Chapter Text
Aki had known, for the longest time – and quite dramatically – that his life was fated to end in tragedy.
The cogs that turn inside his wheel of destiny are for certain rusted, falling at the seams, cracking little by little with every breath he takes – a disaster bound to happen. Ever since his family died Aki has felt irreparably broken; he's tried to patch up what he could, but he's always known it's a temporary solution – his only solace is killing off as many devils as he possibly can before his untimely death. He was okay with that, because it was his choice – Aki was okay with dying.
Was. Because he's aware his days are numbered now, because his demise has finally become palpable. He's aware that there's nothing he can do to fight back, nothing to save him from this predicament, and it hurts like nothing else – it hurts like his efforts thus far have been all useless, that he strived all his life for one objective he could never complete.
What did Nietzsche say, again? Stare too deep into the abyss, and it will stare back at you.
Aki's unescapable, hell-deep abyss comes in the form of a single, velvety black petal that he spits into his trembling palm.
It happens during lunch, in the bathroom of a Chinese restaurant, a couple hours after they're done dealing with a particularly troublesome devil. At first glance, he thinks he's lost a piece of his lungs somehow – as a particularly vicious chain smoker, he doesn't doubt they're really this ominous shade of black and falling apart like dry sand castles – but, upon closer inspection, he discards the thought. Aki doesn't know shit about flowers, couldn't name which species this belongs to if his life depended on it, but he does know that plants don't usually grow inside of lungs.
Usually.
Aki twirls the petal around, held lightly between his thumb and index, a bittersweet, floral taste spreading in his palate – this thing, small and insignificant, will literally be the death of him – if he’s not wrong about his assessment, of course. This may as well have been a stray petal that got caught in his throat in the middle of the fight from a couple hours prior, and dislodged coincidentally when Denji stuffed his cheeks with a meat bun each and giggled, pretending to be a squirrel; that's when Aki had a coughing fit and excused himself from the table.
The disheartening alternative is that Aki was infected with the hanahaki disease.
That's how they tracked down the love devil in the first place – victims coughing up an exponentially larger amount of flowers as well as getting increasingly more debilitated until, two weeks later, they were found dead – their lungs had completely filled up with flowers on the fourteenth day, asphyxiating them. It's incurable, unless the victim's love is reciprocated.
He knew it was transmissible – knew the ins and outs of this thing, of that devil, knew to avoid direct contact with it, knew that other devils and infernals are immune, and yet—
He took a blow for Denji.
It wasn’t bad; he pushed the idiot away from danger with enough time to almost fully dodge the thorn that attacked them. Aki ended up with a measly, barely noticeable scratch on the shoulder that stung for all of three seconds. He’d have forgotten about it entirely if it wasn’t for the tiny red light going on and off inside his head, warning him that there could be something wrong with his body, that it wouldn’t hurt to check… which he didn’t; thought it was an irrational fear. But there's one way to know for certain, he's aware, and a pretty simple one at that: checking for flower markings. He should have them if he's really gotten afflicted by this godforsaken ailment.
The victims of the love devil all had up to fourteen flowers tattooed – he'll call them tattoos – on their skins, spreading either from where they got pricked by one of the devil's thorns, or on the chest over their heart in case of person-to-person transmission, one for each day until their death. The ones that survived had those markings appearing until they were confessed to, and they didn't disappear after. Those people will be forever marked, it seems. Very unnecessarily poetic. In any case, if Aki has contracted this disease, it'll show on his skin.
He stares at his clothed shoulder on the bathroom mirror, leaning his weight over the sink in nervousness, his mouth dry, a thin cut marring the fabric of his otherwise perfectly good suit. Carefully hooking his index finger on the slit fabric, Aki pulls it down and narrows his eyes at the little skin he's able to see beneath.
It's black. Black like the petal he just spit out.
Aki removes his clothes in less than three seconds, and rips out two buttons in the process.
There's a black rose printed on his shoulder.
Dark petals spread into full bloom. A two-dimensional, one on one recreation of the flower he will, most certainly, expel whole from inside his lungs, again and again, until his demise. Until he asphyxiates in feelings he hadn't even acknowledged, wasn’t even sure were there in the first place. It's not like he has any room for doubt, though, right? If he's contracted this disease, then it means his infatuation is very much real and that he's thoroughly, absolutely, positively fucked.
It’s Denji, isn’t it?
Aki didn’t know. Didn’t think it was love – that’s too strong a word, too deep a feeling. If he had to name his emotions regarding that single brain celled organism, it would be ‘I don’t hate him that much’. It’s what he’d been rolling with up until now. He could consider someone else, but his mind and heart won’t allow it; it’s Denji, it’s Denji, it’s Denji, they keep playing in repeat, the broken record to the broken cog to the broken man.
It’s the idiot Denji whose eyes get puffy when he grins with his little shark teeth; the moron Denji whose speech gets drawled out and drowsy in the mornings, when he’s too groggy to notice Aki discreetly smiling about it; the stupid Denji who sometimes forgets to bring his towel to the bathroom and forces Aki to see his golden hair dripping water into the tub and his cheeks flushed with heat.
It’s the Denji who’s in love with Makima and will never reciprocate Aki’s feelings, whatever the hell they may be.
The hunter thickly swallows down as he’s picking up his discarded clothes to put them back on. He goes through the motions mechanically – pushing his arms into the sleeves, closing what buttons remain on his shirt, hiding the damage he's done by straightening up his suit.
He hasn't let go of the petal yet.
He glances at it yet again with the back of his eyes feeling hot, curls his fingers over its soft surface, tucks it into his pocket as a memento and washes his face to attempt to freshen up his looks – a reddened nose and glossy eyes don't match him at all. If he keeps biting into his lip, too, it's gonna get dark and swollen and the two idiots waiting for him outside will catch on that something's wrong. Aki will not allow that.
He's gonna carry on with his life just as usual until the very last moment, until he's so weak and debilitated he won't be able to fight anymore. Someone will eventually find his dead body in an unnecessarily poetic pose, surrounded by black roses and full of tattoos like some dramatic punk, and no one will ever know that the one who didn't love him back was Denji – the blonde himself especially. Aki doesn't think the guy cares enough to feel guilty, but he still doesn't want to risk placing that kind of burden on Denji's shoulders.
It's not his fault – it's Aki's. And it's alright.
He exits the bathroom as if nothing had happened, refusing to give his circumstances another thought – for now. Can't risk having a meltdown in public. From a distance, Aki spots the two brats fighting over the last meat bun, chopsticks being used as weapons and the dishes clattering on the table. The hunter finds that, surprisingly, he doesn't have the will to be angry about their improper behavior. He simply approaches their table, making eye contact with Denji shortly before reaching it. For whatever reason, that makes the blonde give up on the bun, letting it slide from his chopsticks to be immediately consumed by the hood-wearing infernal. "Hehe! Fuckin' loser!" Power provokes, but it goes either unnoticed or ignored by Denji.
His gaze stays transfixed to Aki, something akin to curiosity crossing his boyish features. "What's up? You sure took your time in there."
"Maywe he wath takin' a shit."
"I wasn't, and you're supposed to be a lady; stop talking with your mouth full," Aki reprimands the infernal, throwing her a scowl he doesn't feel at all before glancing at his food to decide what to eat. Nothing seems to suit his fancy; this whole thing really made him lose his appetite.
"Oi, oi. You're not ignoring me, are you?"
Aki gulps down rose-tasting saliva before lifting his gaze from the table. He finds Denji's own. "I'm not," Aki assures, but offers no explanation for his long absence. Denji scowls deeper, his eyebrows knitting up.
"You really are a loser," Power barks as she's done swallowing, "How 'bout you man up and tell him you were worried?"
Denji stutters to the point his speech is incomprehensible, a blush creeping up all the way from his neck, and his eyes darting back and forth, from Aki to Power. "How 'bout you shut the fuck up?!"
Aki has a coughing fit. A bad one.
His lungs and throat tickle; something threatens to move past his esophagus and his shoulders rock with how intensely he's coughing. It only subsides when yet another petal falls into his palm; he closes his hand into a fist to hide it from the two pairs of eyes watching him. "Hmph. My bad."
"Oh, damn," Denji mumbles, "I guess you really do have a cold, huh."
"Ew! I'm not gonna catch it, am I?" Power grimaces, sticking out her tongue.
"Don't be ridiculous." Aki quietly tucks this second petal into his pocket before tapping a napkin against his lips. "Devils don't get sick. You'll be fine."
"What about you? Is it bad?" Denji asks as he's reaching for a glass of soda, eyes on Aki even while he's sipping.
"Bahaha! You're actually worried?" Power provokes, which causes Denji to choke on his beverage.
"Hah?!" Denji growls from behind reddish cheeks, "Did your horns stab your brain or something?! I bet you're the one who's worried!"
"I'm not the jackass asking him a bunch'a questions! And," she declares, pointing at Denji's face with a grin of superiority and victory, "You're all red!"
Denji clasps his cheeks, his lips pursed and an embarrassed scowl woven into his boyish features. "...'m not."
That, because apparently this bullshit disease is triggered by the blonde being any level of sweet, makes Aki have yet another coughing fit.
Yeah, Denji. It's very bad.
Aki keeps that response to himself.
Aki acts kinda weird when he's sick, Denji muses.
He comes to that conclusion when, during a stupid little quarrel with Power on the backseat of Aki's car, Denji ends up kicking the back of the driver seat. Instead of unsheathing his katana and slicing off the blonde's leg clean or whatever method of punishment the hunter deems fit, he just… he mindlessly glances at Denji through the rearview mirror and does nothing else. He doesn't scold the two for the noise, doesn't tell them to shut up because "You two are making me lose my mind!" or anything of the sort.
Denji leaves Power to think that she's won the argument – he doesn't care either way; it was about the best flavor of donuts and no one will convince him it's not lemon – and, instead, focuses his attention on the sickly hunter driving them home.
And, damn, Aki must've really lost it.
Denji curiously switches his gaze between the moving scenery outside the window, the way Aki's fingers tap nervously on the gear shift, and the hunter's somber reflection on the rearview mirror. They make eye contact occasionally, for a brief second at a time, before Aki either pointedly looks away or starts coughing, albeit more lightly than back at the restaurant. He keeps chewing on his bottom lip, too, and Denji swears his nose and cheeks dust pink sometimes. A fever? Maybe. Maybe not. Who the hell knows; Aki never tells them shit.
"The hell is up with you?" Denji eventually asks, curiosity seizing hold of his vocal chords and making him speak without his own permission. He stands by his question anyway; damn moody bastard, making Denji feel uneasy out of nowhere. Fuck him.
"It's just a cold."
Aki stops making eye contact with Denji.
He doesn't take his gaze off the road even when they're stopped at a red light, and keeps tapping against the steering wheel like a penguin with anxiety, his expression strained.
Huh.
Denji juts out his lower lip and scowls at the window. He hasn't had a cold in a while, but he doesn't remember looking so disheartened, so upset, when he did.
Well, Aki doesn't wanna say how bad he's really feeling and it's not Denji's problem.
Yeah. Not his problem at all.
…
Fuck it.
"We should stop by a drug store then, right?" the blonde suggests. A bait. Denji's smart enough to drop baits. Aki's smart enough not to fall for them, but it won't stop Denji from trying.
"Wait, we're buying drugs?!" Power squeaks, before Denji silences her with a flick to the forehead; she rubs it with a whimper.
"Dumbass! We're buying medicine," the blonde corrects, "For Aki's cold. Right?"
He throws the hunter an inquisitive glance, which is briefly reciprocated with zero emotion before Aki's darkened eyes return to the road and the car starts once more. "Yeah. That would be a good idea," he responds quietly.
Aki doesn't stop by the pharmacy. Denji doesn't remind him.
The blonde watches him walk down the hallway to the apartment with his wide shoulders square, long legs working extra because apparently the guy just cannot wait to be home; he's in a mad rush, maybe he's gotta pee or something. Either way, Denji has to jog to even try and keep up with him, and Power gives up entirely, calling them a bunch of speedy jerks. The blonde doesn't wait for her out of curiosity.
And suspicion.
Denji's turning the last corridor when he sees Aki fishing for his keys inside his pockets, something dark and tiny falling to the ground when he retrieves them. The hunter quickly shoves the right key into the hole and enters their home before the blonde has even reached him.
"Just how long are your damn legs, asshole?!" Denji mumbles under his breath, slowing down to stop by the entrance. From inside the apartment, the sound of a door clicking indicates that Aki has probably closed himself in his room; Denji hears him coughing shortly after. Huffing, the blonde crouches down to examine Aki's lost item; he picks up the velvety black thing and raises it to eye level to better take a look.
…a flower petal?
"Whatcha lookin' at?" Power asks as she's approaching. Denji spares her a quick glance before standing up, the petal cradled in his palm. He's never seen a flower so dark. It's… cool, he guesses, but why would Aki keep something like this on his person? It's kinda odd, honestly, but Aki does do the weirdest shit sometimes, like getting pissy when the margarine is on a different spot than where he left it, or eating all the carrots in the curry before the rest, or not tying up his hair, ever, until he's had his coffee. He's the least abnormal out of the three of them, but he's still kinda cray-cray. Maybe this is just another one of his weird quirks? Yeah. Maybe.
"Mm… I dunno, Power. It's probably nothing."
Denji keeps it anyway.