Work Text:
Through the grapevine you hear about the shit show that was division 4’s encounter with the eternity devil. The rumors of the event encourage you to be happy that you got stuck doing busywork and filling out all kinds of forms. It means that the paperwork filled out that will tell you the full story will find itself in your office, even if it won’t make it’s way to your desk for another few weeks. For now you settle for listening to the jokes cracked in the break room about the new recruits flowing in and the never-ending hotel floor.
Its the time of year where more workers flow in, high-school graduates looking for a paycheck or committed workers finally done with training. The dark truth is that most won’t last a month, either quitting or dying.
Until then the suggestion of a proper, cheesy get-to-know-you, meeting floats in. You don’t know if upper management is behind it, but these sorts of events tend to be ushered in yearly. A few times in between you might venture out with one or two of the others you like enough to bother getting to know.
A date is picked, just another week out. You skipped the one a few months back (because Aki wasn’t going either) because you were swamped with paperwork. You’re busy enough even now, that you don’t quite manage to figure out if Aki is going this time either. Drinks alone aren’t alluring enough to coax you to the restaurant, but you are intrigued to find out if any other fiends show up.
There’s talk of a hybrid too, a devilman. Something not entirely anything at once. It sounds more interesting than the normal rumors that float through the cubicles.
When the official invite is whispered through the walls you offer a hesitant acceptance.
—-
The first few minutes are always the worst. You don’t know why you don’t just start showing up late, but the impact of being one of the first there is too enticing. So you show up, hide in your car until someone recognizable enters, then claim whichever seat you find most appealing that night. Inevitably reoccurring coworkers file into the same kind of position around you, no matter which seat you choose.
It’s followed by awkward and stilted conversations with whoever else is present at first (usually Madoka, who is stiff and unwelcoming). The atmosphere never quite grows thick enough to deter you from your timely habits. It dissipates soon enough once a few others make it through the door. A few minutes of chewing your tongue is worth it.
The chatter gets gradually louder while you fight over the food and pay. Whichever poor waiter has come to serve you listens to the long list of platters everyone calls for depending on whatever their personal taste is.
Aki shows up right on time. He always is there promptly at 7, only late once. You made sure to tease him for weeks after.
Others stare at the fiend and hybrid that stroll in behind, you’re attention is solely on Hayakawa.
He looks the same he as he always does. You’re wearing more lax clothes, black tie swapped out for something colorful, suit jacket left behind. Aki is still, completely dressed up in his work uniform.
When he tries to walk past you drag him down to sit down beside you. “Where else were you gonna sit? Nobody else is gonna tolerate your presence.”
The man scoffs, even as he settles down. “I think you have it the wrong way around.” He surveys the food spread across the table, piling his plate with whatever he finds savory enough. Aki looks over to your tray, stealing the beer in front of you.
You don’t often drink, especially not beer. As much as you try, the sour taste never gets any easier on you. On occasions like this you might manage a drink or two just for the social environment. Mostly you’ll hide your distaste behind polite smiles.
“You should ask before taking others’ things.” Your complaint is flimsy, he knows well enough about your distaste.
He frowns and takes a sip of your drink. While you watch the amber flow down his throat you turn your attention to his charges for a brief moment.
It’s clear why Aki needs a drink. Power, the fiend you’ve vaguely heard about, has claimed several trays of karrage for herself. She eats the chicken nearly whole, gnawing at the bones. Someone tries to steal a drumstick for themselves and nearly gets a few fingers bit off.
Denji seems calmer only by the smallest amount. He has gathered up just as much food for himself, but isn’t as aggressive at protecting it. You’re still careful to nab stuff when he isn’t looking, but not scared enough to stop stealing it.
When you glance back over at him the glass mug is already empty. You’re already in the process of waiving a waiter down and ordering a few drinks when Himeno walks in.
Even though you’ve filled your stomach with warm food and drink a sour taste creeps up the back of your throat. Himeno always shows up to these things. Any excuse to drink you suppose. The thought brings a sly smile to your face, as rude as it is.
She sits right across from Aki, leans over to grab a drink and down it. He gives a soft grin in return, and you try not to outwardly grimace.
Your distaste for the woman is not the biggest secret out there, but you’re mature enough not to start a war with her. It’s tempting to scoff at her borderline alcoholic tendencies and crass mouth. Once she’s had a few drinks it only gets worse, more extreme.
For the second act of the night you’re stuck watching Himeno down glass after glass while she holds Aki’s attention. Even after years of knowing the man you still can’t figure out what he wants from her. The woman isn’t shy, he would have to be blind to miss her interest. There has to be a reason that he hasn’t acted on any feelings, feelings that he hopefully doesn’t have in the first place.
While Himeno tells vulgar stories, you turn your attention elsewhere. It’s easy to listen to what others say as you pick at your food. Conversation flows easily when there’s a few different topics bouncing around the table. The only taboo subject is work, after Fushi lamented the loss of his new buddy. Being paired up with a devil is annoying, but they’re much less susceptible to death.
When Makima enters things quiet down for a moment. She looks formidable. There’s a regal elegance that draws your eyes across her figure and towards her face. The red and orange eye that survey the restaurant are hypnotizing.
She sits at the head of the table. Aki and Himeno break away from whatever world they were trapped in to stare at her, as does everyone else. Even once the chatter begins again it’s slow and hushed. Every time Makima adds something to the conversation it grows still again.
When they begin to drink you give up focusing on whatever the rest are talking about. Piles of glasses begin to take over the table.
Aki is beautiful beside you. There’s always beauty in being able to see the small new pieces of him. As each round of beer is served to the trio he cheeks grow redder. When he downs the glasses foam builds up around his lips, a few stray drops of alcohol crawling down his neck. It inches down before soaking into his collar, still done up stiffly.
Makima drinks in slow but large gulps. Nothing escapes past her mouth. She leaves no lipstick marks against the glass, though her lips are an unnatural ruby red. There’s a vague pinkness on her cheeks. It’s hard to tell if it was there before.
Himeno is clearly the looser so far. Her tie sits in her lap, collar undone a few buttons down. It’s a pretty typical sight, the only surprise comes from the fact that she still hasn’t built up more tolerance.
All the glasses begin to spread over more and more of the table. Nobody is watching the trio quite as closely as you are, though it’s the most interesting thing happening. Even Denji seems vaguely intrigued even when his chin is still sticky with vomit. You catch him trying a few drops lingering to the sides of the mugs. His sour face is reminiscent of you own whenever you drink.
Aki and Himeno keep downing drinks. They both have some hidden determination, clear in Aki’s focused eyes. Overtime they grow hazy until he’s completely out of it, drooling on the table. The uniform suit jacket is finally shrugged off, as he folds it up to rest his head on.
Himeno hasn’t given up just yet. She probably won’t stop until she vomits in another person’s mouth, if anyone will get that close to her. Your focus has remained on Aki, and now that he’s retired your interest in their drinking game has dissipated.
Only one blue eye stares up in your direction. His other is shut tight, cheek pressing against the smooth table. The pupil is so dilated that the crystal circle of color around it is barely visible. You blow stray hairs out from his face, forcing his bangs apart.
Leaning down you murmur against his ear, “Aki-kun, how drunk are you? Can you see how many fingers I’m holding up?” You wave three fingers right in front of his eye.
He peels his hand out from where it’s pinned underneath your shoulder, to bat yours away. “Fuckin’ annoying.” The man speaks around his slow tongue in a clumsy way. It pries a quick laugh from your mouth.
The corners of his lips twitch in a way that suggests a smile. It’s not quite committed to the action, but with how much Aki’s face is set a perfect grimace his smile muscles might have atrophied. Either way you’re glad to see him have just a glimpse of joy.
Fushi leans over your way, an offer of shirtama on a plate extended over to you. “Are you gonna take Hayakawa-san home?”
His friendly grin doesn’t look sly, or suggest any amount of knowing.
“Oh! I didn’t plan on it, but I guess he’ll need one now.” The half-truth slips from your teeth easily. The restaurant, the same one you always meet at for company gatherings, is only a block or two from the nearest train stop. It’s warm enough that you could’ve taken the train and walked here comfortably. Regardless you drive your car, an old piece of shit, every single time.
Mostly it ends with you dragging whichever one of your coworkers has gotten drunk enough to need the help. Usually it’s Himeno, much to your chagrin, though occasionally she’s sober enough to make the short walk home. You’ve also shuffled a good amount of senior hunters into your car, which occasionally means you get an extra bonus if anyone is sober enough to remember. It’s never Aki. He typically drinks only two or three beers throughout the entire night. Other than a slight drag at the end of his words, he always seems sober.
You’ve been waiting for this day for a long long time.
It sounds creepy when you say it like that. There’s no better way to put it. You drag out your shitty car, pay for too expensive gas, and take home coworkers you barely know, for the hope that instead Aki will be curled up in your passenger seat. It’s begging for a scrap of his attention that you’re so rarely rewarded with.
One in a million chance, and you’ve won the lottery.
Fushi leans a little closer. Your eyes focus again. “You’re always the designated driver.” There’s maybe a little bit of a tease in his voice, a little bit of a question.
“Sorry, but I haven’t been able to convince myself that beer tastes good yet.” That part is the full truth. Getting drunk off vodka or tequila is a few quick shots, beer is slow and leaves shit on your tongue.
He laughs and pulls away again, turning to chat with the other’s.
Your gaze turns back to Aki. His eyes are barely open, thick downward swooping lashes hiding the slivers of his pupils that are visible. “Do you want to go home yet?” Your voice is gentle against his ear. You murmur right up to it, needing to be heard over the chatter.
“Yer fine to go whenev’r.” A slight country boy accent flows in. You know he used to live in a secluded area out west before the gun devil attacked. The tone has crept in before, usually when he’s tired or looses his temper enough to let his poise slip.
“Well ‘yer’ joinin’ me, so don’t fall asleep before then.” Moisture from his breath lingers on your throat. It’s not close enough to brush up against his nose, but you can feel the distance.
He grins sharply. “Don’t make fun.” The man could tear out your jugular.
You jerk back a little. “Alright cowboy.” A small bubble of laughter pops in the back of your throat. Aki rolls his eyes and shoves his face back in between his arms.
You let him have peace for a few more minutes. People are still eager to chatter. Makima has long since stopped drinking, but Himeno is gulping down another still. Power has devoured an entire chicken farm with how much karaage she’s eaten. The fiend has finally settled down, curled up and clutching her bloated stomach. It’s rare to see her face repercussions for the gluttony she so often displays.
Denji is curled up in the corner still. Drunk Himeno is often a menace to anyone nearby, but even a vomit filled kiss is a little much for her. You remember how she had looked when the boy introduced himself, announced how young he was. It’s another item on a long list of reasons why you hate her. Even without the beer there’s a bitter taste on your tongue.
You approach him in the corner like a wounded animal. He looks up with hazy eyes and heavy weight on his shoulders. “Do you want me to take you guys back now Denji-kun?” You’re surprised by how pudgy his face is. It’s your first good look. The tips of your toes rise up to nudge his knee.
“How come you’re drivin’?” When he looks up you can see sticky remains of sick on his chin.
You try not to let your tone grow too tender. It’s easy to remember how queasy adults made you when they fixed you with that sad smile and sweet sayings. “Your buddy can barely walk right now, so I’m taking over. Unless you want to drag him and Power-chan back.”
Denji’s wide eyes make him look younger as he shakes his head. “We can go now. These guys are lame anyways.” A hint of a grin pulls at the edge of his lips. It’s reassuring that he isn’t completely down.
“Do you know how to unlock a car?” You dangle your keys in front of his face. “It’s not fancy like Aki-kun’s, you’ll have to do it manually.”
He jumps up like an eager dog to grab the metal ring you keep everything on. “Don’t try anything,” you warn. It’d be impressive if Denji got the thing to start in the first place, he might earn a joyride if he succeeds and any attempts. “It’s way in the back. Whichever car looks the worst is probably mine.”
The boy snatches your keys, and saunters out the door. You’re surprised nobody pays much attention to his exit.
Coercing Power out the door is much more difficult. Though she complains of stomach pains and clutches her middle, the fiend is still licking chicken bones, gnawing off a few pieces of a meat still stuck to them.
“We’re leaving.” You nudge her horns with your feet.
She blinks hazily and pulls herself upwards. “Says who? I haven’t commanded it yet!” Power waves a wet bone in your direction.
“Don’t you want to go home?”
The fiend gasps. “How dare you assume that! Tis my own mind that I know best.” You don’t know if fiends can get drunk, but there’s a wildness in her eye.
Madoka pushes his glasses up and gives you a serious look. “You gotta use reverse psychology. It’s like talking to a toddler.” He speaks like Power isn’t there, though she does ignore is words. “Watch this.”
He turns to the fiend. “Power-san, I’m surprised you’re still here. Usually the superior is the one who goes home first.”
She picks her head up. “Huh?! Why didn’t the other human say that? I shall not let you trick me!” The girl stands up and is out the door before you can point her in the right direction.
Madoka, as stiff as ever, leans back and lifts his drink back up.
Your smile breaks out slightly wider on your face. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
You stumble backwards and fall into your seat again besides Aki. His face is plunged into his arms again. When you scratch the back of his head he doesn’t stir at all.
“Aki-kun,” you singsong in his ear. “Get up.” You poke into his skin harder.
The face that greets you is still as cute as ever. There’s a streak of drool across his cheek. Aki’s bangs are more uneven than usual, sticking up and out in odd places.
“We’re leaving,” you inform him. It looks like he hasn’t absorbed the information quite yet, but you’re already folding his jacket over your shoulder and tugging him up by his sleeves. Slowly the man stands up, knees shaking. He puts most of his weight on you, but you still manage to make a quick exit. You stop for only a brief moment to thank Makima, who offered to cover the cost for tonights meal as well as the drinks. Most devil hunters are compensated well for their work, but the amount of beers Aki downed would’ve burned a hole in his pocket. She waves off the appreciation and says, “Goodnight.”
When you’re no longer protected by the warmth of close company and insulated walls Aki shivers. You sling his jacket back around his arms, careful to make sure it doesn’t slip down. If you’re lucky the car will be a few degrees warmer than the outside air. It’s likely the damn thing won’t warm up fully until you’ve arrived back at Aki’s place.
Denji is curled up in the back, car already started and huffing out carbon monoxide. Power is sitting next to him, feet kicking the passenger’s seat. You dump Aki into the front, rubbing your shoulders. Later you’ll fax him the receipt for your chiropractor appointment.
Even drunk and mostly asleep he tugs the seatbelt on.
You run around to the drivers seat. As you pull open the door you can spot a few new scratches along the keyhole. When you slide into your seat you do your best to glare at Denji through the rearview mirror. He doesn’t catch the feeling of your eyes burning holes into his head.
Shifting your gaze to what’s actually behind you, you pull out slowly. Despite the fact that you’re used to dragging coworkers home, you don’t have the best track record when it comes to driving. Your car insurance rates are through the roof, only affordable because you don’t have to pay for any other kind of coverage.
You drive home painfully slow. Normally you’re a bit reckless, even when you’re sober as a stone. The fast nature of Tokyo’s roads encourages you to push through yellow lights and drift around the corners. The first time Aki sat in your passenger seat he looked like he was going to throw up.
Though you still break too roughly and completely miss a stop sign he doesn’t stir. The entire car is strangely quiet other than the squeaking of Power kicking the back of Aki’s seat. Some older song crawls out of your stereo, full of static. The words are unfamiliar, but you can follow the tune.
Aki’s apartment doesn’t have assigned parking, something you’re thankful for. There’s a small gap right near the front that you can squeeze into. You’ll probably scrape against one of the cars on the way out, but you can’t drag the trio all the way across the concrete.
Power springs out easily, racing through the doors and all the way upwards. Denji and Aki both take a bit of prompting, but you manage to coax them out of the car. The boy is stable enough despite his clear exhaustion. Aki sways on his feet. It’s been nowhere near long enough for him to have sobered up, but you wish he had. When the man leans over your head his hands trace your waist.
The night air tickles your nose and fingers. Beside his body there’s pockets of heat that you hide within. Both the teens have charged forward, leaving you with silence. Aki occasionally murmurs something aloud, always too slurred and quiet to understand.
“Thank ya, for takin’ us back,” he finally gets the words out. As he says them his cheek nudges against yours, mouth right against your ear. Your stomach flips several times over, you feel drunk yourself.
Aki’s house is dark. You can hear water running in the bathroom, and see light peeking through another one of the doors. You don’t know who is where, but that doesn’t matter at the moment. Aki’s room is the 2nd door on the left.
It’s neat inside. The bed is made. Pajamas sit folded at the edge. You’re glad you won’t have to ruffle through his drawers, a bit disappointed too. The man pulls away from your side to curl up in bed.
“Don’t sleep yet, I haven’t even taken your shoes off.” You haven’t taken your own either. He’d yell at you if he was sober. If he finds your footprints in the carpet tomorrow you’ll get a late scolding.
Aki mumbles something unintelligible. His loafers are stubborn. The man double knots the laces and no matter how much you tug they don’t come loose. The strings are pulled tight enough that you can’t slip the shoes off without undoing them.
Suddenly he leans forward until his head hangs over your own. “Ya gotta pull here.” Aki tugs at a small little loop at the side and the whole thing unravels.
He grabs your hand in both of his and guides you to the other shoe. “Should’ve taken ‘em off before.” You tug both loafers off and set them underneath the bed.
Taking a brief moment you slip your own off too. You might be able to avoid a scolding still.
“If you wanted them off at the door you could’ve done it yourself.” You fold his suit jacket and place it off to the side. He fumbles with the buttons on his shirt. Sliding upwards you help with the movement. “What would you do without me?”
His head drops down to sit on your shoulder. A calm quiet envelopes the room. His warm cheeks rub against your skin. Aki’s arms hang limp at his sides, letting you do all the work. Once the fabric is undone he stretches his arms out. You can’t tell is he’s trying to be playful or just moving on autopilot. Either way you choose to indulge him.
Tugging the shirt off his body you toss it in the corner. Scooting even closer you pull on the sleep shirt. It’s baggy and old, covered with a fades logo from an unfamiliar band. Your hands brush against the sides of his stomach.
Your thighs brush against his. Letting your fingers wait along his waist it’s hard to pull back. With a brief shift you could topple into his lap. His bed is soft, you could sink into the mattress and fall closer.
Instead you dip off the edge of the mattress. Tossing the pants at him you tell him to change all the way. Seeing him nude, as appealing as the idea is, is something you’ve seen before. Whether it is helping him with wounds or just stuck in uncomfortable situations his naked body isn’t unfamiliar. Still, none of those situations had been anything other than forced circumstance. This isn’t.
“Can you do this part yourself?” Aki’s eyes are closed as his head bobs gently. It seems like he’s not absorbing your instructions at all, but there’s not much more you can do. Taking the bottoms you press them into his hands. His grasp of then is weak, a gentle reflex.
You stand up and stumble out the door. You’ll give him peace for a moment. In the end you suspect he’ll end up sleeping in his boxers or work pants anyways.
It’s quiet outside, pitch black. You weren’t paying attention, but whoever was in the bathroom is gone now. Tracing a finger against the wall you feel the wood until it breaks and you step into the kitchen.
There’s more dishes in the sink than you’ve seen before. Aki’s home often looks spotless, nearly uncomfortably so. Around the table leftovers from breakfast sit. You can imagine the spectacle that the trio make in the mornings.
You don’t love anyone enough to fully clean for them, but you find a place in your heart for Aki as you put away cans of jam and spices. He has a proper breadbox, instead of just jamming the loaf back into the bag, so you use that. The table (and floor) is still coated with all kinds of spreads, accompanied with breadcrumbs, but you leave it for now.
As you set the water to fill up the sink and soak the dishes you finally head towards your original goal.
There’s a low hum the fridge sings. It’s fuller than you’ve found it in the past. Your kitchen back home has mostly leftovers and tv dinners shoved inside of it, nothing like the fresh produce Aki uses. You’ll sort through his cabinets properly and steal whatever’s appetizing later.
Reaching into the back you grab a can of sparkling water. It’s the shitty kind that claims it tastes like fruit, when it’s a pale attempt at flavor. Aki has strange taste, strange to you at least.
You grab a box of crackers from the pantry, alongside a large bowl. It’ll be a miracle if he makes it to the bathroom before his hangover kicks in fully. Himeno couldn’t even make it away from Denji’s mouth.
You’re not an expert in having to deal with hangovers, not when you hardly deal with them yourself. The amenities you’ve grabbed are simple tips shared in magazines to fill space. Hopefully at least some of it will do him good.
When you peek into Aki’s room again he’s tucked into the bed. His pants are shoved into a pile on the floor. He’s curled up still clutching the pair of sweats you offered, meaning he probably couldn’t find the energy to do more than remove his pants.
You peel the bottoms free from his grasp and deposit them back on the floor with the rest of his clothes. Sitting on the bed you’re careful to not disrupt him. Taking out the small trove of items you spread them over the nightstand. The water chills your hand now, but it’ll be warm by morning. Aki will probably be too sick to notice.
Avoiding turning around and admiring the sleeping man you push yourself into his bathroom. It’s hard to read the medication labels in the dim light, but you sort through everything until you find simple painkillers. They find a place beside the rest of the items you brought.
There’s not much you can do to extend your stay.
Kneeling beside him you whisper a quick, “goodbye.” You brush your fingers through his hair and finally take out the ridiculous topknot he insists on wearing all the time. His hair spreads over the pillow, stuck up in a stiff and awkward way. Ruffling the dark locks you watch them settle into a more natural position.
His cheeks look a little more like their natural color, red fading back to a subtle pink. The slumber he’s fallen into seems like a result of the late hour rather than the alcohol consumption. Pausing for a moment you take in the sight of him. Cool shadows mold his skin, his hair looking more blue. If his eyes were open they’d reflect the moonlight, even if it doesn’t permeate the room.
You wish you could stay. It’s tempting to curl up beside him and soak in his presence. Your fingers skim over his cheek one last time. His warm skin lights your fingers ablaze.
The feeling carries you up and out of his room.
The entire home is absolutely silent on your way out. It’s a little unsettling as you creep down the hall. You steal a can of soda from the fridge and crack it open. It must’ve been bought for Denji or Power, Aki would never drink something so unhealthy.
It’s a strange sort of silence once you close the door. The walk there wasn’t particularly loud, but it felt warm and comfortable. The shadows seem more threatening now, the air slightly colder. You regret now that you don’t often wear a jacket. The suit provided is boring and indistinguishable from anyone else’s, but it’s sturdy and well insulated.
Awkwardly jogging towards your car you shiver in the chill air. As you slide in you’re quick to turn on the heat. The car still smells a little bit like Aki, a combination of booze and cigarette smoke. Underneath there’s a hint of whatever body spray Aki uses, warm and musky. If the scent belonged to anyone else it’d be unappealing, but it’s so uniquely Aki that you’re glad the smell permeates the air.
It lifts your mood the whole ride hime, even on the walk to your own apartment. You carry the feelings of his breath against your neck and hands on your while you curl up in bed.
—-
In the morning you have a single notification on your small phone.
Thank you.