Chapter Text
It starts sometime after having finished the last of Makima (by that point Denji had gotten quite tired and the mere mention of meat was sufficient to make his stomach churn uncomfortably). The control devil reincarnation had been sent off with a nice family, though it was implied that she would be monitored by the powers that be. And Denji? Well, he’s still getting used to the student life.
Something he hasn’t noticed before was missing in his life: Math and English classes and complicated diagrams that he can’t wrap his head around.
“Busy?” comes the familiar voice, interrupting his thoughts before Denji can collapse over his unfinished math equations. He’s alone in the school library, or was at any rate, before Yoshida decided to materialize right beside him. Dropping in the chair next to Denji, up to that point his steps had been lighter than a cat’s. Offering him that easy smile he has — the corners of his mouth tilted up in a perpetually lopsided grin — Yoshida invades his personal space. His face is so close that Denji knows, if he turns his head just the tiniest bit to the side, he’ll brush against Yoshida’s ear.
“Yo,” he says by way of hello, dropping his face on the table. “Nah, not really. What ‘bout you?”
Yoshida doesn’t answer, instead, he checks Denji’s abandoned homework and clicks his tongue. “You have no idea what you’re doing, right? Education is wasted on you, Chainsaw boy.”
“Hey, not my fault the x is so hard to find,” Denji says right before sneezing. Shit. The weather is starting to get colder as autumn progresses and he can feel it in the itching of his throat that… yup, he’s about to come down with something. “And don’t call me that, you should know my name by now, dude.”
Yoshida hums and pats him on the back before going back to whatever he was doing and, a few minutes after, dropping his books inside his duffel bag. Right before leaving he waves at Denji half-heartedly, to which Denji responds with a lazy peace sign of his own. It’s the first time they interacted outside of “work” (and Denji doesn’t count those interactions for much, anyway) but talking to the octopus boy is surprisingly refreshing.
Outside, the world keeps moving crazy fast. Kids buy Chainsaw themed T-shirts and toys and whatnot and Denji wants to kick every single one of them in the face. So much for a simple life.
--
Yoshida makes another unexpected appearance two days after, when Denji is miserable and surrounded by a pile of used tissues, lying in his dirty futon. Aki’s apartment is not what it used to be, back when Power filled everything with her chaotic energy and Aki was there to try and put some semblance of order back into their lives. It takes a while for Denji to drag himself to the door.
A feeling of deja vu invades him and the mental image of the Gun Devil almost freezes him to the spot and then another knock takes him right back to his present circumstances and Yoshida, who raises his hand in greeting after Denji finally gathers his bearings and opens the door just a tiny bit to peer outside.
“Dude, what’s with the wild pounding? Wanna knock down my door?” Denji jokes before another coughing fit takes him by surprise and Yoshida steps back to distance himself but still smiles at his reluctant host.
“Ah, so you’d rather I pound something else,” he comments and there’s a humorous tilt to his words, like he’s trying to make Denji uncomfortable. But whatever that’s supposed to mean goes way over Denji’s head, who just shrugs and lets Yoshida inside.
The whole place stinks but Denji is used to it. He doesn’t even bother to hide the sorry state of his futon and the pile of unwashed clothes resting right by the couch, untouched. “Make yourself comfortable, I guess,” he says before hiding inside the covers again, shivering from the fever. Pochita must be particularly averse to the cold weather and the company of strangers because when Yoshida steps into the apartment, still with his shoes on (fucking rude), Denji’s heart does a little sommersault.
“Brought your homework,” he says, dropping a suspicious looking brown envelope on the coffee table. Squatting down next to Denji’s pitiful silhouette, Yoshida places his hand over Denji’s forehead. Immediately after he takes it back, wiping the nasty sweat against the fabric of his school pants. “You’re burning.”
There’s no inflection to Yoshida’s voice whatsoever, it’s a statement of fact. Denji wallows in his misery, wrapping himself tighter around the covers. “Yeah, thanks, tell me something I don’t know…”
And then Yoshida does.
“Okay, let me take care of you, Chainsaw,” he offers, drawing out the last word like he’s making fun of Denji. And he probably is, but Denji doesn’t have it in him to get mad right now. All he wants is some tea and maybe a change of clothes and a warm bath. He would ask Aki if he wasn’t permanently incapacitated for the job. No, just thinking about it makes him want to curl up in a ball. He’s stupid but the weight of everything can be crushing all the same. Even if he doesn’t understand half of what went through.
“Fine,” he says, trying to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun that filters inside through the broken blinds. It doesn’t occur to him until much later that Yoshida and he don’t even share the same classes. That Yoshida would have had to go out of his way to get Denji’s homework in the first place.
--
His own voice wakes Denji up. Bolting upright, he almost knocks his head against Yoshida’s, who is way too close. Hours must have passed because they’re now submerged in total darkness and — save for the drip drop of the leaky faucet in the kitchen sink — a deafening silence envelops them. Yoshida is almost sitting on top of Denji but not quite: He’s bracketing his body with his legs and, if he lowered his body a bit more, Denji might be able to feel his warmth through the layers of Yoshida’s clothing.
He still has his uniform on but now it’s crumpled and wrinkled, a mess.
“Does it happen often or just when you’re having a fever?” Yoshida drawls in that raspy tone of his, like he hardly has to pay attention to anything to grasp the meaning behind. To really get to the bottom of things. Denji nods. It’s almost imperceptible. He means to say, yeah, he does get nightmares once or twice. Pochita is usually there to offer some comfort. Literally and metaphorically soothing his heart.
But today it’s unusually silent. Strange. Maybe because Yoshida is there and he did promise to stay until Denji got better.
“Nah,” Denji says and he has to struggle against the lump forming in his throat, his voice sore, “all the time, all the time,” he repeats, like a mantra. Boy, is he flying. The fever must be playing tricks on him because Yoshida is suddenly all over his face again, peppering his perspiring skin with soft kisses.
“I like girls, dude,” he complains but Yoshida keeps doing whatever he wants.
“So I’ve heard,” comes the belated answer and Denji tries not to squirm. His boxers are now uncomfortably tight and he suddenly feels prudish in a way he’s never been around Aki. Or even Power. Because Yoshida promised to be here but he isn’t family. Not even close. And, despite everything, Denji is not as dumb as to pretend he’s not affected by Yoshida’s prettyness. By his stringy hair that tickles his ears when Yoshida licks a stripe down his neck.
“Would you prefer it if I was one? A girl?” Yoshida asks in a totally nonchalant way, like he’s doing anything but taking Denji out of his underwear. He seems to know the answer even before Denji himself does. So wise, so smart, he could provide the kind of guidance that Denji sorely needs in his life.
He shakes his head no but, because Yoshida stops altogether, Denji tries to come up with the right words.
“They always try to kill me, you know?”
Not like you.
You wouldn’t.
Right?
"I do," Yoshida says before taking Denji in his mouth. This, coupled with his fever, makes Denji tremble. Too sensitive to do anything but shake, he tries to concentrate on the warmth surrounding his dick and not the fingers proding somewhere down below.
"Hey," Yoshida stops and wipes the tears that Denji didn't even know he was shedding. His touch is tender and makes Denji remember how Aki was. The phantom tracing of his fingers when he thought Denji was fast asleep. The one that completely stopped once Angel entered the picture. And then, the end.
But this is different too. Yoshida is closer in age and he's made of flesh and bone, no trace of a longing for vengeance anywhere. Yet, tragedy lurks in the way his dark eyes roam over Denji's exposed everything.
Tearing open a package of lube (does Yoshida carry that in his pocket all the time or is it just for him? For Denji?) Yoshida inserts one finger inside Denji. He shushes and grabs Denji's left leg with his unoccupied hand. Presumably, to stop him from kicking.
"Do you know," Yoshida mumbles to himself, kissing the inside of Denji's thigh, "how obvious you are? Clearly, you need this."
And then he pushes another finger inside and, after a few moments, yet another one. He scissors them methodically, as if he's bored already. Denji knows he's not because there's a tent in his pants, straining the fabric of his uniform as much as it will give. Girls, he likes girls, Denji remembers when Yoshida hits a place inside that makes his vision blur in ecstasy. He does. There's nothing he enjoys more than watching a cute girl wearing a short skirt and a low cut v-neck.
He also, apparently, really likes Yoshida and whatever magic he's currently performing with his hands. He's so absorbed in the pleasure that it takes a while for Denji to register the needy whines and moans as his own.
"Ready?" Before he has time to ask for what, Yoshida pushes inside and something vital rips. There's pain, sure, and the stretch is uncomfortable but that's to be expected. Things are not supposed to go… in, after all. The friction against that spot from before provides some sort of consolation prize. Yet, it's only when Denji blinks the tears away and sees Yoshida's absolutely destroyed expression that he gets into it. Eyebrows knitted together in concentration, Yoshida is the furthest he's ever been from his usually composed, aloof self.
"Hey," Denji's voice trembles as he speaks, "I bet," a moan interrupts him, "I bet tentacles would make this like ten times better."
"Don't tease," Yoshida says, covering his mouth with his own.
It doesn't take much for Yoshida to finish and, the moment he does and slumps all over Denji, their combined sweat makes Denji feel icky. He's been dirty before but now the air reeks of sex and cum and something nasty is trickling down his thighs and he doesn't have the presence of mind to look.
So he closes his eyes.
When he comes to, the fever is gone and so is Yoshida. There's no evidence as to what they did except for the telltale dull aching of his lower body and the envelope still sitting on the kitchen counter.
--
The next time they meet, Denji is hiding from school faculty, slumping against one of the edges of the rooftop while absently munching on a konbini sandwich. Not bad, not terrible. The bread sticks to the roof of his mouth, blegh.
“What’s up?” Yoshida surprises him once again and Denji has the immediate idea of getting him one of those cat collars, the ones with a cute little jingle bell attached to them. The idea makes him drop his lunch and he doubles over, guffawing. Unimpressed, Yoshida drops down by his side, producing a bento out of his messenger bag. He’s brought two sets of chopsticks.
“Want some?” he asks before picking one of the octopus shaped sausages from the carefully assembled bento and popping it into his mouth. Denji wastes no time grabbing the extra pair of chopsticks. He won’t touch the meat or the tamagoyaki — sick of that, remember? — but the little balls of rice are pretty much a safe bet.
“Anyway, a girl asked me out today,” Yoshida says, not fazed at all by Denji’s lack of manners. He stares intently, like waiting for a reaction.
“Oh, yeah?” Denji says, the rice going dry down his throat. He would really, really appreciate some water right now. “I bet she was pretty.”
“No,” Yoshida shakes his head, his hand — the one not holding the chopsticks — grabbing Denji by the chin, forcing him to look into his deep set eyes. Man, Yoshida could hypnotize with those, that’s for certain. “Not prettier than you, in any case.”
Denji yelps but it doesn’t occur to him to feel anything but relieved.
It comes as no surprise at all when slightly chapped lips press against his own the minute the bell indicating the end of the recess goes off.