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“You and Power will be slaughtered by Denji.”
The Future Devil’s words echo through Aki’s skull like the throbbings of a particularly intense migraine, rising from a pit starting in the depths of his stomach and traveling up his spine to the base of his skull, before finally settling at the back of his throat. It’s not unlike the feeling he gets after a night out drinking—an acrid bile that rises to the back of his throat and stings at his soft palate.
And when he focuses on it long enough, it’s almost as if he can feel them: two burning, phantom stabs of pain in his breast, accompanied by a splitting—almost overbearingly so—sensation originating in the front of his brow bone, gone just as soon as it’s tangible.
That’s how it ends, then? Killed by the very same Devil he’d been living with all this time? While he’s known for a while—accepted, even—that an early death was inevitable as long as he worked at Public Safety, Aki still gets the foreboding sense of dread that he supposes every living thing must face while looking its mortality in the face. Similar to how the mouse must feel as it looks up at the barn cat readying to pounce, how the murder victim must feel looking down the barrel of the pistol, or how it must feel receiving a cancer diagnosis—it’s all the same to him.
But as long as it leads to the Gun Devil’s death, he’ll do anything. In the grand scheme of things, Aki knows that his life does not matter. He just needs to tie up some loose ends before—well—the end. That’s all.
“That was a future soon to come. A future absolutely unavoidable.”
Aki Hayakawa is sick of hospitals—and not just because since working at Public Safety he’s been spending an exorbitant amount of his free time in them—he’s sick of the strong odor of disinfectant that permeates the halls of the entire building, he’s sick of the shitty, bland hospital food, he’s sick of the uncomfortable hospital beds, and most of all, he’s sick of the strict no-smoking policies. Though it’s not as if he needs another reason to keep smoking. Maybe it’s just another habit that makes it harder to forget Himeno. She’d be at a loss, Aki thinks, if she knew this was all she died for—she might have saved him a couple of months, at most.
And though he’s used to it by now, he’s sick of the wide berth the hospital staff gives to both the devils and devil hunters, as if simply standing in their presence marks them for death, bringing devils to the hospital’s doorstep.
Though he had to concede this time—he did show up this time to see a devil.
As he walks down the hall and towards the Angel Devil’s room, the staff in the corridor gets sparser and sparser, parting to let him through. The nurses don’t even try to keep their gossip to themselves, murmuring amongst themselves in barely-hushed voices as their eyes dart back and forth from Aki to each other. Not only do they mention the obvious: how young he is, that it’s such a shame he’s already lost an arm, and hopefully the experience will convince him to finally go private or quit devil hunting entirely, but that someone so young shouldn’t carry himself like a dead man walking.
Aki pretends he doesn’t hear any of it, and simply stares at the floor as he walks past. He doesn’t blame the nurses for their ignorance; it’s not like any of them had personally watched the Gun Devil slaughter their entire families in front of their own eyes—they would think differently of him if they had.
When he finally makes it to the hospital room at the end of the corridor, Angel Devil doesn’t even look over or acknowledge Aki’s presence when he opens the door, only languidly turning his head towards Aki after he clears his throat. “This is the last time we’ll be able to speak.” Aki begins, taking a seat on the single stool next to the bed, “probably ever.”
“What do you mean? Are you finally quitting Public Safety?” Though Angel’s expression doesn’t change, he almost sounds hopeful.
“No.” Aki shudders as an icy cold grips his frame, almost as if the Future Devil had appeared behind him anew, those vine-like tendrils twisting around him and constricting his chest. “Yesterday, the Future Devil showed me a vision where the Chainsaw Devil kills me and Power. And he says it can’t be avoided.”
Both Aki and Angel sit in silence for a good five minutes after he says it.
“So you and the Blood Fiend are going to die soon?” Angel Devil won’t look at Aki after he asks, opting instead to stare straight ahead at the ceiling. “What am I supposed to do about it? Want me to try to stop Chainsaw without any arms?” He looks back toward Aki then, making a show of lightly twisting his torso, and the hospital gown’s sleeves slightly shift with the effort. Aki wonders if any of the nurses had helped Angel put it on or just left him to figure it out on his own—he’d never seen anyone else willingly get as close to the Angel Devil as he did, even with a layer of cloth between them.
“No,” Aki sighs, and he’s not sure if he resents or appreciates Angel’s dry sarcasm when the subject is his own looming mortality. “I’m here to tell you what to do after I die.”
“After you die?” Angel asks.
“A devil hunter who loses both arms will just be forced into retirement,” Aki takes a manila folder from out under his overcoat and slides it onto the empty bedside table before continuing, “but you’re a devil. The worst-case scenario is Public Safety puts you down. So I want you to give them this—it’s a recommendation letter from me and Kishibe. I want you to make another contract with someone in Public Safety, like Fox and Future.”
“How nice of you,” Angel comments, turning away again. “The nurses don’t talk to me that much, but mine told me that no one hates devils in Public Safety more than you. I guess you’re different from what the rumors say, it’s really selfless of you to go this far for a devil.”
“And I recall you hating humans,” Aki quips, retreating from the stool and resting his weight against the wall, staring at the empty bedside table again save for the folder he’d just placed on it. “What was it, exactly? Saying that we should all die in pain?”
“The humans I killed and turned into weapons keep appearing in my nightmares,” Angel says, looking straight through him, and somehow those emotionless eyes seem larger, filled with something Aki can’t quite place at the moment. “They won’t stop blaming me for their deaths.”
“What a strange pair we make.” Aki slumps his shoulders, avoiding Angel’s gaze, and if he still had both arms—and wasn’t in a hospital, though that hasn’t stopped him before—he would light a cigarette like the sort of cliché, stereotypical action hero the other Public Safety divisions mock him as. Instead, he fumbles one-handedly with the lighter and curses when he drops it, the unlit cigarette still twitching between his teeth. “A devil that cares about humans and a devil hunter trying to keep a devil alive.”
Aki knows it’s a bad joke, and neither of them even pretends to laugh at it. But was it a joke, or just an observation? The relationship the two of them developed had been weird, if he had to describe it as anything. He suddenly finds himself wondering if Angel had ever laughed in his life. He wonders what would make the devil laugh.
“I’m going to see the Gun Devil tomorrow.” Aki stuffs the cigarette into his pocket and turns towards the door. If Angel was smart, he’d take the folder to Public Safety and contract with another Devil Hunter immediately, and never think about Aki Hayakawa again. “We won’t meet again after this.”
“Wait. I want to do everything I can to help you live.” Angel sits up suddenly, his solemn eyes pointed downwards. Aki stops, but neither of them says anything, and the only sound between them is the dull hum of the hospital’s fluorescent lights. Angel continues: “Because if I let you die, I have the feeling you’ll start haunting my dreams too.”
Up until now, Aki’s been holding it together so well, but that last line is too much for him, and he instantly crumbles inward. The last thing he needs—or wants—to think about right now is that others are going to remember him after he’s gone. All his life he’s spent thinking about those that left him behind, and something about suddenly just being another cog in the cycle overwhelms him.
His mind is foggy, flooded all at once with all of the regrets he knows very well he’s going to die with: the things he hasn’t said, the things he hasn’t done, and the things he’ll never be able to do. He brings his palm up to his face, trying, and failing, to hold himself together as he leans against the doorframe.
How humiliating.
“Do you feel alright?” Angel’s voice cuts through Aki’s thoughts, bringing him back to the hospital room with a snap, and he stumbles.
“What?” Aki asks, looking back toward Angel.
“Your face is red,” Angel comments.
“Sorry. I’m really leaving this time.” Aki stands up stiffly and pats himself down with his remaining arm to save face. A thought flickers through his mind—an incredibly stupid one, at that—but he instantly discards it: some things are better left unacted upon.
“Don’t go—” Angel Devil doesn’t seem to have anything else to say to him, simply staring with those same wide, blinking eyes, an unfathomable despondency within them.
And that’s all it takes for Aki, his body moving before he can register his own actions. He’s grasping the hospital bed’s railing with fervor, leaning over the mattress and pressing a kiss on Angel Devil’s lips. They’re cracked and dry—to be expected of someone who’d just lost the ability to even drink water by himself—and pity wells up in his chest. He presses down further, harder, and even though Angel is completely still, he doesn’t tell Aki to stop or wrest away from him.
Aki should stop there, but he’s already come so far with just one action—he knows how selfish it is, how he’s wasting the last months of his life he has left even if Chainsaw wasn’t going to kill him—so he might as well press further, see how far he can go before Angel finally tells him to stop, that he’s an idiot who’s trying to get himself killed. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before.
They’re both slightly uncoordinated, something that Aki chalks up to his own inexperience, coupled with the assumption that this is probably the first time Angel’s kissed another human. When Angel’s lips press against his again, Aki presses his tongue between them, which pliantly open for him with an exhale. As he deepens the kiss, Aki shifts his weight atop the mattress, swinging his leg over the hospital bed until he’s on top of Angel, the other leg planted on the floor to steady himself.
Angel does what he can, bringing his feathered wings out from behind him and tentatively resting them against Aki’s shoulders, gently nudging him so that the two of them are even closer. The plumage brushes cautiously against Aki’s suit, as if Angel is still taking great care not to touch him. A twinge of regret resonates deep in Aki’s stomach, and he remembers every missed opportunity he’s had before to do this: how he’d kill to feel Angel’s hands tousle his hair and greedily pull him closer, how noncommittally they’ve both been dancing around their feelings for the other, and how he wants Angel to confirm what they must’ve both already known for so long.
“How much time was that?” Aki asks when he pulls away, a thin trail of saliva still connecting them. When he realizes how close they are, he suddenly recalls the last time they were this close: when he was holding Angel’s small frame against him, saying that he ought to die far away from him. Aki lifts his hand to his jaw, hoping the burning sensation under his cheeks doesn’t show.
“Does it matter anymore?” Angel replies, and though he looks as impartial as ever, he's just as flushed as Aki is.
He’s right—It doesn’t matter. And Aki knows this should be enough for him, but he’s out of time to worry about being selfish right now—and neither does Angel, since he doesn’t reprimand Aki.
“Do devils…” Aki slowly brings his hand to cup Angel’s cheek, and his breath is slow and labored, “...like to be touched like this?”
“Of course we do. We have the same desires as humans,” Angel replies placidly, but Aki can see one of Angel Devil’s eyebrows twitch hesitantly and guiltily as he leans into Aki’s touch. “After all, I’m a devil first, and an angel second.”
Aki’s hand slips down further. He starts at Angel’s jawbone, then ghosts over his neck, not stopping until his fingers rest on Angel’s thin, prominent collarbones, watching the light rising and falling as he focuses on the pale skin. Just like a human, warmth emanates from Angel’s skin, and his body quivers in response to Aki’s touch, back slightly arching to meet it at the midway point between them as Aki’s hand slips underneath his hospital gown and wraps around his waist.
Aki would kiss Angel again, but he knows it’s a bad idea, and he’s suddenly overcome with the urge to bury his face in the crook of Angel’s neck and hold him close, just like that. He wonders how the bare skin of their torsos would feel pressed together, but more so, Aki wonders how much time he’d have left if he laid down to rest right there.
But he’s already wasted enough time today, and shaven enough time off of his lifespan. Aki rises from his spot atop Angel on the mattress and pats himself down, really ready to leave this time.
“Sorry,” Aki says, “but I really have to go now.”
“Why do you like her?” Angel asks, and Aki immediately knows he’s talking about Makima. Though Angel’s tone is accusatory, it’s more so defeated.
The question catches Aki off guard, and he stops. Why does he love Makima? No, he’s not sure if it’s love, because he’s already fully aware that Makima does not love him the same way he loves her. But he knows that she needs him, and all he’s ever wanted was to be needed. At the end of the day, Aki supposes that’s what love must be.
And when Angel Devil asks him to stay—does that mean he needs Aki too? Absolutely not. Aki discards the thought almost as soon as it materializes.
He already knows he could never be in love with a devil.