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1.
Despite having lived with Beam for a couple of months by this point, Denji still couldn’t understand the fiends behavior at all. The guy was a wackjob, but one he would have to get used to. The monthly money he got from Kishibe for taking Beam in greatly contributed to Denji’s rent, and Nayuta, astoundingly, seemed to have grown to occasionally tolerate the fiend. This was not one of those occasions.
“Ew! Seriously, get off of him!” Nayuta yells, kicking the fiend from across the couch. Movie night was always a chaotic time for the household, for many, many reasons.
Beam took the kick in stride, but did not, in fact, get off Denji. Using his foot (the one attached to the leg thrown across Denji’s lap), he took the remote from Nayuta and gave it to Denji. Nayuta blanched and Denji could see her anger building into a neighbor-disturbing scream, so he decided to change the topic.
“What movie d’you wanna watch, Nayu?” Denji stands up and removes Beam's leg from his lap and looks through their (Aki’s) DVD collection. Flipping through the cases, Denji realized he still had yet to throw out the Jurassic Park disc that Power had taken a bite out of. He didn’t want to, though.
Looking Beam dead in the snout, Nayuta crossed her arms against her chest and summoned as much of the essence of the Control Devil as she could. “ Jaws. I want to watch Jaws.” She says, venomously.
One shrieking fit later, they decided on Star Wars. As much a cinephile as Denji was, the series had always been more Aki’s thing. Now, he just watched it as a comfort movie. If comfort movies were supposed to make you sad or not, Denji didn’t know.
The movie played in the background, but Beam seemed more interested in the way the screen scintillated in Denji’s brown irises, lights illuminating his tired eyes. Nayuta had buried her head in Denji’s shoulder, fast asleep. Which left the boys together, much to one of them’s dismay.
Denji could feel himself nodding off. It had been a long week, after all. While he wouldn’t admit this to Nayuta with a gun to his neck, balancing raising her, being Chainsaw Man, taking care of nine animals, and trying to be a normal high school student on top of it all left him in a perpetual state of exhaustion. Beam, though he wouldn’t admit this to anybody no matter the circumstances, was helpful. Like really, really helpful. Half unconscious, he lets his head fall onto Beam’s shoulder, and tells him as much.
“ Lord Ch- Denji…” Beam starts, and turns his head further towards the blond, who suddenly becomes aware of how close they are, mere centimeters between their lips. Suddenly, there's a push and pull. Beam leans in, and Denji’s halfway onto the floor, chest heaving.
“I uh, I–” Denji stammers, a bout of emotion swelling in his chest. “I– I have to put Nayuta to bed.” The hybrid ignores the fiends confused gaze as he gathers the girl into his arms, walking down the hall and only turning back to scowl at the fiend.
“ And don’t try that again.” The blond hisses, heart banging against his sternum with such force he briefly wonders if it might shatter.
Beam cocks his head at him, bewildered. “Try what?”
2.
The second time Beam tries something is also late at night. Technically early morning, Denji notes the red numbers of his digital clock. He’s been at his desk for who knows how long, the problems on the page having stopped making sense long ago.
“Sine over cosine… adjacent? Tangent?” Denji mumbles, pencil tracing over the letters he had underlined again and again in hopes that it would somehow make the math click.
Soh Cah Toa.
Bull fucking shit. It was absolutely incomprehensible. Aki could help him with this, Denji thinks, before remembering that Aki was gone.
Denji has good number sense, but only when it comes to tangible concepts . He could organize a budget easily, he had done so on his own for a majority of his life, but the second he had hit algebra he was done for. Why would triangle math help him in the real world? He was going to go straight into the workforce after he graduated to support Nayuta. Whatever office he ended up filing papers at wouldn’t hand him trigonometry problems alongside a job application.
It just didn’t make any sense. Denji banged his head against the desk, before hearing Beam stir behind him. “...M’ser Ch’nsaw?” The fiend mumbles, and the pencil lead snaps against the paper.
“Just my name is fine.” Denji reminds Beam for what must be the hundredth time. “It’s this homework. I can’t figure it out.”
Denji remembers the event that led to Beam and him sharing a bed for the first time, but doesn’t quite know why they stuck with it. Him and Nayuta had stopped sharing a bed due to Denji’s night terrors, and the risk of accidentally cutting the girl into ribbons was too great of a fear for the hybrid. Why Beam was willing to risk staying near him was a mystery to all those rational.
“Lemme see.” Beam yawns, shuffling out of the covers and sitting next to Denji on the floor. The low desk had been a tall-desk prior to a fight. If Denji reached out to touch one of the uneven legs, he could feel the serrated texture of Power’s blade cut into the wood. He’s taken out of his thoughts by Beam hooking his chin over his shoulder, the sandpaper texture of the fiends scales scratching Denji’s temple.
Denji once again uses his famous Beam-evasion strategy: stop, drop, and roll, but miscalculates and takes his opponent down with him. The hybrid’s face is scorching hot and his head is pounding against Beam’s chest, ear pressed right above the fiend’s irregularly fast heartbeat. Denji whips back just as he realizes what he’s done, but, in the fuckup of the century, ends with his face closer than he’d like to Beam’s lips.
“Denji?” Beam starts, but is interrupted by Denji’s hand reaching up to rub his forehead-snout, disorienting him. Denji can almost see the cartoonish stars flying in a circle around the fiends head, maybe some birds as well. Denji remembered a shark fact Nayuta had told him once. By rubbing a shark's nose, you could basically render them to a (temporary) zombie-like state called tonic immobility, or something like that. Thank God it applied to Beam, Denji did not want to even attempt to explain to the fiend whatever just happened.
Eh, Denji would apologize in the morning and make whatever Beam wanted for breakfast. After tucking the fiend into bed with more care than he’d like to admit, he got back to his dreaded trigonometry.
3.
Meals were always quite the affair in their household, especially when Denji was too tired to ‘manage’ Beam, as Nayuta put it. Flipping a pancake, Denji felt as if it would be one of those days. From behind him, both Meowy and Nayuta shriek at an eardrum bursting pitch and decibel. Fearing the worst, he turns around, a dollop of batter hitting the ground behind him.
…It’s Beam. Of course it is. It’s Beam poking out of the kotatsu, along with a couple of the dogs. Tiramisu, better than all of them, curls around Nayuta’s feet and looks at Beam with distaste. “Don’t pop out of nowhere like that.” Nayuta hisses, squeezing Meowy tightly against her chest in a way that bid concern.
“My bad!” Beam laughs, grabbing one of the smaller dogs and pulling it under the kotatsu with him. Denji, bemused, turned back and scraped the fallen batter off the floor into the trash can. Aki had managed to get him to believe in the five second rule in order to fix his eating habits, and it had worked exceptionally well. In spite of his exhaustion, he felt good. He’d make some eggs or toast while he still had it in him.
While cooking, Denji was entertained as he often was: by Beam and Nayuta’s conversations. He would occasionally have to intervene to make sure Nayuta didn’t use her Control Devil powers and make Beam think he was one of the dogs, but other than that, the chats were a kind of semi-pleasant background noise.
“Denji, when’s breakfast ready?” Nayuta enters the kitchen, slippers padding lightly against the wood.
“Walk the dogs, and it’ll be done by the time you get back.” Denji says, before lightly tapping Nayuta on the head with the spatula he was washing. “Don’t go any further than the empty lot, though.”
“Fine, fine.” The girl groans, whistling for the dog's attention as she grabs their leashes from the coat rack. After harnessing them, Nayuta scowls at Beam, as she often does. Upon receiving a far too toothy grin, she shudders. “Weirdo. Denij, don’t give any of my food to him.” She declares, before closing the door and taking the dogs with her.
“Do you think she’ll ever not hate me?” Beam says after a minute, sounding genuinely intrigued.
Denji pauses, caught off guard by the question. There wasn’t much Nayuta liked. “Probably?” He eventually decides. “Nayuta’s picky, but she warms up to things after a while, or if I tell her to.” The blond watches the egg sizzle, before continuing. “She’s a good kid. Give her some time. She worries over me too, so there’s that.”
“Why’s she worry?” Beam asks innocently.
“You were there, for some of it. I don’t have the best track record.” Denji tries to joke, but it falls flat.
“Is this about the bomb devil? You called her Reze, I think?”
“Not just her.” Denji nearly chokes, wiping at his eyes with his forearm to rid the sudden burning that had formed. All those awful mushy feelings he couldn’t identify were about to come back in full force. Nayuta would be back any minute, he couldn’t let her see him like this.
Beam, forever oblivious, continues. “What about Miss M-”
“I’m back!” Nayuta yells, pushing open the door as the dogs try to yank her arm out of its socket. Kicking off her shoes and complaining about the weather, the girl gives Denji enough time to collect himself. “You owe me breakfast!” She shouts in the general direction of the kitchen, before stomping in.
“Yeah, yeah.” Denji sighs, rolling his eyes and handing her a plate.
Nayuta briefly scrutinizes his face, golden eyes squinting. “You okay?” She says, after a moment.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Eat your breakfast unless you want to give Cream Puff a snack. She seems interested.” The blond diverts the conversation, gesturing to the tawny husky following Nayuta. She tears off the crust of her toast and leans down to drop it into the dog's mouth, locking eyes with Denji as she cocks her head to the side. Beam , it occurs to the hybrid, who mouths it’s fine, don’t turn him into a dog.
Nayuta gives him a look, and he shakes his head.
“...fine.” The girl grumbles, leaving the kitchen. Denji, after filling one plate for him and another for Beam, follows suit. But just as he’s about to place their plates on the low table, he feels a hand grip his ankle and send him flying towards the floor.
He doesn’t land gracefully. Denji’s knees are probably bruised to high heaven, and he puts pressure on them as he whips towards whatever made him trip. He ends up nose to nose with Beam. “Fuck. You.” He spits, but finds that whatever sadness was inside him was gone.
Beam, forever a complete fucking idiot, smiles wider than Denji thinks he’s ever seen. What a crappy way to make me feel better , the blond huffs, but he can’t help but softly mirror the fiends grin. The blond eyes Beam’s sharp teeth for a second longer than might be appropriate, before becoming aware of heavy breathing coming from behind him.
Denji turns again. An egg has landed sunny-side up right above where Nayuta’s bangs start. Yolk drips down the girl's fringe. She’s lobster red, heaving, and clutching a fork so tightly that Denji worries the metal might bend.
Beam’s expression changes when he notes the chains that have formed around Nayuta’s body and the outpouring of murderous energy. He turns to Denji, who shrugs, before audibly gulping.
4.
Denji had reason to suspect that being locked inside of the apartment 24/7 was driving Beam stir crazy. If Denji still worked in public safety, the blond could take the fiend anywhere he wanted with a flash of his ID. Maybe if Beam could more easily pass as a human, he could do it without the certification.
But, here they were. Denji had watched Beam roll around the comforter for the fifteenth time and decided enough was enough. After a couple days, he formulates a plan. Nayuta and Beam sit on either end of the couch while Denji stands, chest puffed and proud.
“We’re going to the aquarium today!” The hybrid announces, hitting his fist against an open palm. Beam gasps and cheers excitedly, while Nayuta looks considerably less impressed.
“All of us? How are we going to hide… y’know.” She sighs, gesturing towards the fiend, who visibly deflates.
“That’s why we’re going to the aquarium! People might think the shark bits are a hat! He can wear a hoodie too, so it’s less obvious, anyway.” Okay, plan might have been a bit of an exaggeration. It was more of a working concept , as Aki would have called it. The goal was to get Beam out of the house, the details could work themselves out later.
Beam cheers, clapping like Denji had presented the perfect formula for world peace. Nayuta looks like the traumatized survivor of something or other. “Can we get ice cream, at least?” The girl asks, rubbing her temples, a gesture she had picked up from Kishibe.
“Hell yeah!” Denji grins, before herding his housemates towards the door. This would turn out great! He just had to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach, and he’d be all good!
An hour and a half later, Denji hastily attempts to drag Beam out of the shark tank by the armpits. “My brothers! I’ll save you!” Beam cries, to odd looks from the crowds.
Denji looks off to the side, where Nayuta appears to be cringing so hard she’s doubled over from severe abdominal pain. A nice old lady places her hand on Nayuta’s shoulder concernedly, and the girl hisses at her. Hisses at her. It reminds Denji so much of Power that he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He thought he’d raised Nayuta better than this.
…Who is he kidding? No he hasn’t.
Denji ends up apologizing profusely to the workers, cuffing Beam over the head like an exhausted mother. The walk back to the apartment is one of shame, the only proof of any modicum of success being the pecan ice cream that Nayuta’s holding. Denji feels miserable, if he has to be honest. He isn’t sure who to get angry at, or maybe he’s just disappointed in everything, including himself.
Entering the apartment is yet another quiet affair. Denji makes a beeline for his room, falling face first onto the unmade bed. This sucks. It seriously sucks. He doesn’t even know how long he spends like that, praying to become one with the sheets. Then, the bed dips beneath the weight of another person.
“Nayu, I’m fine–”
“It’s uh, not Nayuta.” Beam coughs, his voice taking on an inflection Denji isn’t used to hearing. “She did yell at me though.”
“Did she?” Denji says, cadence flat and emotionless.
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” The blond doesn’t bother lifting his head up.
“I’m sorry.” Beam sounds sort-of-actually remorseful. Denji tries to laugh, but sputters like a wet engine. “I am.” He repeats, only for Denji to start shaking against the bed with the force of his body trying to muscle the air out.
“No. No, I am. My fucking bad for thinking you could control yourself for one–” Denji inhales sharply, staccato breaths making his sides hurt. “Forget it. Go. I’ll come out when I have to make dinner.”
“I–”
“You want to make me feel better? Give me some space. Please.”
Beam obeys, and the door clicks shut behind Denji. He lies in bed for a long while, trying to nurse a pounding headache. It’s painful and awkward, this feeling. It’s like those modern art sculptures that Power hated so much, gnarled and twisted into something tangible, yet unrecognizable. When faced with a difficult emotion, Denji does what he always does, divert. Sick of rotting, he stands up and decides that he should make dinner. He exits his room, only to smell eggs.
He walks faster, anticipating the smell of char the closer he gets. He’s hallucinating. Beam set the house on fire, and the smoke’s making him think that there isn’t anything wrong. Once he reaches the kitchen, he instead sees Nayuta and Beam drizzling ketchup onto an omelet.
“No, you dumb-head. You have to shake the bottle first, or it’ll get watery. Now look what you’ve–” Nayuta turns to look at him. “You weren’t supposed to come out yet. Go back in the hallway.”
“What are you two doing?” Denji’s eyes scan the kitchen for any immediate risk to Nayuta’s safety, and finds none. He’d taught her how to make omelets so she could cook with him, not whatever this was. “Nayuta, didn’t I tell you not to use the stove without me?”
The girl bristles, briefly, before a guilty look crosses her face for a fraction of a second. “Beam, are you done?” The friend's tongue is stuck out in concentration, before he presents the plate to Denji.
It’s a simple omelet, far from perfect. It looks a bit undercooked, actually, but Denji doesn’t even notice. What draws his attention is the stream of ketchup (watery, at first, before it gains strength) that spells out SORRY, DENJI in nearly illegible handwriting. There are two lopsided sad faces drawn beneath it, probably meant to be Beam and Nayuta. Denji doesn’t remember the last time anyone’s done something this nice for him. When he nearly starts crying, his housemates freak out.
“I told you it was undercooked, you should have kept it on like I told you to!” Nayuta shrieks, almost kicking the fiend before remembering he was holding their apology omelet.
“You kept scolding me on how to do it, so why didn’t you do the ketchup?” Beam sounds devastated. “Now Denji will never forgive us.”
“ Us?! It was you who–”
“I really like it.” Denji manages not to choke on his own words, and Beam has half the sense to put the omelet on the counter before tackling him. He lightly returns the hug, gesturing for Nayuta to come in as Beam finally breaks away.
“Well, it was my idea, so.” Nayuta hugs him tightly, mumbling so only Denji can hear her. “Sorry again. I know you do a lot for us, so I wanted to try doing something in return. I had Beam use the stove, don’t worry.”
Does she seriously think that would be a better option?
All of a sudden, Beam’s stomach growls loud enough that all nine animals stand at attention in the living room. Denji stares incredulously, before Nayuta’s gut makes a softer, but equally as ravenous noise. “...you didn’t make anything for yourselves, didn’t you?” Denji accuses, and they both nod shamefully. “I’ll make dinner.” He shoos them away from the kitchen, but Beam lingers.
“Well? Get out of here.” Denji says, before Beam bumps him on the temple with his snout and runs into the living room.
Huh?
Nayuta didn’t seem to notice anything, or else she’d have freaked out. Beam seems normal, too. Beam’s new body he occupied was taller, so maybe he’d just accidentally hit Denji and didn’t realize it. But didn’t sharks have a lot of nerves in their snout? Something like that? There was no way that was intentional, no matter how weird Beam could be.
Denji ponders this while chopping vegetables, his face burning.
5.
Power had a high, sharp laugh, nearly manic. She would point at the television screen and cackle like a lunatic, face buried in Denji’s shoulder and legs kicked over his and Aki’s laps. Her nails would dig into the meat of Denji’s arm, fat newly acquired after a life of starving on the streets. They would attempt to soothe and carve formless shapes into Denji’s back when he was hunched over vomiting, until Aki’s shadow passed across them both. Aki would shoo her away and then properly assist him, wiping a towel across his sweaty brow and twisting open a bottle of medicine with steady and practiced hands.
Denji would never see Aki’s shadow again, nor feel Power’s body slot next to his in bed. They were gone . The smell of Aki’s cigarettes would linger, but for how long? Power’s scythe had cut into the leg of his desk, but the wood would rot one day. Everything would.
Denji finds himself in Aki’s old apartment, but he remembers the place being a whole lot nicer. Less small, cramped, and didn't have the sickening scent of alcohol embedded into every surface. Aki’s apartment wasn’t a shack without heating. And wasn’t Denji taller than this?
“Fuck– fuckin’ yakuza always up my ass.” Someone hiccups behind him, clearly drunk. Aki didn’t drink, not after he realized how uncomfortable it made Denji. Glass shatters against the wall, but he can’t turn around, can’t move at all. The wooden walls groan with the impact, and Denji hears a heavy stomp. Then another. There’s a door right in front of him, so why can’t he move?
“Dead weight, that’s all you’ll ever be, jus’ like your mom.” The voice hisses, inflection bursting with malice. “Puttin’ me into debt to fund her treatments, just like she tied me down when we had you.” Another stomp. The door doesn’t get any closer to Denji.
The voice sounds like Aki in the way a taxidermy looks like a living animal. Vocal cords stretched too thin, preservatives and stuffing poking through the gaps. It isn’t real, it isn't, it isn't. Then, there's a warm breath against the shell of his ear. It laughs saccharinely, and if Denji closes his eyes, he can almost feel a dainty hand drop his wrist, leaving deep gouges that would never heal. The voice could rip his heart out and he would let it.
It has.
“Denji.” Makima says, nowhere to be seen and everywhere at once. He can hear the whining of a noose behind him, the rope creaking as it suspends his Aki’s ( his father’s ) body. The stomps are gone, replaced with the out of control thud of his heart against his sternum. He needs to get out of here, the walls of the shack ( apartment? alleyway?) are closing in on him.
“Denji,” Makima repeats, tone firm.
“Open the door.”
Denji does. Light shines from outside, and Power’s there, holding a cake for him. She smiles nervously, and Denji–
“Bang.”
Denji shoots awake with tears streaming down his face and sobs wrenching his body. As he fruitlessly gasps for breath and struggles for air, he doesn’t feel the body next to him shift, nor the soft noise of surprise.
“Denji?” Beam asks, alarmed, but it goes unheard. The hybrid is caught in an onslaught of half-baked memories and unwanted sensations. Denji’s heart races a mile a minute inside his chest, and he deliriously apologizes to Pochita for making him work overtime. While barely able to see through the tears in his eyes and fingers covering his face, by the way Beam responds, the blond realizes he may have apologized aloud.
“Fuck, fuck – I’m sorry–” Denji bawls, clamping a hand to his mouth, his palm unsuccessfully muffling a pathetic whimper that escapes from his lips. His knees dig into the side of his face as he curls into himself, utterly miserable. He hasn’t had a nightmare that bad since before Beam moved in, maybe since he and Nayuta began sleeping in separate beds. “I– I–” He somewhat manages to choke down another sob. “Just– Just go back to sleep. That’s a fuckin’ order from Lord Chainsaw or whatever–” Denji cries, too shaky to continue.
“I’m not doing that.” Beam says, sounding disgusted at the implication.
“Sorry. Can you please just–” Denji starts, voice quivering, wet, and disgusting.
“No.” The fiend is stubborn, if anything. “It’s unfair if I leave you like this.”
Denji gives a half-sob half-laugh, hands finally coming down from his face. Nothings fair! He thinks, screams, but can’t bring himself to say. Instead, he manages to warble out a coherent word, body tensing. “So?”
Hands shoot out to wrap around his head and back, pressing him against Beam’s chest. It isn't an embrace, per say, more of an awkward approximation of one, but it’s more than enough to bring another round of tears to Denji’s eyes.
“You hug like this, idiot .” He mumbles, adjusting so he isn’t crushed against the fiend like a ragdoll.
It doesn’t quite work out between them. Beam’s body doesn’t know how to move against his own and doesn't know how to shift properly. Denji ends up with his shoulder jammed against his ear and a chin digging into the crown of his head. Still, there is safety in the discomfort. Still, there is love between the lines.
Love?
Well, hopefully not. But there might be.
Beam yawns above him, but neither of them dares to move. They stay shunted together, rough scales and rawboned limbs. An invisible but oh-so delicate thread weaves between them, vulnerable as a spider’s web.
Speaking of vulnerable, Denji’s eyes sting like hell. Whatever sadness he felt hasn’t receded, hasn’t pulled back to some distant corner of his mind. Beam wouldn’t stay forever. He couldn’t. He might not ever properly adjust to society, or Kishibe might come and collect him, one day. He might attack a civilian and get taken out by a member of public safety, all thoughts that kept Denji up at night. He knew how fragile a household could be. It only took a moment for a domino to fall, ending in a deafening shot through the family portrait, glass sending a crack through Denji’s heart. He’ll have to enjoy it while it lasts.
Denji’s eyes fall shut in exhaustion, but he isn’t asleep. Beam eventually extricates the blond from his arms, tucking him back into the blankets. Wait, Denji wants to say, don’t go. But Beam doesn’t. The fiend lies next to him, placing an arm over his body for a brief second before hesitantly pulling back and choosing to simply lie as close to Denji as possible. In any other scenario, Denji would have been pissed, really. Just this once, he needed the company.
What he doesn’t need is to feel the brief, tentative brush of Beam’s lips against his forehead.
Denji isn’t complaining, though.
+1
The morning after the nightmare, Denji wakes up late. The sun passed halfway to its peak, the ample lighting making him realize he’s woken up alone. But with how gross he feels, he isn’t sure if he wants to be seen by anyone, so it isn’t anything hurtful. While sitting up, he notices a folded note on his nightstand written in Nayuta’s 5th grade-esque script.
Denji,
Beam said you had a rough night and not to bother you, so I’m writing this. I know you've been through a lot, and that I can be protective of you sometimes. But I am glad that Beam’s here to help you too, and I really think he does. Don’t tell him I said that. You’re a really good brother, and it’s okay if you’re sad, you don’t have to hide it from me. Also, I’m probably not home if you’re reading this, Hina invited me over to her house. Hina’s the one with the freckles who we played cards with that one time. Already walked dogs, don’t worry.
- Nayuta
After crying all night, Denji wants to do it again. When did Nayuta get so mature? Part of him feels guilty, was he really so incompetent that a ten year old had to step up and comfort him, maturing beyond her age in a way she shouldn't have to? Denji knew that her precociousness was partially as a result of her true nature as the control devil, but he desperately wanted to give her a shot at being a real kid. Had he been unfair to her?
Denji has once confided these fears to Kishibe, who laughed in his face. You know me, I’m not one who praises lightly, the man said. You’re doing great. She’s a good egg.
She is, isn’t she?
The door opens, and Beam’s standing there. “You’re awake.” The fiend comments, a bit dumbly.
“I just got up.”
There’s awkward tension between them. Beam sits on the edge of the bed, near where Denji’s waist lies, beneath the covers. “I didn’t make breakfast Denji, sorry. Nayuta isn’t here to tell me what to– oh , she’s at her friend’s–”
“Hina’s place, I know.”
Silence stretches on for a bit longer, before Beam speaks again. “You miss them? You say their names while you sleep, sometimes.”
Denji didn’t know this, but after Nayuta had grilled him about it, Beam didn’t ask about Aki and Power anymore. She had told him that they were gone, and that he shouldn’t hurt Denji’s feelings by bringing them up. Beam felt as though this was a moment where he should.
“Yeah. Everyday.” Denji didn’t like thinking of them either, but they kept popping up, no matter what he did. He couldn’t hide them like he did the memories of his father, didn’t think he could even if he wanted to.
“Do we help?” Beam asks, leaning closer.
“...I don’t know. I think so.” There were moments where it felt like the hole was filled, but never completely. Life just grew around his grief, never stopped for it or let him offload the burden. “Nayuta does. You do.”
“That’s good.” Beam leans in impossibly further, putting out a hand to support his weight. There’s little distance between them, faces nearly grazing each other. “Hey…” The fiend says, an open proposition.
It wouldn’t hurt. Not here, not in this bedroom. It could be his first gentle kiss.
Denji closes the gap, removing all ‘
ifs
’ and ‘
whens
’ and ‘coulds’ and ‘woulds’.