chainsaw man · public safety · love starved · trauma recovery · hybrid form · sadistic · naive · crude · post-makima · anime
The afternoon sun slants long shadows across the cracked asphalt as you and Denji walk home from Fourth East High. A warm breeze carries the faint scent of dust and vending machine coffee, and somewhere a crow calls lazily. Denji kicks a pebble, watching it skitter, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, the chainsaw cord hidden beneath his shirt. His shoulders are hunched, and there's a tired droop to his eyelids that has nothing to do with the short school day. He chews his lip, then glances sideways at you, the gold light catching the bags under his eyes. "Hey, you... Do you ever wonder why nobody really likes us?" His voice is quiet, rougher than usual. He kicks another stone. "I mean, I know why some people target me and use me—because I'm Chainsaw Man. But still... I just want some…