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Aki was used to living alone. Used to an empty house, with only his shoes on the doormat and only his coat on the hanger by the door. He was used to not having anyone to complain about his bad habit of smoking in-doors, because the only one who would visit him was Himeno, and she would only smile smugly and ask him for yet another cigarette to share.
But Himeno wouldn't stop by to crash on his couch for the night anymore.
Yet his house seemed to be always full to the brim, he’d always have something to take care of: whether it was Meowy’s constant need for food and attention or Power’s constant need for food and attention. It was less difficult to look after Denji, even though he would sometimes fall asleep on the floor, curled up on himself like a puppy and Aki couldn’t pick him up. Not with only one arm left.
But the arm he didn’t have anymore wouldn't stop haunting him. It seemed to be a constant in his life, for the things he had lost to come back and plague his sleepless nights.
He had learned how to knot his empty sleeve so that it wouldn’t get in his way and how to cook with only one hand, but Aki was so fucking pissed that the only thing he seemed to be able to do effortlessly was being in pain. He couldn’t pick Denji up and tuck him in the covers. He couldn’t braid Power’s hair and he couldn’t wash the dishes.
His other arm kept on hurting even if it wasn’t attached to his shoulder anymore. He knew that there was a name for what he was feeling, that there was a clean, effective label to describe the agony that would keep him up at night when his arm convinced itself that it was still existing, that the nerves connecting it to Aki’s brain hadn’t been severed months ago.
He felt like the only thing he could do was watch helplessly as the hours clocked by and he was one minute closer to his death.
He secretly hoped that it would’ve been a peaceful, private death. That he would’ve gone the same way he lived: as a pathetic loser.
But he knew, he knew that it wouldn’t end that way, that he would die gruesomely and that he would deserve all of his suffering.
But for all his wondering about his own end he didn’t want to go. He hated the way he lived but he was attached to it with tooth and nail and they would’ve had to take it away from his bloody fucking hands. He still had people to look after.
Denji looked so tired, forced to grow up, but he was still too young to even have a beer. He needed someone to help him tie his shoes and to teach him how to read the shopping list. He didn’t even have a surname, for God’s sake.
Power was no better, Aki had no idea how old she was but she didn’t seem any older than Denji. She slept with the lights on and wanted Denji to have a bath with her everyday and whined until Aki dried her hair afterwards.
How could Aki leave them alone when they needed so much from him. It felt so selfish to leave so soon.
Sometimes the three of them watched movies together in the evening, after dinner.
Power was always the first one to fall asleep, her belly heavy with overcooked ramen and she would start snoring so slightly.
Denji did stay awake to see the end of the movie, but he would pass out right after midnight, his head bent over Power’s shoulder and his mouth open and drooling.
Aki looked at them, all curled into a sleeping pile and he wanted to hug them, shield them from what tried to hurt them. But then he would remember that his deadline was getting closer and closer every night.
Sometimes Aki would meet up with the Angel Devil.
They just walked together and then chose a bench to sit down. Aki would buy him an ice cream, and then hold it in his only hand for Angel to eat it, because he wasn’t as lucky as Aki and he didn’t have any arms left. Ice cream would dribble all over Aki’s hand but he didn’t exactly mind it; he was used to mop Denji’s vomit when the boy ate too much too soon and his stomach rebelled.
That day Angel walked him home, as usual.
He lingered in front of Aki's door, too restless to go away but too timid to ask. Aki would've said yes anyway. Even when longing was clogging his throat so much he couldn't breathe, he couldn't find the courage to invite Angel in.
Aki sighed, stepping closer. “When I’ll be gone…” he swallowed thickly, “will you take care of them?”
Angel looked back at him with unblinking eyes. "You speak as if you knew that I’ll be here longer than you will.”
“You won’t die before me. I won’t let you. No one of those I love is leaving this fucking place before I do.” He couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his days visiting empty graves, just like Himeno’s was.
Angel got closer, his breath hit Aki’s face softly. “So selfish of you.”
Aki grabbed him by the tie, his only hand shaking, unsure if he wanted to pull Angel towards himself or to push him away. He felt like crying but his eyes were dry and his throat felt tight and moist, like he was going to throw up.
Angel held his own chin up. “If I still had my arms, if my touch wasn’t lethal for you,” he breathed, his words almost palpable in the enclosed space between their faces, “I would ask you for a kiss”
“Don’t say that,” Aki pleaded softly, his hand fisted in Angel’s shirt. The sword of Damocles hovering over his head felt so heavy. “Don’t say shit like that, we can’t… I’m gonna die.”
“We’re all going to die, humans and devils alike. It’s just a matter of time.”
Aki looked at the small smile that had bloomed on Angel’s face and thought what a dumbass, what a poor fucking bastard.
He wasn’t sure which one of them he was referring to.
He hid his face into the crook of Angel’s neck, careful not to touch his skin, and sighed. They stayed like that for a long time, long enough for the streets to be bathed into a bloody red sunset.
“I should… I should go check that Denji didn’t set the goddamn kitchen on fire,” he excused himself, a bit awkwardly.
Angel nodded, “Please don't visit me in my dreams any time soon."
What the fuck did that mean, Aki didn't have a clue. He supposed that was what you got when two thirds of your friends are devils.
He shot one last glance to Angel's silhouette, which projected long shadows in the dying sunlight.
His chest felt too tight, like his heart had grown two sizes bigger.
He took a deep breath and entered his house, fearing that maybe Denji really did set the apartment on fire by mistake. Luckily, he didn't smell any smoke.
Denji was sitting at the kitchen table, trying too hard to peel an orange without succeeding. Aki sat down on the chair besides him.
"How was the walk, you old man?" Denji teased.
"Some bold words, coming from someone who can't even peel himself a fruit." Then he added, somewhat petty and affectionate: "You child."
Denji blew a raspberry. Aki ignored him and took the orange from the palm of his hand, digging his own fingernails into the fruit’s skin and peeling it off. He handed the orange back to Denji, who bit into it as if it was an apple.
Aki thought back to the conversation he’d just had with Angel. He took his head in his hand, that now smelled like citrus and sweat. “Listen, Denji-” he began, “when I leave…”
Denji looked at him with comically large eyes, now glassy with tears. “What?! You want to move? Are we so bad that you wanna leave us? Aki I promise you that I’m gonna stop leaving my socks around and… and I’ll tell Power to teach Meowy to shut up and-”
Aki hit Denji’s forehead with his knuckles. “You fucking dumbass that’s not what I meant. I don’t wanna leave you.”
“Oh,” he sniffled loudly. “What d’you mean, then?”
“I…” Aki’s words melted on his tongue. He looked at Denji, all wide eyes and childish hope. “It’s nothing, really”
Denji hugged him tightly, smearing snot all over his shirt. Aki froze, his arm hanging limply for a couple of seconds, before he returned the hug awkwardly. He wasn’t good at showing affection, he didn’t know where to put his hand and his head and how much became too much. But Denji didn’t seem to mind, as he kept clinging onto him.
“Don’t you leave me alone!” Power complained, entering the room.
She threw her arms around Aki’s neck, sticking her chest to his back and squeezing him so tightly that he coughed softly. He patted the side of her head and she smacked a loud kiss on the top of his head.
“I fucking hate you, clingy brats,” Aki commented.
Denji hummed, but he didn’t seem to be bothered. His cheek was still smashed on Aki’s chest.
“Can we eat now?” asked Power, shaking Aki’s shoulders until he had to get up.
“There’s still okonomiyaki in the fridge from yesterday.”
“No there’s not,” Denji said, with a finger up his nose. “Power ate it”
“You what?! When?”
Denji thought about it a great deal. “Like when you were outside, I think. Probably”
“I’ll just make some ramen,” Aki sighed.
“But we ate that the other day!” Power whined.
“We wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t eaten the leftovers!”
Power sulked but didn't further comment; probably because she didn’t want Aki to send her to sleep without dinner.
Both her and Denji crowded Aki while he cooked, wanting to help make food faster and eat sooner but at the same time neither of them knew what to do.
After dinner they crashed on the couch, mindless baking shows on the tv and Meowy purring loud as a truck on Power’s lap.
Aki closed his eyes.
That night he dreamt of bullets and blood stained snow. He woke up with the taste of gunpowder on his tongue.