Work Text:
Morning sunlight leaked pale and cold through the blinds, cutting across the neat order of Aki’s apartment. He stood on the balcony, a cigarette between his fingers, watching the smoke curl upward like he could read something in it. The city was already loud —brakes screeching, someone’s music muffled some floors bellow— but he stayed still, the soft hiss of the cigarette the only sound that belonged to him.
He didn’t like mornings. He didn’t hate them either. They just existed, like something to be endured like most things in his life.
By the time the cigarette burned low, his coffee had cooled. He went back inside, buttoned his shirt with the same mechanical precision he applied to most things, tied his hair back into its usual high ponytail, and slipped into his suit jacket. The mirror reflected a face that looked ready for work but not much else.
He ate a simple breakfast; toast, eggs, black coffee. The kind that could be finished in under ten minutes. Then he grabbed his keys. The old car in the lot below wasn’t glamorous, but it got him to the office faster than relying on the bus or the train. He’d bought it secondhand a few years ago, and despite the occasional sputter, it was reliable, something he could control.
The office greeted him with the faint hum of computers, faxes, clacking keyboards, and the distant ring of a phone. The creative agency always felt too bright, too busy, a place where people like Power could thrive on noise and chaos. Aki, on the other hand, preferred silence, but silence was a rare luxury here.
He dropped his bag by his desk, powered on his monitor, and dove into the day’s routine: revising texts, proofreading, and tightening phrases that tried too hard to sound clever. Around him, the team buzzed, Makima’s office door opening and closing, Himeno’s laughter somewhere across the room, Power arguing about fonts again.
By noon, his eyes burned from the screen. He was halfway through typing a tagline when his phone buzzed.
Makima.
Aki froze for a fraction of a second before answering. Her calm voice on the other end was as composed as always, and yet it made his chest tighten. She had that unnerving way of speaking, like she already knew what the other person would say next, like she was humoring them. She was always serious and intimidating yet there was always a hint of irony in her voice.
“Aki,” she said. “Can you review the campaign draft before our meeting this afternoon? I’d like your feedback on the client adjustments.”
“I understand, okay.” he replied, automatically.
“Good.”
The line went dead.
He stared at his screen for a moment, the cursor blinking like it was mocking him. Appetite gone, he left his half-packed lunch on the desk and stepped out onto the company balcony.
Himeno was already there, leaning on the railing with her tie loosened, smoking.
“Didn’t think you’d come out here,” she said, grinning as he joined her. “Makima’s call again?”
“Yeah,” Aki muttered, lighting another cigarette. “She wants notes on the client edits.”
“Yikes. She really doesn’t give you a break.”
“That’s her job.”
“And yours is to survive it,” she said, flicking ash off the edge. “Anyway, heard we might have to stay late this week. The Halloween campaign’s coming up.”
He exhaled smoke into the wind. “I guess so.”
They stood in silence for a while —a comfortable one— before Himeno stubbed out her cigarette and patted his arm.
“Don’t overwork yourself, okay? I know you will, but still.”
Aki gave her a faint smile. “You too.”
When he returned to his desk, there was a stack of printed pages waiting for him— his copy draft, now filled with bright red marker notes and design annotations. He didn’t need to check the name at the top corner to know whose handwriting it was.
Angel’s.
The designer’s notes were precise, quiet in tone but sharp in insight. Even his smallest adjustments somehow made the layout flow better, the rhythm smoother. Aki sighed, running his fingers along the margin where Angel had written, “Too heavy, simplify this line.”
Across the room, the man himself sat at his workstation, headphones on, face blank and eyes half-lidded with focus. Angel barely spoke unless he had to, always giving off the air of someone perpetually half-asleep and yet always—annoyingly—right.
Aki stared a second too long before turning back to his monitor.
“...Simplify this line,” he murmured, and crossed out the sentence.
The cursor blinked again. The day moved on.
𓆩🗡𓆪
The week dragged on in a blur of sameness.
Work. Home. Sleep. Repeat.
Aki’s days had collapsed into a rhythm so dull it almost comforted him. The only thoughts that crossed his mind during his drive home were what to make for dinner, how many cigarettes he had left, and when he’d next get five minutes of quiet.
But as Halloween weekend crept closer, the agency’s mood shifted. The hum of the office grew sharper, restless. Deadlines piled higher, Makima’s calm but commanding voice became a constant presence in the background, and the once light-hearted chatter had turned into tight, exhausted sighs.
Aki’s inbox filled with last-minute revisions; his screen blurred before his eyes. He rubbed his temples, trying to focus on the line of text that wouldn’t stop swimming. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but the words refused to come together.
Somewhere nearby, a loud clatter startled him, a sound of metal or paper trays falling, followed by muffled complaints. It snapped him halfway awake, but the haze behind his eyes stayed heavy. He exhaled and stood, pushing his chair back.
Maybe splashing some water on his face would help.
The restroom was quiet. Aki pushed the door open, only to freeze mid-step.
Angel was there.
The smaller man stood by the sink, his expression as blank and unbothered as always, except he wasn’t wearing pants. Just a white dress shirt hanging loosely off his shoulders, one sleeve was rolled higher than the other, his tie missing, and the mark of blue-black ink staining his hands. His pants were in the sink, soaked and dripping, while he held his jacket awkwardly under one arm.
Aki’s breath caught for a second. He looked away immediately, down, which turned out to be worse. The half-buttoned shirt, the contrast of pale skin against white underwear, dark socks, and the odd detail that one was black while the other, somehow, had faded to gray. Details his mind didn’t need but registered anyway.
For a second, Aki’s brain simply failed to process what he was seeing.
“Oh— I… sorry, I didn’t know anyone was—”
His voice stumbled over itself, his face heating before he could look away.
Angel blinked, tilting his head a little, like the situation didn’t particularly bother him. “It’s fine. The printer jammed again. When I tried to fix it, the ink cartridge burst.”
He lifted his hand slightly, showing the dark stains across his palm, then gestured toward the sink.
“The pants got stained as well, so I’m trying to clean them.”
Aki nodded stiffly, trying very hard to focus on the mirror instead of the reflection next to him. Angel’s legs were pale, all long lines, hairless and soft.—not the kind of thing anyone should notice about a coworker, and yet—
“Do you… have a handkerchief?”
Aki blinked. “Ah— yeah. One second.”
He reached into his jacket pocket, grateful to have something to do, and offered it without meeting Angel’s eyes.
Angel took it with a small nod, dabbing at his fingers.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Aki muttered, turning slightly away. The mirror wasn’t much help. Angel’s reflection was still there, framed by the white tiles and harsh lighting, his shirt hanging open just enough to expose the sharp angle of his collarbone.
The silence stretched too long. Aki’s heart thudded uncomfortably in his ears.
“I’ll… get going. Sorry for interrupting.”
He left before Angel could answer, the fluorescent light flickering behind him.
Back at his desk, the buzz of the office felt distant. He rubbed the back of his neck.He told himself it didn’t mean anything. Just another strange moment in a long, exhausting week.
Aki didn’t see Angel for the rest of the afternoon.
He told himself it made sense, after what happened, Angel had probably asked for an early leave to deal with the ruined clothes. Logical. Normal. Nothing worth thinking about.
He tried to focus on the half-finished draft glowing on his screen, but his mind refused to settle. Every time he blinked, he saw flashes of white fabric and gray light on tile. It was ridiculous. He shook his head, forcing himself to type another line.
The office was fading into that end-of-day quiet when Denji appeared beside his desk, balancing a half-empty energy drink and a stack of reports that looked way too big for an intern.
“Man, Kobeni’s losing it,” Denji said, dropping into the chair across from him. “I swear, she almost cried because the client changed the slogan again. Said something about ‘last-minute synergy revisions’ or whatever that means.” Denji said, imitating the girls tremblous voice.
Aki sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It means we’ll probably be here late again.”
“Ugh. Figures.” Denji leaned back, spinning halfway in the chair. “I heard Makima talking about the Christmas pitches too. Like, Halloween isn’t even done yet, and she’s already planning snowflakes and family campaigns.”
“Don’t remind me,” Aki muttered.
Denji laughed, but it sounded tired, the kind of laugh that came from too much energy drinks and too little sleep. “You look beat, man. You heading straight home after this?”
“Yeah. Just want to finish these drafts.”
“Right. Guess I’ll grab dinner before everything closes.” Denji pushed himself up, waving a lazy goodbye before vanishing into the hallway.
When the office finally emptied, Aki sat for a while in the quiet hum of the monitors, eyes heavy. His desk was a mess of scribbled notes, highlighters, and unfinished revisions. The thought of going through all of it made his chest tighten.
He told himself he only needed to hold out a few more days, finish the campaign, deliver the copy, and get a weekend without emails or meetings or Makima’s voice cutting through his thoughts.
He didn’t even want to think about the holiday season waiting on the other side of it.
The next morning felt like every other, gray light spilling through Aki’s window, a lukewarm shower, coffee that barely did its job. By the time he reached the office, the familiar hum of keyboards and printers had already filled the air.
He dropped his bag beside his desk and stopped.
There, sitting neatly in the middle of his workspace, was his handkerchief, folded with almost unnatural precision. On top of it, a small note written in clean, even handwriting:
You forgot to send a pending file.
Aki stared at it for a moment, his brows knitting. He turned the paper between his fingers, then let his gaze wander across the rows of desks.
Angel was there, as usual.
Head slightly tilted, earphones in, the glow of the monitor reflecting in his auburn hair. His movements were slow, deliberate, more like he was sculpting something than simply working. Angel’s pace was strange, but his output was flawless. The first campaign they had done together had been a success beyond expectation, the kind that earned Makima’s praise, and that was saying something.
Maybe that’s why she tolerated him, besides his odd way of working.
Aki turned to his screen and opened his email, he was sure he did’t have anything pending. A new message from Angel sat unread.
No pending file :p Thanks for yesterday. Your copy works well — no edits needed.
He blinked, and before he realized it, the faintest curve had formed at the corner of his mouth. He caught his reflection in the monitor and quickly straightened his expression, shutting the feeling down before it could settle.
Just another message. Nothing special.
𓆩🗡𓆪
“Oi, Aki!”
He looked up to see Power standing by his desk, grinning wide enough to show fangs.She was holding her folder like it was a trophy.
“There’s gonna be a drinking party tonight! Makima said so herself. Don’t you dare skip!”
Aki frowned. “...What?”
“A gathering, obviously! After work. She said everyone should come. Said you, especially, shouldn’t miss it.”
Of course she did.
Aki sighed under his breath. The last thing he wanted was another evening trapped in forced small talk and cheap alcohol, watching Himeno drink herself into a corner while Denji tried to challenge everyone to eating contests. But it wasn’t like he could say no— not if Makima was going.
“Fine,” he muttered, earning a victorious laugh from Power before she ran off to bother someone else.
𓆩🗡𓆪
By the time evening rolled around, the group had crowded into a nearby restaurant, one of those with low wooden tables, too-bright paper lanterns, and the smell of fried food hanging in the air. Coats piled on chairs, voices overlapped, and plates of snack foods were passed around without coordination.
Aki sat near the end of the table, close enough to the wall to smoke later without having to cross the entire place. Denji was already halfway through his second beer, loudly insisting he could handle another. Kobeni clutched her glass of orange juice like it might save her from drowning. Himeno, laughing, leaned against Power as she tried to pour everyone a drink at once.
Makima, seated near the center, raised her glass slightly. “I’m glad to see everyone here,” she said, her voice smooth enough to cut through the noise. “You’ve all done well with the campaign. I know the deadlines were tight, but the results are promising.”
A few cheers went up, mostly from Denji and Power.
She smiled, a calm, unreadable smile. “Still, I expect even better for the next ones. Let’s make sure the clients see our best work.”
The cheer turned into a nervous laugh. Aki just nodded, his fingers wrapped around his beer but not drinking.
“Alright!” Power announced suddenly, slamming her glass down. “Then, as a reward for our hard work, we should do something fun! It’s almost Halloween, we should celebrate! Like, with costumes and stuff!”
Himeno laughed, already tipsy. “That’s actually not a bad idea. We’ve been working ourselves to death; we deserve one night off.”
Kobeni fidgeted. “I’ve… I’ve never dressed up before,” she admitted softly.
“That’s even better!” Denji grinned. “You can be something scary. Or cute. Or both.”
Power clapped her hands.
“You should dress as a police man, as you’re always so righteous, Hirokazu.” The man who barely spoke through the night just ignored the comment and drank his beer. “And you, Angel! You should totally dress as an Angel! Come on, it’s destiny!”
Angel, sitting a little apart from the noise, looked up from his beer. The glass looked too big in his hands. He blinked once, unbothered. “That’s… predictable.”
“Predictable but fitting!” Himeno chimed in. “We have to see you with a halo and wings. It’d be perfect.”
Angel only shrugged, his expression unreadable as he took another sip from his glass.
“See? He’s not even denying it,” Power said, pointing. “He’s totally doing it.”
The laughter spread around the table, easy, drunken, a little too loud.
“Alright, alright,” Himeno said between laughs. “Then what about Aki?”
That pulled him right into the spotlight.
“Huh?”
“Yeah,” Denji grinned. “What are you gonna be, man? Don’t tell me you’re skipping Halloween too. I’ll be Leatherface from that American movie”
“Yeah, Aki!” Power added. “You’d look great as a vampire. Or a butler. Or a boring office man who forgot how to have fun.”
That earned a round of laughter. Even Angel looked up, faint amusement ghosting across his face. And Makima —quiet, composed— watched with that same calm curiosity that always made Aki’s skin prickle.
Too many eyes on him.
“I’ll… think about it,” he said, standing as he reached for his cigarettes. “Going for some air.”
He slipped out before anyone could stop him.
The night air outside the restaurant was cooler than expected. Aki exhaled, watching the thin stream of smoke dissolve into the dark. The chatter from inside, Power’s shrill laugh, Himeno’s teasing, Denji’s clumsy excitement, bled faintly through the glass door, but out here, it was at least bearable. One cigarette wasn’t enough to untangle the fatigue clinging to him. His shoulders still felt heavy, his eyes dry, his mind too full of useless details from work—deadlines, drafts, corrections, Makima’s voice echoing at the back of his thoughts.
He had almost finished his cigarette when the door slid open behind him. Soft footsteps. He turned his head slightly. Angel stood there, framed by the dim light spilling from the restaurant entrance.
“...You also got tired?” Aki asked, his voice low, smoke curling from his lips.
Angel shrugged, his usual blank expression intact. “Too loud,” he said simply, stepping closer until he stood beside him. His eyes, tinted by the faint orange glow of the streetlights, looked almost translucent. “You?”
“Needed a break,” Aki replied. “A cigarette helps.”
Angel hummed lightly, almost noncommittal, gaze drifting toward the street. He was still wearing his office shirt, sleeves rolled up loosely.
“So,” Aki said, breaking the silence, “are you really going to wear that… halo thing Power mentioned?”
Angel’s eyes flicked to him. “If she brings it, maybe,” he said with a small shrug. “She said she still has some parts of her costume from last year.”
Aki exhaled again, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That sounds like her.”
Angel tilted his head slightly, studying him. “You don’t like these things, do you?”
“Not really,” Aki admitted, dropping his cigarette and grinding it against the pavement. “I just... prefer going home. It’s been a long week.”
“Yeah. I don’t like them either,” Angel said quietly. “Too many people. Too many sounds.”
There was something almost soothing in the way he said it, flat but honest. They stood in silence for a while, the only sound the faint hum of traffic and muffled laughter from inside.
Aki glanced sideways, his eyes tracing the soft lines of Angel’s profile. His hair glinted faintly under the light, framing his face in a way that made his features seem even smaller, more delicate than usual.
“Do you smoke?” Aki asked.
Angel shook his head. “No. I just came out because the noise was giving me a headache.”
Before Aki could reply, the door burst open again. “There you are!” Himeno’s voice slurred as she stepped out, a half-empty glass still in her hand. Her smile was wide and flushed, her steps slightly unsteady. She caught Aki by the shoulder, leaning against him with too much familiarity.
“Akiii,” she drawled, “don’t be such a buzzkill. Power says everyone’s dressing up for Halloween, and you—you have to, too.”
Aki sighed, trying to steady herself with one hand. “Himeno, you’re drunk.”
“Maybe,” she said with a grin. “But it’s true! Come on, loosen up a little! You can’t be the serious guy forever.”
Angel gave a small, amused sound—barely a laugh, more like an exhale—and Aki felt his ears grow warm.
“I’ll think about it,” he muttered, knowing it was the easiest way to end the topic.
“Good!” Himeno said, triumphant, before stumbling back toward the door. “I’ll hold you to it!”
Aki watched her go, then rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaling tiredly.
Angel was still watching him, a faint, unreadable curve at the corner of his mouth. “You’ll think about it, huh?”
Aki looked back at him, and despite himself, he almost smiled. “Yeah. Don’t expect much.”
Angel nodded once. “Didn’t.”
The quiet stretched again, gentle this time. When Aki lit another cigarette, he offered one out of habit. Angel shook his head, and Aki just nodded, watching the smoke curl into the night.
𓆩🗡𓆪
The night dragged on longer than Aki would’ve liked. By the time the laughter began to thin and the plates were half-forgotten, his patience had already worn down to a thread. The bill came and went, the group spilling out into the cold street with flushed cheeks and loud goodbyes.
By the time he returned to the main street, it was nearly midnight. Only a few taxis passed by, their headlights cutting through the dark. He saw Angel standing a few paces ahead, at the corner under a dim streetlight, hos work bag in hand.
“You heading home?” Aki asked, more out of courtesy than anything.
Angel looked up. “Yeah,” he said simply. “I live kind of far, though. Other side of the city.”
Aki hesitated. “You want me to—”
Angel shook his head before he could finish. “It’s fine. I think I can make it to the last train. You’re going the other way, right?”
Aki nodded. “Yeah.”
“Then don’t worry about it,” Angel said, his tone calm, almost detached. “Goodnight, Aki.”
“Night,” Aki replied, though Angel had already turned away, his figure growing smaller as he walked toward the station.
As usual, it was Aki who ended up herding the drunk ones. Himeno leaned against him, still giggling at something Power said. Power herself was hardly any better, loud, unsteady, making a show out of refusing to admit she was drunk. Denji stumbled after them, insisting he wasn’t drunk either, just “relaxed.”
“Relaxed, my ass,” Aki muttered, steadying Himeno when she tripped on the curb.
They lived in the same general direction, so he drove each one home, watching until they vanished safely inside their buildings. It was routine by now, tedious, familiar, something that at first felt more like an obligation than kindness, but now it was customary. The kind of thing no one asked him to do, but everyone expected him to.
Aki lingered a moment longer, lighting one last cigarette before heading home.
The drive back was quiet, the kind of silence that made his thoughts louder. The image of the office flashed in his mind, the piles of papers waiting, the blinking cursor on unfinished drafts, Makima’s measured tone telling them they could “do even better.” The campaign would end soon. Less than a week, he reminded himself. Just hold out a little longer.
And then there was the damn Halloween thing. Power’s voice still echoed faintly in his ears, her insistence that everyone had to dress up. He didn’t even like parties, let alone costume ones. If he didn’t volunteer something, they’d probably decide for him. God knows what kind of ridiculous thing they’d come up with.
By the time he reached his apartment, his shoulders felt stiff and heavy. He dropped his keys on the counter, took a long shower that did little to ease the exhaustion, and finally fell onto his bed.
The ceiling was dark, but his mind kept spinning through the day; the meeting, the noise, Himeno’s laughter, Angel’s faint voice outside the restaurant, soft, tired, like an echo.
He sighed and turned on his side. Maybe, he thought, just a few more days. Then he could finally rest for real.
His last thought before drifting off was of work again, emails, designs, corrections, and somewhere between that jumble, the faint flash of white fabric under dim light, a small figure in a half-open shirt, and the subtle, lingering scent of soap.
Then, sleep took him.
𓆩🗡𓆪
The world was soft-edged, hazy with a light that wasn't quite light. He lay on his back, not in his bed but somewhere vast and shadowed, the air thick with the scent of ink and smoke, with maybe something sweeter, like crushed petals underfoot. His body felt heavy, pinned not by weight but by expectation, his breath shallow in his chest.
Then, Angel was there.
Not the Angel from the restroom, with ink-stained hands and mismatched socks. This one hovered above him, close enough that Aki could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, a heat that cut through the dream's chill. Wings arched behind him, vast, feathered things, white as fresh paper but edged in shadow, folding slightly as if to cradle the space between them. A halo flickered above his head, not steady gold but a pale, pulsing ring. It cast his face in soft relief, making his eyes shine brighter, and eyelashes looking longer and more detailed.
He was dressed —or barely— in white lace. A top of delicate filigree clung to his torso, transparent enough to trace the faint shadows beneath: the subtle rise of ribs, the flat plane of his stomach, pink nipples just visible as darker points through the weave. It dipped low at the neckline, lace ruffles framing his collarbones like fragile wings of their own.
Below, panties matched, high-cut and sheer, hugging the narrow flare of his hips, the fabric so fine it might as well have been spun from mist. Stockings sheathed his legs, thigh-high and edged with more lace, garters invisible but implied in the way they held taut against pale skin. Hands gloved in the same translucent material, fingers long and elegant as they flexed idly in the air.
Angel's gaze met his. Those half-lidded eyes were impassive as ever, a blank slate of boredom, focus, or whatever mask he wore at the office. But here, in the distorted dream, his eyes, usually dull and resigned, seemed clearer: distant and strange, as if he were seeing Aki from somewhere far beyond human comprehension. He pulled Aki in without mercy. There was no warmth or curiosity, just an endless, quiet hunger that made Aki's pulse stutter.
"You're staring," Angel said, voice low and even, the words curling like smoke. No inflection, but they landed heavy, vibrating through Aki's chest, as if exposing his true, deepest intentions.
Aki couldn't speak. Couldn't move. Angel shifted then, settling astride him, small, slender weight pressing down, knees bracketing his hips, the lace of those panties brushing fabric against fabric in a friction that sent heat spiking through Aki's veins.
Up close, the transparency was cruel; the way the laced panty gaped slightly with the movement, offering glimpses of skin flushed faint pink, the gloves sliding smooth as he reached down. Cool fingers cupped Aki's jaw, tilting his face up, thumb tracing the edge of his lower lip.
Angel leaned in. Slowly. Inevitably. His breath ghosted warm over Aki's mouth, lips parting just enough to promise a kiss that never landed.
Aki jolted awake.
The room was still dark, the barest thread of dawn seeping through the blinds. Cold air clung to the apartment, raising gooseflesh on his arms, but sweat beaded at his temples, trickled down his spine. His chest heaved, breaths coming ragged and uneven, as if he'd run a mile in his sleep. Below, his body betrayed him fully. An erection straining against his underwear, painful, throbbing with the dream's sensations.
"Fuck," Aki muttered, voice hoarse, barely a whisper in the quiet. He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, willing his heart to slow.
Just exhaustion. That's all it was. The week grinding him down, that stupid glimpse in the restroom, pale legs, open shirt, details he had no business remembering. And the chatter earlier, Himeno teasing about costumes, someone mentioning Angel's idea for the Halloween shoot, something to match Angel’s name, "to play up the sexy angel vibe." Yeah. That had to be it. Nothing more.
He shifted, trying to ignore the ache, the way his body refused to settle. Thinking about a coworker like this, it crossed a line, sharp and unforgiving. Angel was just... Angel. Quiet, precise, the guy who drew designs, fixed layouts with a single note and vanished into his headphones. Not this. Not heat and want twisting in Aki's gut like a bad habit.
But the image lingered. That small, slender body settling over him, weight light but unyielding, lace whispering against skin. The impassive stare cracking just enough to pull him under. Aki's hand moved before he could stop it, slipping beneath the waistband of his pajama pants, into the damp heat of his underwear. His fingers closed around himself—rough, urgent—and it took only a couple of strokes, tight and desperate, before release hit him, ridiculously, shamefully quick, spilling hot over his palm.
"Shit," he breathed again, slumping back against the pillows. The evidence cooled sticky on his skin, a mess he couldn't ignore. Sleep was totally gone now, chased off by the pulse still thrumming in his ears, the faint gray light creeping stronger at the window. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, the city's distant hum filtering in.
Another day waited, coffee, suit, the office's relentless churn.
But for now, in the half-dark, he let the quiet guilt swallow him whole.
𓆩🗡𓆪
Aki had forgotten to pack lunch.
He’d barely slept after that stupid dream, and the morning had draggedslowly, too slowly, each task heavier than it should’ve been. He buried himself in checking Power’s drafts, correcting the chaos she called “copy,” and answering Denji’s endless questions about campaign schedules. Anything to stay distracted and to avoid direct contact with Angel.
By the time he looked at the clock, lunch hour had already slipped fifteen minutes past. His head throbbed from the lack of sleep. With a sigh, he grabbed his coat and stepped outside.
The air had a bite to it now, autumn had settled in for good. He stopped by the convenience store across the street, picking up two pork sandwiches and a canned peach tea. The automatic doors hissed behind him as he left, the warmth replaced by crisp wind.
When he reached the building again, he saw him.
Angel was sitting on one of the benches near the entrance, small against the backdrop of gray concrete, eating an ice cream. Of all things. An ice cream, in the cold.
Aki hesitated. He could just walk past him, pretend he hadn’t noticed. But Angel’s gaze lifted at that exact moment, calm, unreadable, catching his. It would’ve been too obvious to ignore him now.
So he walked over and sat beside him. The bench was cold under his hands. He set the tea beside him, the sandwiches on his lap, and pulled out a cigarette.
“Ice cream for lunch?” he asked.
Angel shrugged, his expression unchanged.
“That’s… a lot of sugar.”
Angel paused, looking at the cigarette instead. “That’s not exactly healthy either.”
Aki let out a small huff that might’ve been a laugh. “Guess not.”
“I get low blood sugar,” Angel added after a moment, as if it needed clarification. “It helps.”
“Hm.” That, Aki supposed, made sense. Maybe it explained the constant air of fatigue, the half-lidded eyes that made him seem perpetually one breath away from sleep.
The ice cream was already melting, dripping over Angel’s fingers. Aki tried not to look, but it was impossible not to notice. The slow movement of his hand, the soft swipe of his thumb over the melting edge, how carelessly he brought it back to his lips, tongue licking. Something about the image tangled unpleasantly with the memory of the dream.
Then Angel spoke.
“You’re staring.”
The same words. Exactly the same tone as in the dream.
Aki’s throat tightened; he coughed, the smoke catching awkwardly in his lungs. “It’s—uh—you’re making a mess.” He reached into his sandwich bag and pulled out a napkin, holding it out without meeting Angel’s eyes. “Here. Before you end up with your clothes stained again.”
“Thanks.” Angel took it, his fingers brushing briefly against Aki’s.
Aki crushed the rest of his cigarette under his heel and opened one of the sandwiches. The other he held out wordlessly.
“Here. You should eat real food once in a while.”
Angel blinked, as if surprised by the offer. Then, with a small nod, he accepted it. “Thanks,” he said again, softer this time, before taking a small bite.
They ate in silence, the wind tugging at Aki’s sleeves. The world felt strangely quiet for once, just the sound of traffic, distant voices, and the soft rustle of wrappers.
Aki tried not to think about the dream. About how real it had felt.
He told himself it was nothing, just exhaustion, stress, too much caffeine and too little sleep.
Still, when Angel looked at him again, eyes half-hidden behind the fringe of his hair, Aki felt something twist low in his chest.
He looked away first.
𓆩🗡𓆪
The week went by faster than Aki would’ve liked, though not in any pleasant way. The days blurred together in a haze of endless corrections, client revisions, and half-finished coffee. They were juggling three Halloween campaigns at once, and the exhaustion showed on everyone’s faces.
Aki was in charge of training Denji in copywriting, a task that tested his patience more than anyone could, and supervising Power’s work, who, despite being talented, had a unique gift for turning every file into chaos. Angel kept leaving him small notes every morning, and although Aki had grown used to the neat handwriting, he couldn’t shake off a strange unease each time he found one on his desk. Makima, of course, oversaw everything from her office with her usual precision; nothing escaped her eyes, making him tense.
At least the exhaustion had one advantage: he hadn’t had another dream about Angel. The moment his head hit the pillow, everything went black. Good, he’d thought more than once. That vision of Angel with shining white wings and gloved hands, dressed in something straight out of a lingerie catalogue, was still too vivid. Too inappropriate.
By Friday —and, coincidentally, Halloween— Aki could barely stand. He hadn’t prepared a costume, nor had any intention of doing so. With luck, the girls would have forgotten about it. He turned in all his work on time and sank into the office couch with a quiet sigh. His head throbbed slightly; probably from lack of sleep, or maybe because he hadn’t managed a single cigarette break all day.
“Twenty more minutes,” he muttered to himself. “Then I’m out of here.”
No such luck.
Himeno appeared behind him, far too cheerful for the hour.
“Ah, Aki!” she chirped. Before he could react, something covered his face. “There! Now you won’t stand out so much. I knew you wouldn’t bring anything.”
For a moment, Aki saw nothing but darkness. When he finally pulled it off, he found himself staring at a wolf mask —shaggy, ridiculous, and cheap.
“What the hell is this?” he asked flatly.
“Your costume,” Himeno said, patting his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you thought you could skip the Halloween party.”
He was about to argue when the door to Makima’s office opened. The sound alone was enough to straighten everyone’s backs. She stepped out, composed as always, her voice smooth but cutting through the room.
“Good work this week,” she said. “I’ve reviewed the results, and I’m satisfied. Tonight, you’ll all attend the company’s Halloween party. Consider it a reward, and an opportunity to relax before the next campaign.”
Aki’s stomach sank. Of course.
Makima’s gaze swept across the group and paused on him for a brief, deliberate moment.
“I trust everyone will be there,” she added before turning back into her office.
Denji let out a relieved sigh, Power yelled something about winning the costume contest, and Himeno grinned at Aki like she’d just scored a personal victory.
Aki pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly.
“I guess,” he muttered.
He looked down at the mask still resting in his hands, stared at it for a few seconds, then sighed again.
“There’s no getting out of it.”
By the time the day finally ended, Aki already felt the weight of the week pressing down on his shoulders. He arrived at the club a little after eight, just early enough to avoid being the last one in but not so early that anyone would notice his reluctance.
The place was crowded, a blur of flashing lights, cheap masks, loud laughter, and music that thumped through the floor. The smell of alcohol and artificial fog clung to everything. It was the kind of noise that pressed against his skull and made him want to step back outside.
He found a seat near the long table reserved for their department. For once, he wasn’t late; the others were still arriving in waves. Makima was already there, sitting with her usual composure. She wore her normal suit, only this time with plastic fangs and a single streak of fake blood trailing from the corner of her lips. Somehow, even that small touch made her presence more unsettling.
Across from her, Kobeni had a Ghostface mask tilted up on her head and a fake knife painted with red streaks. Hirokazu, quiet as always, was beside Kobeni, keeping a polite distance but still visibly tense under Makima’s gaze. He was poorly wrapped in loose white bandages, probably a halfhearted attempt at a mummy. Even off-duty, Makima had a way of making people feel watched.
Aki kept his wolf mask on, mostly to hide the fatigue on his face. It was warm under it, the fabric rubbing against his jaw every time he exhaled. He sat still, watching the amber liquid swirl in his untouched drink, and tried not to think too hard about how absurd all of this felt.
“Nice turnout tonight,” Makima said, her voice calm and measured. “You all deserve to relax after such a productive week. I hope to count on you for the next period,” She fixed her eyes for a moment on him.
Her words carried the same weight as an order. Aki nodded faintly, unsure if she even expected a response.
A sudden burst of noise at the entrance pulled his attention, Denji’s voice, unmistakably loud even over the music.
“Sorry we’re late!” Power shouted as she pushed through the crowd, dragging Denji and Himeno behind her.
Denji wore a bloodstained apron and a toy chainsaw strapped to his arm, the plastic teeth clattering with every movement. Power was dressed in bright red, with cheap devil horns and a trident she seemed far too proud of. Himeno, half laughing, half tipsy already, wore a loose black dress with a witch’s hat barely staying upright on her head.
And then there was Angel.
Aki froze for a second when he saw him. Angel hadn’t changed much —the same white shirt, the same office suit—but now he had a pair of large, feathered wings strapped to his back and a glowing yellow halo balanced above his head. The contrast between the corporate uniform and the costume accessories was almost ridiculous, yet somehow it worked. Maybe because, despite himself, Angel did look the part. There was something about the soft lines of his face, the way his hair caught the dim light, that made the cheap halo seem… fitting.
The wings, though, were enormous, taking up half the space behind the booth. Power nearly knocked one over while squeezing in beside Aki.
“We were fixing the costumes. Didn’t wanna come half done, y’know?” Power said, grinning wide.
Denji flopped into the seat opposite them, immediately reaching for a drink. Himeno laughed at something Kobeni said. The table came alive with chatter, the music loud enough that Aki could barely follow half the words.
He turned slightly to his left. Angel had just settled beside him, adjusting one of the feathers that kept brushing against his shoulder. Their eyes met briefly, just enough for Aki to notice the faint curve of curiosity on Angel’s lips as he glanced at Aki’s wolf mask.
“You actually wore it,” Angel said quietly, leaning a bit closer so his voice wouldn’t get lost in the noise.
“You too,” Aki pointed at Angel’s halo.
Angel shrugged while taking a glass of beer. “Didn’t have a choice,”
“I guess we’re doomed,” Aki replied, exhaling through his nose.
Angel hummed in acknowledgment, something like amusement flickering in his tone. “It suits you,” he added after a moment, before looking away to take a sip of his drink.
Aki wasn’t sure how to respond to that. His fingers itched for a cigarette he couldn’t light here.
The night carried on around them, Power’s laughter, Denji’s shouts, the clinking of glasses. And yet, even in the chaos, Aki found his focus drifting to the soft rustle of synthetic feathers brushing his arm every time Angel moved.
Somewhere between the third round of drinks and Power’s attempt to arm-wrestle Hirokazu, the table had dissolved into laughter and noise. Himeno’s camera rested on the table now —she’d finally taken every photo she wanted of them in their ridiculous costumes.
Aki had taken off his wolf mask; it was too hot, and the cheap plastic pressed marks into his skin. He rubbed his temple, half-listening to Power and Denji arguing over something, when Power suddenly slapped her hand on the table.
“Truth or dare!” she declared.
“Oh, not that again,” Aki muttered under his breath, but no one heard him over the cheer that followed.
Denji, already red-faced from the beer, pointed at Power. “Fine! I’ll go first. Dare me!”
Power grinned, eyes gleaming. “I dare you to drink that”—she pointed to a huge mug of beer—“in ten seconds. No breaks!”
“Easy,” Denji said, grabbing the mug. He tipped it back and started drinking, but by the time he reached halfway, his face was twisting, his throat convulsing as he tried not to spit it all out. Foam spilled over his chin.
“Come on! Faster!” Power yelled, pounding the table.
Denji slammed the mug down, coughing hard, eyes watering. “That’s—ugh—poison,” he croaked.
Everyone burst out laughing. Even Aki found himself hiding a small smirk behind his drink.
“Okay, okay,” Himeno said between laughs. “My turn to ask.” Her eyes wandered around the table until they landed on Angel. “Truth or dare?”
Angel blinked slowly, as if calculating which answer would end the conversation fastest. “Dare,” he said finally.
Himeno’s smile sharpened. “I dare you to kiss the person sitting next to you.”
There was a pause, a flicker of silence where the noise of the club seemed to dull. The laughter from the other tables felt distant. Aki’s fingers froze around his glass.
Angel looked at Himeno, then at Aki. His face was unreadable as always, eyes calm, almost indifferent. He reached for a napkin from the table, folded it once, and held it between his fingers.
Without a word, he leaned toward Aki.
The napkin brushed against Aki’s lips first, soft and absurdly cold from the condensation on Angel’s glass. Then came the faintest pressure of Angel’s lips through the thin paper, a gentle, fleeting contact. It was over in a second.
The table exploded in laughter. Power howled, Himeno slapped the table, Denji nearly choked again.
“Indirect kiss!” Power shouted, half hysterical. “That’s so lame!”
Aki didn’t laugh. His face felt too hot, like someone had poured boiling water under his skin. Through the paper, he could still feel the warmth that lingered, a ghost of contact that made it impossible to look at Angel.
Angel sat back down quietly, setting his drink down as if nothing had happened. Then, after a second, he glanced sideways and whispered, barely audible through the noise, “Sorry.”
Aki didn’t trust himself to respond. He just shook his head once, eyes fixed on his untouched glass, trying to will the flush on his cheeks to fade.
The music swelled again, filling the space between them, but that brief, ridiculous moment —the napkin, the touch, the laughter— stayed caught in Aki’s mind long after the others moved on to the next dare.
The rest of the night felt like a blur wrapped in noise.
After the ridiculous “kiss” incident, Aki couldn’t quite relax again. Every time Angel shifted beside him, his thigh brushed lightly against Aki’s, and the contact was small but constant, warm through the thin fabric of their clothes. Aki kept still, trying not to notice the heat radiating from the smaller body next to him, or how Angel’s hair caught the colored light from the dance floor whenever he turned his head.
Angel spoke only when spoken to, giving short, even answers. Occasionally, he lifted his glass and took a careful sip, the motion almost delicate compared to the clumsy chaos around them. Aki caught himself staring once, then forced his gaze back to the table. He wasn’t sure if it was the lack of smoking through the day or exhaustion; he wasn’t drinking as he had to drive but everything felt too close, too loud, and too bright.
“You holding up?” he asked finally, his voice low so only Angel would hear.
Angel turned his head, the faint glow from a nearby lamp outlining the curve of his jaw. “It’s… loud,” he admitted after a pause. “But tolerable.”
Aki nodded, grateful for the brief exchange, though it did nothing to settle the strange tightness in his chest.
𓆩🗡𓆪
By the time the music softened and the staff began clearing tables, it was past midnight. The laughter had thinned out into a drowsy hum. Makima was the first to stand, perfectly composed as always. She adjusted her coat, offered them all a faint smile, and left with a quiet, “Good work tonight. I expect you all to keep it up.”
Kobeni and Hirokazu discussed sharing a taxi, voices hushed but tense as Kobeni complained about the fare. Power and Denji were tangled in their own chaos near the door, half-laughing, half-stumbling as they tried to outshout each other.
Aki exhaled. The night air hit him cold and sharp as they stepped outside. He tugged his coat tighter, glancing around—and there was Angel, standing a few steps away, the ridiculous plastic halo tilted over his head, the paper wings dragging softly against the pavement. He looked smaller than usual under the streetlight.
“It’s late,” Aki said. “What are you gonna do?”
Angel looked up at him. “There’s no last train anymore. I’ll stay at a cyber café until morning.”
Aki frowned. “With those wings?”
Angel glanced over his shoulder at them, the faintest sigh leaving his lips. “They’re detachable.”
Still, Aki could see the way his shoulders sagged, exhaustion visible even in his calm face.
“I can give you a ride. I’m taking them too,” he said, nodding toward the mess that was Denji, Power, and Himeno, none of whom looked capable of standing straight.
Angel hesitated. “But… I live across the city, which is quite far.”
Aki’s mouth moved faster than his brain. Before he realized what he was saying, the words slipped out.
“You can stay at my place.”
Angel blinked, surprise flickering across his usually blank expression. It was almost comical how such a small change could make him look so human.
“I mean,” Aki corrected quickly, rubbing the back of his neck, “I mean. Until the first train, you don’t have to, but it’s better than a café.”
Angel nodded once. “Okay.”
Behind them, Denji stumbled over the curb, laughing. “Akiii are you giving Angel a ride too?”
Aki ignored him, fishing his car keys from his pocket. Power leaned against Denji, cackling. “Those wings are heaaavy! You actually pull off that costume, you know. Your face is really angelic, I’m envious hah!”
“Shut up,” Aki muttered, guiding them toward the car. Himeno was quiet, half-asleep, head resting on Power’s shoulder.
He opened the passenger door for Angel, who climbed in carefully, folding his wings against the seat as best he could. The feathers bent awkwardly, but he didn’t complain. Aki slid into the driver’s seat and took a breath, the smell of perfume, beer, and faint sweetness from Angel’s hair all mixing in the confined space.
From the rearview mirror, he could see Power and Denji already bickering again, their voices slurred and bright. Himeno was out cold.
He started the engine, the soft rumble filling the silence between them. Outside, the city lights blurred in gold and white as they pulled away from the club, the car slicing through the near-empty streets.
Angel sat quietly beside him, gaze fixed on the window, the reflection of his tilted halo glowing faintly against the dark glass.
And Aki—hands steady on the wheel, jaw tight—couldn’t help but think how unreal it looked, how strangely fitting.
They drove mostly in silence. The hum of the car and the occasional thud of tires against uneven asphalt filled the air between them.
Every now and then, he glanced sideways. Angel was looking out the window, wings folded close, eyes half-lidded. He seemed peaceful, though the faint tension in his jaw gave away the exhaustion.
Power and Denji were the first to go, she stumbled out of the car with Denji, still laughing at something incoherent, while Himeno waved lazily before following them up the dim stairs of her building.
That left only the two of them.
The air shifted once the door closed behind the others. The smell of cheap beer and perfume faded, leaving only the faint sweet scent that always seemed to follow Angel. Aki glanced at him again, at the way his hair caught the orange light of the streetlamps. Angel’s eyes met his briefly —unreadable— before turning back toward the window.
When they finally pulled into the parking lot, the night had gone still. No trains, no cars, just the hum of the engine and the soft clicking of Aki’s turn signal. He parked, shut the engine off, and the silence deepened.
“We’re here,” Aki said quietly, unclipping his seatbelt.
Angel did the same. For a moment, neither of them moved. The air felt heavy with something unsaid. Then Angel leaned slightly toward him. Aki froze, pulse tightening in his throat. Angel’s hand reached out, not to touch him, but to pluck a few small fake feathers from his jacket, remnants from the costume.
“Sorry,” Angel murmured, sitting back again. The faint curve of his mouth was almost an apology in itself. “For earlier. The… kiss. I know you’ve been avoiding me and also dislike grabbing attention, so I figured it must’ve been uncomfortable.”
His voice was calm, but Aki noticed the way his fingers played nervously with the feathers, rolling them, twisting them slightly.
“I…” Aki hesitated, staring at the dashboard light reflecting off the windshield. “I should apologize too.”
Angel turned toward him, quiet.
“I wasn’t avoiding you— not at first. It’s just…” Aki exhaled, feeling a burn of embarrassment crawl up his neck. “I had a dream about you. And it wasn’t… appropriate.”
The moment stretched thin. The kind of silence that made Aki want to take it back, to fill the air with something else, anything else.
He expected Angel to laugh it off, or leave the car, or at least look disgusted. But instead, he felt a hand — light, hesitant — on his leg.
Aki’s breath caught.
When he turned, Angel was closer than he’d realized, his halo dimmed almost to nothing, eyes steady but softer than usual.
“I see,” Angel said quietly, his tone unreadable but notof rejection. His thumb brushed the fabric of Aki’s pants absently, as if grounding himself. “You’re honest, at least.”
Aki couldn’t think of a response. His body felt too aware of the touch, just there, warm and deliberate.
“Don’t worry,” Angel added after a moment, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not the only one who dreams strange things.”
Angel shifted, his knee brushing the console, and looked over. Up close like this, in the confined glow, Aki could see the faint shadows under his eyes, the way his bangs fell unevenly across his forehead, soft and unkempt from hours hunched over screens. Those half-lidded eyes met his, impassive, as always, but holding something now, a quiet pull that made Aki's breath catch.
"You okay?" Angel asked, voice flat but not unkind, tilting his head just enough that a strand of hair slipped free.
Aki swallowed, his hand lifting before he could second-guess it, fingers reaching out, hesitant, to tuck that errant lock behind Angel's ear. The touch was light, barely there, but Angel didn't flinch; if anything, he leaned into it fractionally, his skin warm under Aki's knuckles.
"Yeah," Aki murmured, thumb lingering at the shell of his ear, tracing the soft curve. "Just... tired." A lie, half-formed. His gaze dropped to Angel's mouth, the faint part of his lips, and heat coiled low in his gut, uninvited but insistent.
Angel's expression didn't change —blank slate, unreadable— but his eyes darkened, pupils swallowing the edges, pulling Aki in like gravity, his hand still on Aki’s tight. No words, just that stare, steady and waiting.
Aki's hand slid to the nape of Angel's neck, fingers threading into the fine hair there, and he closed the distance slowly, deliberately, as if testing the air between them.
Their lips met, soft at first, a brush of warmth that sent a shiver racing down Aki's spine. Angel tasted faintly of something sweet, and the beer he had drunk earlier. It was bittersweet. The press of it was electric, tentative exploration giving way to something deeper.
A soft exhale escaped Angel, muffled against Aki's mouth, and that was all it took. The kiss heated, tongues meeting in a slow drag. Angel was soft, so soft and warm.
Aki's free hand found Angel's jaw, angling him closer, and Angel responded, with a quiet intensity, his fingers curling into the collar of Aki's shirt, tugging lightly.
"Aki," Angel breathed, the word a whisper lost in the seam of their lips, voice cracking just at the edge, less impassive now, threaded with something raw.
God, it had been too long since Aki had felt this starved. No, actually, had he ever felt like this before? It was like a match struck after weeks in the damp.
His skin prickled, every nerve alight, body turning traitorously warm under his shirt. He pulled Angel closer, arm banding around his waist, and Angel moved with him —fluid, unresisting— climbing over the console in a shift of limbs that pressed him fully into Aki's lap, the fake halo he was wearing fell off due to the sudden movement. Petite as he was, he fit in the small place, knees bracketing Aki's hips, thighs spreading wide on either side of the driver's seat, the weight of him settling firm and insistent.
Aki's hands roamed up Angel's back under his shirt, mapping the lean lines of muscle and bones, down to grip his hips through fabric, pulling him even closer.
They kissed like starving men, their mouths now hungry, their teeth grazing their lips and their breath mingling in sharp gasps. Angel's hands were everywhere, fisting Aki's hair to tilt his head back, sliding down his chest to cup the hard planes beneath the fabric, his fingers spreading out possessively.
Aki groaned low and brokenly into it, his own touch growing bolder: one hand slipped under Angel's hem to trace the dip of his spine, while the other kneaded the curve of his butt, urging a subtle rock of the hips.
Through the layers of clothes, he could feel it, himself growing hard, straining against his zipper, and the answering press from Angel, hot and evident, grinding down in a rhythm that stuttered their kisses into fragments.
Angel let out a soft gasp with each shift—high, needy sounds that vibrated against Aki's throat, his usual blankness fracturing into flushed cheeks and parted lips, eyes fluttering half-shut.
"More," he murmured once, barely audible, nipping at Aki's lower lip as their hips rolled together, friction building in teasing drags that bordered on desperate.
Dry humping in the front seat like teenagers, Aki thought distantly, shame flickering but drowned by the haze of want, Angel's slender frame arching into him, the lace of his imagined dream bleeding into the rougher edges of reality, fabric on fabric, heat blooming unchecked.
Then, click. The windscreen wipers stuttered once, the cabin lights flaring brightly, startling them. The sensor had probably been activated by their movements.
Aki froze, breath ragged, Angel's mouth still hovering an inch from his, swollen and red in the sudden glare.
"Shit," Aki rasped, heart hammering, one hand still fisted in Angel's shirt. The illusion shattered, reality's chill seeping back in, the empty lot, the unlocked doors, the faint whir of the wipers dying down. He swallowed hard, thumb brushing Angel's cheek in absent apology. "We... we should get going. Before someone sees."
Angel blinked slowly, his impassive mask slipping back into place, softening around the edges. His lips curved into the ghost of a knowing smile. He nodded and slid back onto the passenger seat.
As Aki locked the car, he felt a hand find his, small fingers lacing through his own. It was warm and sure. There were no words, just that quiet hold. The silence between them was thick with expectation. Hand in hand, they went up the stairs of the building to his apartment door.
The lock clicked open, the apartment swallowing them whole, and in that threshold moment, Aki knew the night wasn't over. Not by half.
The door clicked shut behind them, a soft finality that echoed in the dim entryway like the seal on a confession. Aki's keys jangled in his hand as he dropped them on the side table, the sound too loud in the quiet apartment, but it was nothing compared to the roar of blood in his ears.
Angel's fingers were still laced with his.
Thinking was a lost cause. The air between them hummed, laced with the faint scent of Angel's skin; a faint vanilla scent undercut by the sharp tang of ink from the day's work sketches.
Aki turned, intending to say something, anything practical, such as 'Would you like some water?' —but the words died on his throat. Angel was close. Too close. His back was pressed against the door, his jacket was half off one shoulder, and his half-lidded eyes were fixed on Aki's with that unreadable intensity. The ghost of their car-heated flush was still warming his cheeks.
There was no mask of office boredom here, just raw, quiet desire.
"Fuck it," Aki muttered, the curse low and ragged, as if voicing the surrender made it real. He closed the gap in one step, hands framing Angel's face, thumbs rough against smooth skin, and kissed him again. Not tentative like the first brush in the car, but hungry, devouring, lips crashing with the pent-up ache of weeks unspoken. Angel met him halfway, a soft noise escaping his throat —half-gasp, half-moan— that vibrated straight to Aki's core. Small hands fisted in Aki's shirt, yanking him flush, bodies aligning in a press of heat that made Aki's knees weaken.
The world tilted, a dizzying lurch of motion and want. Aki’s mouth was a brand on his, searing and possessive, and Angel yielded with a soft, broken sound that was nothing like his usual detached self. They stumbled away from the door, a tangled mess of limbs and frantic hands, guided only by the desperate need to get closer, to feel more.
Angel’s back met the edge of the living room table, a sharp jolt that rattled the objects on its surface. A faint clatter cut through the haze in Aki’s mind, but it was a distant concern, drowned out by the feel of Angel’s tongue against his and the frantic beat of his own heart. His hands slid from Angel’s face, down his back, gripping his hips to steady him, to pull him closer still. The movement was too forceful, too uncoordinated. The table leg screeched against the floor.
Something slid and fell with a soft, definitive tap.
Aki’s eyes fluttered open, breaking the kiss for a gasping breath. His gaze dropped to the floor. There, face-up on the dark wood, was a simple silver frame. Inside it, a faded photograph smiled back at the ceiling: a younger Aki, his hair shorter, his eyes less weary, flanked by two smiling figures he hadn’t allowed himself to truly see in years. His family.
The sight was a bucket of cold water and a branding iron all at once. A sharp, painful ache lanced through his chest, so potent it stole his breath. He was frozen, staring at the ghost of his past lying discarded at his feet while the burning present panted in his arms.
Angel followed his gaze. His frantic breathing hitched. He looked from the picture to Aki’s face, his own flushed and dazed.
“Aki…?” he whispered, his voice raspy with arousal and sudden uncertainty.
The sound of his name, spoken in that tone, shattered the momentary paralysis. The past was a ghost. This—Angel, warm and real and wanting in his arms—was the only thing that mattered now. The ache didn't vanish, but it was subsumed by a different, more urgent need. A need to feel alive, to be anchored in the present by the man in front of him.
“It’s nothing,” Aki murmured, the words rough but sure. He cupped Angel’s jaw, picking the frame to the table and turning his face away from the photograph, forcing those hazy eyes back to his. “Don’t stop.”
He sealed the command with another kiss, slower this time, a deliberate recapturing of the heat. He poured every ounce of his focus into it, into the softness of Angel’s lips, the tentative flick of his tongue, the way his slender body melted back against Aki’s. The past could wait. It had waited this long.
“Bedroom,” Aki breathed against his mouth, not a question but a statement.
Angel just nodded, his eyes dark and trusting.
Aki led him, their steps hurried and clumsy, down the short hallway and into the dim room. The door swung shut behind them with a softer click than the front door, a more intimate seal. Moonlight filtered through the blinds, painting the room in stripes of silver and shadow.
They fell onto the bed in a heap, Aki on top of Angel, caging him between his arms. The frantic energy from the living room returned, fueled by the yielding softness of the mattress. Hands roamed, tugging and pulling at fabric. Buttons were fumbled open. Zippers hissed down.
Aki shrugged out of his shirt, his eyes never leaving Angel. He watched, mesmerized, as Angel wriggled out of his own trousers, his movements awkward and endearing. The white office shirt, now hopelessly wrinkled, was the last to go, pulled over his head and tossed to the floor.
And then he was there. Laid bare before him.
Aki’s breath caught.
It was a dizzying echo of that day in the office restroom; the pale skin, the sharp angles of his collarbones, the delicate lines of his torso. But this was different. This was not an accidental, clinical glimpse. This was a revelation. The moonlight caressed his skin, which was now flushed a warm, living pink. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on his chest and the hollow of his throat. His chest rose and fell with rapid, shallow breaths, each exhale a soft gasp. His eyes, half-lidded and dark with desire, held Aki’s with a vulnerability that was entirely new.
He was breathtaking. More real, more vivid, and infinitely more beautiful than the cold, lace-clad specter from Aki’s dream.
“You’re staring again,” Angel whispered, but there was no flatness in his tone now. It was shy, almost self-conscious, and it sent a fresh wave of heat straight to Aki’s core.
“I know,” Aki admitted, his voice thick. He lowered himself, bracing his weight on his elbows, and hovered over him. “I can’t help it.”
He dipped his head and captured Angel’s mouth in a deep, languid kiss, swallowing the soft gasp it elicited. His hands began to explore in earnest, mapping the territory he had only dreamed of. He traced the line of his ribs, the flat plane of his stomach with the faintest trail of auburn hair to his flushed erection, the surprising softness of his inner thighs. Every touch, every shuddering response from Angel’s body, felt like a discovery.
Angel’s hands were in his hair, on his shoulders, sliding down his back, pulling him closer with a need that matched his own. His usual passivity was gone, replaced by a quiet, eager participation. He arched into Aki’s touches, his hips lifting in a silent, desperate plea.
Then, in a shift of limbs and a tangle of sheets, their positions reversed. Angel was on top, straddling his hips, looking down at him with those wide, dark eyes. The moonlight haloed his hair, his slender form silhouetted against the dim room.
The dream flashed behind Aki’s eyes, the white wings, the impassive stare, the crushing, distant hunger.
But this was nothing like that.
This Angel was alive. His skin was fever-warm, his breath hitched with real emotion, his eyes held a nervous, hopeful light. He was blushing, sweating, gasping, a living, breathing man, not a fantasy. He was so much better.
“Aki,” Angel breathed, his name a prayer on Angel’s lips. He leaned down, his hair brushing Aki’s cheeks, and kissed him again, deeply, slowly. It was a kiss that tasted of trust and shared hunger.
And as Aki’s hands settled on Angel’s hips, guiding him, he knew with absolute certainty that no dream could ever compare to the devastating reality of this.
Angel’s fingers, clumsy with a strange and beautiful urgency, tangled in Aki’s hair, pulling until the tie gave way and the dark strands fell loose around his shoulders. The work jacket was already a forgotten heap on the floor, and now Angel’s attention turned to the buttons of his shirt. His movements were fumbling, inefficient, and the sight of it sent a fresh wave of heat through Aki. He covered Angel’s hands with his own, stilling them.
“Let me,” Aki murmured against his mouth, his own fingers making quick, efficient work of the remaining buttons.
He shrugged the shirt off, letting it join the jacket. His belt and fly were next, and he pushed both his pants and underwear down in one single, decisive motion, kicking them aside. The cool air was a brief shock against his feverish skin, a shock that was instantly obliterated when Angel pressed against him.
Skin to skin. The feeling was so profound it was dizzying. The hard line of Angel’s erection pressed against his own, a delicious, maddening friction that made Aki’s breath hitch. He couldn't get enough of Angel's mouth, capturing it again in a kiss that was sloppy, wet, and utterly consuming. When he finally pulled back for air, a thin, silver strand of saliva stretched between their swollen lips, gleaming in the low light. Aki had never, ever felt this turned on, every nerve ending screaming for more.
He dipped his head, kissing a hot trail along Angel’s jaw, down the column of his throat, until his mouth closed over one small, pink nipple. The sound that escaped Angel was a soft, high-pitched gasp that twisted into a breathy, desperate syllable that sounded exactly like Aki’s name.
Driven by a need so deep it felt primal, Aki let one of his hands slide down the curve of Angel’s back, over the swell of his buttocks, and further, his fingers tentatively seeking the hidden place between. He brushed against the tight, hot rim of muscle, and Angel jolted against him. The sensation was electric, but the practical part of his mind, the part that needed to care for Angel, screamed a warning.
It was the most difficult thing he’d ever done, but Aki forced himself to stop the caress, his hand stilling.
“Wait… let me search for some lube.” He pressed his forehead against Angel’s, his voice a ragged, husky murmur.
The physical separation was agony. Putting mere inches between their bodies felt like tearing himself in two. He fumbled in the drawer of the nightstand, his fingers closing around a familiar plastic bottle. He grabbed it, the simple action feeling like a monumental step, a bridge from desperate need to imminent, shattering reality.
Aki grabbed the bottle, the cool plastic a stark contrast to the heat simmering under his skin. When he looked back at the bed, the air left his lungs in a soft rush. Angel was waiting, positioned on his thighs, his hands braced on his torso. He was looking at Aki with unguarded expectation, his eyes dark and full of a trust that made Aki's chest feel too tight.
He moved to the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He reached out, his fingers gentle as they cupped Angel's jaw, tilting his face up. "You're sure?" The question was a whisper, a last stand for his crumbling defenses.
In answer, Angel leaned in and kissed him. It was a deep, languid kiss that tasted of desperation and sweetness, and Aki knew, with a terrifying, final clarity, that he could get addicted to this. He had built a life on not getting attached, on being the one who could walk away. But as he kissed Angel back, pouring every bit of his surrendered resolve into it, he knew he had lost that battle the moment this man had fallen into his orbit. Angel met him with the same force, the same depth, as if trying to merge their very breaths.
Breaking the kiss, Angel shifted, settling more fully to straddle him, his weight a perfect, warm pressure on Aki's lap. Aki's back found the headboard as he uncapped the lube, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet room. He coated his right hand, the gel cool against his heated skin before he reached between them, his slick fingers gently caressing that intimate place.
Angel tensed immediately, a subtle flinch, and hid his face in the crook of Aki's neck, his warm breath a ghost against Aki's pulse point. Aki stilled his hand, his heart hammering.
"Have you done..." Aki started, his voice carefully soft. ...this? he wanted to say, but the words felt too crude.
He felt Angel shake his head, a negative motion against his skin. "I've done... other things," Angel murmured, the words muffled. "But I know how it goes, technically."
Aki nodded, understanding. Theory was a world away from practice. "Tell me if it's too much," he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Angel just nodded again, his body a line of nervous anticipation.
With his back against the solid headboard and Angel's light weight a grounding presence on top of him, their skin grew hot from the proximity. Aki began to press one lubed finger, a slow, steady intrusion. He distracted them both, skidding the finger inward while turning his head to kiss Angel's shoulder, his lips soft against the smooth skin. With his other hand, he cupped Angel's erection, silk and warm skin met his palm. And him, caressing in a slow, counter-rhythm to the careful penetration, hoping to coax pleasure ahead of the pain.
Aki worked with a patience he didn't know he possessed, his world narrowed to the heat of Angel's body and the soft, hitching sounds against his neck. One finger became two, a careful, scissoring motion to stretch him open. Angel tensed, a sharp inhale ghosting over Aki's skin, his fingers digging into Aki's shoulders.
"Breathe, Angel," Aki murmured, his voice rough with his own restraint. He turned his head, capturing Angel's lips in a slow, deep kiss, trying to siphon the tension from his body. "Just breathe for me."
He felt the moment Angel yielded, the tight ring of muscle relaxing around his fingers, a low moan vibrating between their joined mouths. Emboldened, Aki curled his fingers, searching, his thumb stroking soothing circles on Angel's hip. He watched the play of emotions on Angel's face—the pinch of discomfort, the flutter of his eyelids, the dazed pleasure.
And then he found it.
Angel jolted as if shocked, a broken, high-pitched cry tearing from his throat. His whole body shuddered, his back arching beautifully.
"There?" Aki asked, his voice thick. He pressed the spot again, a deliberate, firm rub.
"Ah! A-Aki—" Angel's words dissolved into a gasp, his head falling back. "What... what is that?"
"The good part," Aki managed, his own arousal a sharp, aching throb. He didn't let up, massaging that bundle of nerves with relentless focus while his other hand continued its slow, firm strokes on Angel's erection.
He added a third finger, the stretch now a burn that seemed to morph directly into pleasure for Angel. He was moving on Aki's hand now, small, involuntary thrusts, his movements growing more frantic, less coordinated.
"I... I can't..." Angel panted, his body trembling like a leaf in a storm. "Aki, I'm—"
"Let go," Aki commanded softly, his voice a low rumble against Angel's ear. "I've got you. Just let go."
It was all the permission Angel needed. His climax crashed over him, a silent, shuddering wave for a second before a soft, cut-off moan escaped his lips. His body seized, spilling hot and wet over Aki's stomach and his own stroking hand, his inner muscles clenching tightly around Aki's fingers in rhythmic pulses.
Aki held him through it, working him gently through the oversensitivity until Angel went completely boneless against him, his breathing ragged and warm against Aki's neck. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was their harsh, shared breathing. Aki slowly, carefully, withdrew his fingers, making Angel whimper softly at the sensitivity.
Angel lay slumped against him, utterly spent, his weight a comforting warmth. Aki wrapped his clean arm around him, holding him close, pressing a kiss to his damp temple. He caressed his back, his shoulder blades, skin so soft where the wings would grow, if Angel was actually that, a divine creature. Aki was lost, and he knew it.
The battle was over.
And surrender to his desires had never felt so much like a victory.
Aki laid his hand on top of Angel’s head, dampt and messy curls of hair everywhere. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gravelly with concern and desire.
Angel nodded, his eyes fluttering open. They were hazy, unfocused. "I'm just tired, my legs..." he whispered, the sentence trailing off into a soft sigh.
Aki understood. Angel was someone with perpetually low energy, often blaming it on low blood sugar or just his constitution. The emotional and physical exertion of the night was clearly taking its toll. Aki nodded back, his heart clenching. "Do you want to stop here?"
Angel shook his head, a firm, immediate negative. "I want to..." he said, the words unfinished, but the meaning was clear in the determined, if weary, look in his eyes. I want this.
He shifted, his hands firm on Angel's slender waist, and lifted him with a surprising ease, turning them so Angel was laid back against the rumpled sheets. Aki settled between his parted legs, the sight of Angel, flushed, exposed, and beautifully wrecked, sending a fresh, painful throb through his own aching erection, which had been neglected for too long. He slicked himself with the lube, hissing at the contact, his length twitching eagerly in his hand.
He sighed, a shaky sound, and aligned himself, the head of his cock pressing against that impossibly tight, warm entrance. "If it's too much," he murmured, repeating his mantra, "we can always stop."
Angel just nodded, his breath catching. "Go on."
Aki pushed, just the tip, and the world narrowed to the feeling of Angel's body yielding to his. He was so tight, so small and fragile, and Aki's every instinct screamed to be gentle, to not mess this up, to not break this perfect sight beneath him. He pushed in painfully slowly, each millimeter a battle against his own primal need. Angel shut his eyes tightly, biting down on the back of his own hand to silence any sound, his skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, his hair damp and sticking to his temples. Aki could feel his own skin was just as wet, slick with perspiration and the sheer effort of his restraint.
He pushed a little more, sinking halfway in. Angel was soft, so soft and warm and sweet everywhere, a silken, clenching heat that made Aki feel utterly undeserving. How could he be here, like this, with him?
"Angel..." he murmured, a prayer and a plea.
Angel's eyes opened, locking with his. They were a bit red at the corners, glistening with unshed tears, but he nodded, a small approval gesture.
Aki sheathed himself fully in one slow, final push, burying himself to the hilt. A choked gasp escaped Angel's lips. Aki rested his forehead against Angel's, both of them breathing in ragged, shared gasps. The feeling was too much, the overwhelming tightness, the heat, the profound intimacy of it. He clenched his jaw, his muscles corded with the strain of holding still, waiting for Angel to adjust. He pressed a soft kiss to Angel's forehead.
"I'll move," he said. It wasn't a question, but he still waited for approval.
Angel's hands, which had been limp on the sheets, came up to clutch at Aki's back, his fingers digging in. It was all the confirmation Aki needed.
He began to move, a slow, deep roll of his hips. The initial discomfort on Angel's face began to shift, morphing with each careful thrust. Aki set a rhythm that was deep and purposeful, each stroke pushing further, reaching deeper. He watched, mesmerized, as Angel's expression unraveled. The pained furrow of his brow smoothed away, replaced by a dazed, open-mouthed wonder. His eyes, now full and wet, glazed over with pleasure, his cheeks flushed a deep, fevered red.
Their kisses became wet, messy, and desperate, a tangle of tongues and shared breath. Aki reached between them, his hand closing around Angel's half hard erection, stroking him in time with his thrusts until it became fully hard again. And then he angled his hips just right, hitting that same sweet spot inside him that he had found with his fingers.
Angel gasped, breaking their kiss, his head falling back. "A-Aki—" his name was a broken syllable, whispered between little, soft moans that grew in intensity. Angel was a silent lover, but his body was explosively expressive, the clench of his hands, the arch of his back, the way his toes curled, all spoke volumes louder than words.
“You taste so sweet,” groaned Aki, his control fraying at the edges as the words were torn from him. 'Are you always this sweet? Are you always this tender?' That's what he also wanted to say. Angel was the calmest and most tender person he had ever met. He drove into him again and again; the only sounds in the bedroom were the slick meeting of their skin, the rustle of the sheets and their ragged gasps.
The combined sensation of Aki's thrusts and his hand on his cock was too much for Angel. His body went rigid, a silent, breathless scream on his lips as he came, spilling over Aki's hand and his own stomach in hot, pulsing stripes. The clenching, fluttering tightness around Aki's length was his undoing.
Seeing Angel come undone, feeling his body milk him, sent Aki over the edge. He went full into it, his rhythm shattering into a series of frantic, deep, possessive thrusts. He buried himself as deep as he could, and with a guttural cry that was pure release, he came. His orgasm was so intense, white dots clouded his vision as he shut his eyes tightly, pouring himself inside Angel in seemingly endless waves, his entire body shuddering with the force of it.
When the last tremor subsided, he collapsed, bracing his weight on his arms to keep from crushing Angel. He was spent, hollowed out. He pulled out and opened his eyes to see Angel beneath him, a beautiful, overstimulated mess, trembling and breathless. Aki leaned down and captured his lips in a soft, languid kiss, a world away from their previous desperation.
When he pulled back, he gently brushed a few damp, unruly locks of hair from Angel’s forehead, his thumb stroking the damp skin there.
"How do you feel?" Aki asked, his voice roughened by exertion, yet softer than he intended.
Angel’s eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused for a second before settling on Aki’s face. He seemed to take a quick internal inventory. "I feel... sticky," he murmured, his own voice a raw whisper. "And thirsty."
A low chuckle rumbled in Aki’s chest. The honesty was so blunt, so perfectly Angel, it cut through the post-high intensity.
"Okay," Aki said, pressing one last kiss to his forehead before slowly, reluctantly, pulling away. The cool air of the room hit his sweat-sheened skin, a stark contrast to the warmth they had created.
He rose from the bed, his own muscles pleasantly weary, and fetched a box of napkins from the dresser. He cleaned himself first with quick, efficient movements, then returned to the bed. Gently, he began to wipe the evidence of their encounter from Angel's stomach. When his touch moved lower, between Angel's thighs, Angel turned his head away, a faint pink blush creeping up his neck. The gesture of shame, so vulnerable, made Aki's heart ache.
"I'll bring you some water," Aki then said.
He padded out to the kitchen, the wooden floor cool under his bare feet. A glance at the digital clock on the microwave glowed 3:20 AM. Angel had to be exhausted. He poured a glass for Angel, then one for himself. He didn't realize how thirsty he was until the first sip, and he ended up draining his own glass in one long, grateful gulp before refilling it.
When he returned to the bedroom, Angel had shifted onto his side, curled slightly. He pushed himself up onto an elbow and took the offered glass, drinking the entire thing in one go as well.
"Thanks," he breathed, handing the empty glass back.
"Can you stand?" Aki asked, his voice low.
Angel made to sit up fully, but a slight wince tightened his features as his legs shifted. "My legs are... shaking," he admitted, looking down at the sheets.
A pang of guilt, sharp and sudden, lanced through Aki. Had he been too rough? Had he pushed too far?
"I'm sorry," he finally said, the words soft but sincere.
"Don't be," Angel replied, his gaze still averted. "I get tired easily."
"Uhm," Aki hummed, a plan forming. He leaned in, sliding one arm under Angel's back and the other under his knees. "Let me carry you, then."
"Wha—?" Angel's question was cut short by a gasp as Aki lifted him effortlessly from the bed. He went completely still, possibly from sheer embarrassment, but made no move to struggle. He was so light in Aki's arms, barely any substantial body weight at all. The thought flickered through Aki's mind ‘I need to feed him properly in the morning.’
He carried him to the bathroom and carefully set him down in the dry tub. Angel sat there, looking small and exposed, his arms wrapping around his knees. Aki turned to the faucet, twisting the knobs until a stream of warm water began to cascade into the tub.
"Tell me when it's hot enough for you," Aki said, watching the steam slowly begin to rise.
He kept his hand under the flow, testing the temperature himself. After a few moments, Angel gave a small, silent nod. "It's good."
Aki shut off the water, the bathroom now filled with a humid, warm haze. He was about to step out and give Angel privacy when a hand darted out, fingers wrapping around his wrist. The touch was hesitant but firm.
"Let's..." Angel started, his voice small. He took a breath, gathering courage. "Let's take it together. We both should fit."
Aki paused, surprised by the request. It was unexpected, but the thought of leaving this newfound warmth, this proximity, held no appeal. He wasn't bothered by it in the slightest. In truth, he needed a bath just as much, and the image of Angel curled in the water alone felt wrong.
"Okay," Aki agreed simply.
He climbed into the tub, the warm water a blissful embrace on his tired muscles. He settled with his back against one end, and without a word, Angel shifted, settling between his legs and leaning back against his chest. Aki rested his chin on Angel's damp shoulder, his arms floating in the water before coming to rest loosely around Angel's waist.
The heat seeped into their bones, melting away the last remnants of physical tension, but a different kind of tension settled in Aki's chest, a quiet, terrifying intimacy that felt so good it felt dangerous. He was afraid of desiring this much, of needing the weight and warmth of another person this acutely.
For long minutes, they washed up in a comfortable, wordless rhythm. Aki took the soap, working up a lather in his hands before smoothing it over Angel's shoulders and back, feeling the delicate shift of muscle and bone beneath his palms. Angel tipped his head back, and Aki massaged the shampoo into his auburnlocks of wet hair, his fingers working in slow, gentle circles. When it was his turn, Angel did the same for him, his touch surprisingly sure as he brushed the dark strands, his fingers occasionally, accidentally, scraping Aki's scalp in a way that sent a shiver down his spine. The silence was comfortable.
Until Angel broke it.
"You live alone, right?" His voice was soft, muffled slightly by the water and their proximity.
"Yes," Aki replied, his own voice a low rumble against Angel's back.
"Those pictures," Angel continued, hesitantly. "Are they your family?"
Aki felt a familiar, dull ache bloom in his chest. "Uhm," he hummed, nodding against Angel's shoulder. "They were."
"Oh... I see."
"Yes. They... were killed when I was young." The words were rote, a story he had told a hundred times, but it felt different here, in this vulnerable space.
"I'm.. I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Aki said, the automatic response falling from his lips. "It happened a long time ago. It hurts, but there is nothing to be done."
A silence fell between them again, so profound Aki thought the conversation was over. But then, finally, so softly Aki had to strain to hear, Angel spoke again.
"My name... I guess you noticed, contains the kanjis for angels. Like the religious creatures." He paused, gathering the words. "Well... from what I know, my parents wanted a kid for the longest time. They prayed very hard, and eventually, I was born. But then... they both died shortly after that. It was in a fire at home. I was the only survivor."
Aki's arms tightened imperceptibly around Angel's waist. He hadn't imagined this. He'd carried his own tragedy like a stone in his heart, but he never thought Angel carried a similar weight.
"I come from a rural town," Angel went on, his tone detached, as if narrating someone else's story. "And I was eventually seen as a bad omen. Not by all, actually. There were very nice people. Even... someone that I could fall in love with. But, this person also died of an illness. After that, I came to the city. I miss that place, but there's nothing left for me there."
Aki knew that feeling way too well, the hollow emptiness of a home that was no longer home. The profound loneliness of being the one left behind, the one to find a way, a reason. He thought of th countryside, his house in the north, the winter, the snow plays with his brother and how now, both were in a hostile city. His throat felt tight. "I..." he started, but the words died. What could he possibly say that wouldn't sound hollow?
"Don't worry," Angel said, as if sensing his struggle. "It was almost ten years ago, since then I moved here." He took another breath, delving deeper into the confession. "You know... when I realized you picked an interest in me, at first I tried not to think too much into it. I guess I was scared. Then... I had a nightmare. One of the ones I usually have. But in it, you... were also gone. That's when I realized I had become attached. Even now, I feel greedy for wanting it, for wanting this."
It was so much to process. Aki's mind reeled, replaying Angel's words. He knew. Angel knew of his interest? And nightmares? The dream he'd had felt like a secret shame, but Angel had his own demons haunting his sleep.
"How.. did you know?" Aki asked, his voice rough with a mixture of embarrassment and awe.
A soft, almost imperceptible laugh shook Angel's frame. "You try to be nonchalant, but you're very obvious, I could feel your stare thorugh the office. You're scared of Makima, but still await for her recognition of your work. You don't like when people in large groups notice you. You secretly laugh at Power and Denji's jokes and take care of them, mostly when they’re vulnerable or drunk. You’re a very considerate friend." He said it all as a matter of fact, and Aki felt a hot flush of embarrassment creep up his neck. He felt seen, completely and utterly exposed.
"That's not!—" he wanted to argue, to deny it, but he couldn't. It was all true, in the end.
"And you started acting weirder," Angel added gently, "I guess because of that dream?"
"I'm sorry," Aki murmured, pressing his forehead against Angel's wet skin. "It was highly inappropriate of me, truly."
Angel let out a real laugh this time, a soft, airy sound that was beautiful and heartbreaking. "At least your dreams are... nicer? In a way." The humor faded from his voice, leaving something brittle and afraid in its place. "I feel like I'm damned. Maybe it's the name. Maybe it's all in my head. Aren't you scared? Aren't you afraid that I could siphon the life out of you?"
The question hung in the steamy air, a manifestation of every fear and insecurity Angel carried. Aki didn't hesitate. He turned his head, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to the nape of Angel's neck, a silent promise against his skin.
"Don't say such things," Aki whispered, his voice low and fervent. "I won't go anywhere." He hugged him extra tight, his arms a solid band around Angel's slender frame, as if he could physically shield him from the cruel fate he believed in. He was afraid, too, terrified of losing something important again. But his own fear was eclipsed by a greater, more powerful greed: the greed to hold on, to protect, to keep this one, precious person for himself.
Eventually, Angel’s breaths evened out into a soft, steady rhythm against Aki’s chest, his body growing heavier and more pliant in the warm water. Aki held him for a few moments longer, committing the feeling to memory. But the water was cooling, and he knew they couldn't stay.
He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Angel’s temple. “Angel,” he murmured, his voice low so as not to startle him. “We should get out.”
Angel stirred with a soft, incoherent sound, his eyelids fluttering. With Aki’s steadying hands, he rose from the water, swaying slightly on his feet, still mostly asleep. Aki climbed out after him, grabbing a large, clean towel. He dried Angel first with a gentle, thorough care, patting the dampt hair and moving over the delicate lines of his shoulders, back, and legs, as if tending to something precious. He then quickly dried himself, the cooler air raising goosebumps on his skin.
Aki rummaged in the cabinet below the sink, his fingers closing around a spare, still-packaged toothbrush. They stood side-by-side in front of the mirror, the mundane action of brushing their teeth adding another layer to the night's newfound intimacy. Angel’s movements were slow and drowsy, his eyes half-closed as he focused on the simple task, while Aki watched their reflection.
Back in the room, retrieving a soft, grey pajama sweater from his drawer, he helped Angel into it. The fabric was comically large on him, the sleeves swallowing his hands and the hem falling to his mid-thigh. The sight sent a warm, possessive ache through Aki’s chest. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants, leaving his own torso bare.
They moved to the bed, the room dark and quiet. Angel practically melted into the mattress, his energy completely spent. Aki slid in behind him, immediately curling his body around Angel’s smaller frame. He wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him close until his back was flush against Aki’s chest. He then rested his face in the curve of Angel’s neck, inhaling deeply.
The scent was a quiet intoxicant, the clean generic smell of the soap from his shower, now inseparable from the unique, subtly sweet scent that was purely Angel’s. It was a fragrance Aki felt he could drown in, a silent hope of home and intimacy. Things he’d thought were lost to him forever.
He felt the exact moment Angel slipped fully into sleep, his body going completely limp and heavy in Aki’s embrace. There were no more words, no more fears confessed in the dark. There was only this, the solid reality of Angel in his arms, the soft sound of his breathing, and the profound silence of a room that no longer felt empty. Letting out a long, slow breath of his own, Aki closed his eyes. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to truly rest, his own consciousness drifting away on the rhythm of Angel’s peaceful breaths.
𓆩🗡𓆪
Aki woke to the sun's rays streaming through his window, painting bright stripes across the rumpled sheets. For a few disorienting moments, he lay still, the events of the previous night and evening flooding back to him not as a shock, but as a warm, heavy reality that settled deep in his chest. Angel was still there, wrapped securely in his arms, his back pressed against Aki's front, a living, breathing weight that felt both foreign and utterly right.
He held him a bit closer, unable to resist, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the nape of his neck, where the auburn hair curled delicately. The sun's rays caused some strands to take on a coppery color. He could feel the steady, slow beat of Angel's heart against his own. His hands, which had rested on Angel's hip, began to move almost of their own accord. He caressed the length of his arm through the soft fabric of the borrowed sweater, then slid his hand downward, his fingers finding their way beneath the fabric.
His breath hitched as his palm met nothing but soft, warm skin. He traced the delicate line of a thigh, the sharp curve of a hip, the gentle, flat plane of Angel's stomach. He mapped the territory with a soft touch, committing the feel of him to memory in the quiet morning light.
As he explored, Aki became acutely aware of his own body responding, a familiar heat pooling low in his belly, his own erection stirring against the back of Angel's thigh. His wandering hand drifted lower, his fingers gently tracing the length of Angel's cock, feeling it half-hard and warm beneath his touch.
Beneath his hands, Angel began to stir. He moved slightly, Aki began to stroke him slowly, a lazy, languid rhythm through the soft cotton. A soft, pleased hum vibrated against Aki's chest, and Angel shifted, his body pressing back more firmly, his buttocks settling more snugly against Aki's growing hardness. Then with a languid, cat-like stretch, he arched his back and pressed himself more firmly against Aki, a soft, muffled yawn escaped him.
"Good morning," Aki murmured, his voice rough with sleep. his hand was still moving in that slow, teasing caress.
Angel hummed, the sound vibrating through both of them. "Mmmorning."
"How are you feeling?" Aki asked, his hand still splayed on Angel's erection, thumb making tiny, soothing circles.
"Sleepy," Angel admitted, his voice thick with sleep. "But hungry."
"Let me make some breakfast, then."
A small, pleased sound. "I want something sweet."
Aki couldn't help the small smile that touched his lips. He gave Angel a final, gentle squeeze before reluctantly untangling himself. The desire to continue was a sharp, physical ache. He was already addicted to the feel of Angel like this, warm and pliant in his arms. But the practical part of his mind, reminded him that they had barely eaten in the party’s last night and were both still tired.
This could wait.
They had time, after all.
"Let me see what I've got. But one shouldn't eat too much sweet for breakfast," he chided softly, "Not even you."
Angel only offered a noncommittal "Hmm," already burrowing back into the warmth Aki had left behind.
Aki got up, the cool air of the room a contrast to the warmth of the bed. He pulled on his sweatpants and padded out to the kitchen. A glance at the clock told him it was past 10 AM. They had slept in, but considering how late they had finally fallen asleep, they were still undoubtedly sleep-deprived. A small wave of relief washed over him, thankfully, it was the weekend.
The familiar routine of preparing the coffee maker grounded him. The gurgle and hiss of the machine filled the quiet apartment as he opened the refrigerator, its light illuminating sparse contents. He wasn't usually someone who ate too many sweets himself, and his grocery runs were pragmatic.
He was about to resign himself to tnot finding anything of Angel’s taste when he remembered a small, forgotten purchase. He found it tucked in the back of the fridge, a box of red bean-flavored rice cakes he’d bought on a whim because it was on sale at the conbini a few days ago, at least half the box was still uneaten.
Just as he set the box on the counter, Angel emerged from the bedroom, swimming in the large grey sweater. He moved quietly, his hair adorably mussed, and slid into a chair at the small kitchen table, looking small and sleepy.
"Here," Aki said, placing the box in front of him. "This will have to do for now."
Angel nodded, his eyes still heavy with sleep, and opened the box. He ate the soft rice cakes diligently, one after the other, with a focused calm that Aki found endlessly endearing.
Aki poured his coffee, the rich, bitter scent waking his body. He pulled his cigarette pack from the counter, the habit as automatic as breathing, but his fingers stilled. He looked at Angel, who was carefully picking up the last crumbs of the sweets, and then back at the pack. The hypocrisy was stark, scolding Angel for a sweet tooth while he himself planned to drown his lungs in nicotine first thing in the morning. With a quiet sigh, he pushed the pack away. It could wait.
Instead, he turned back to the fridge. A sweet snack wasn't a real breakfast. He pulled out eggs, a packet of vacuum-sealed rice from a previous batch he’d made, and some green onions. From the pantry he took miso paste and a block of firm tofu. It was simple but filling, the kind of breakfast he made for himself on rare, slow mornings.
Soon, two sets of bowls were placed on the table; a large bowl of steamed rice each, a plate of softly scrambled eggs, and a comforting bowl of miso soup. As Aki set the final bowl down, his eyes caught on Angel, who was watching him with a soft, sleepy focus. Aki’s gaze dropped to his lips, which were a bit redder and more swollen than usual, and he noticed a tiny, stubborn crumb of rice cake clinging to the corner.
Without a second thought, Aki reached out, his fingers gently cupping Angel’s chin. With the pad of his thumb, he carefully wiped the crumb away. Leaning in, he pressed a brief, soft kiss to the very spot he had just cleaned.
"Here," Aki murmured. "A real breakfast. You can't only survive on sweets."
A small, knowing smile touched Angel's lips. "See?" he said, his voice quiet but clear. "You always take care of others."
A warm flush crept up Aki's neck. He had no retort. He simply gave a soft, noncommittal "Hn," and sat down, focusing intently on arranging his chopsticks to hide his embarrassment.
The silence that settled over them was comfortable, broken only by the soft clink of chopsticks against ceramic.
𓆩🗡𓆪
The day melted away, soft and unhurried. Aki found himself with Angel on his balcony as the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and violet. They were seated on the floor, Aki’s back against the wall and Angel settled comfortably in the space between his legs, leaning back against his chest. The steady, rhythmic hum of the washing machine cleaning their suit uniforms provided a sound from inside the apartment.
Aki’s arms were wrapped around Angel’s middle, his chin resting on top of his head. He decided, with a quiet certainty, that this was his new favorite thing to do. Holding Angel felt just right. It was a perfect fit, a silence that was full and comfortable rather than empty.
Neither of them was naturally very talkative, yet they had spent the drifting hours talking about everything and nothing, a comment about a passing cloud, a shared laugh over Power’s latest antics, a quiet observation about the changing light. It was easy.
From an open window down on the street, an old pop song drifted up, the tinny sound from someone’s radio carving a path through the evening air. Aki recognized the melody, an 80s city pop tune. He listened to the lyrics as they wove into the moment.
“It's sad, but even tears... can't change the power of the future...”
The words settled over him. He thought of his own past, the tears that had indeed changed nothing. He thought of Angel’s, just as powerless.
“But if I can lighten your wounded heart... for you...”
The singer’s voice was a gentle plea. Aki tightened his embrace just slightly, a silent answer. Yes, he thought. If I can do that for you, then that’s enough.
Into the fading music, Angel spoke, his voice soft and wistful. "You know, in my small town there was a beach. I loved to go and see the sunsets and at night, to see the stars. Here... there are no stars in the sky. Such a pity. But I miss the beach. It's been so many years..."
The longing in his voice was a tangible thing. Without a second thought, driven by an impulse to answer that quiet sadness, Aki spoke against his hair.
"Shall we go to the Beach, then?"
Angel turned in his arms, shifting just enough to look at him, his eyes wide with a mixture of amazement and hope. He searched Aki’s face for a moment, then nodded, a small, genuine smile gracing his lips. "Yeah."
For a whole day, Aki had felt it—a sense of peace, of rightness— This, he realized, was something he could get used to. This quiet companionship, this easy intimacy. It felt peaceful. It felt, he dared to think, even heavenly. And in that moment, with the city lights beginning to glitter below like earthbound stars, it felt like a world made only for him and Angel.
.
.
.
.
This is my rough drawing of Aki's dream, lmao this plot in general came to me one afternoon in late September while doing the dishes, and I //had to// rush and draw it on paper. It's been like a year since I've drawn something, so yeah, there's that.