds the devil who kills with touch.
A pang of sympathy strikes through Aki’s core, and he weaves a hand through the long, vermillion strands spilling over the devil’s shoulders before he can stop himself.
“Yeah,” he finally manages. “You too.”
From deep within his right eye, he can feel the Future Devil laugh.