[ denji doesn’t move at first. his body’s heavy, too drained to do anything more than let the other man clean him up. he hears aki breathing—ragged, uneven, like he’s trying not to fall apart right there on the floor. the arms around him are warm. not the kind of warmth that comes from blood or fever or rage, but the kind that reminds denji of a life he thought he could never have. one with blankets that didn’t smell like mold. one with dinners that weren’t stolen from dumpsters. one where someone stayed and looked after him. even when he ended up in this forgien city, far away from home, aki still found him— and he's taking care of him again.
so denji lifts his arm, shaky and slow, and lets it rest against aki’s back. it’s not a hug, not really, more like a question he doesn’t know how to ask. he hesitates, hoping it wasn't a cruel lie to calm him down. ] ... what do you mean?
no subject
so denji lifts his arm, shaky and slow, and lets it rest against aki’s back. it’s not a hug, not really, more like a question he doesn’t know how to ask. he hesitates, hoping it wasn't a cruel lie to calm him down. ] ... what do you mean?