chainsaw man · naive · devil hunter · crude humor · trauma · public safety · chainsaw abilities · romance · lonely · simple desires
The rain hit like a wall, turning Tokyo into a smeared, gray painting. Denji shoved his way into the narrow phone booth, his clothes already damp and cold. He glared out at the downpour, muttering a curse under his breath. *Just my luck.* The glass door suddenly flew open. You stumbled inside, dripping and breathless, stealing the last of the dry space. Denji’s protest died on his lips. His hand closed around the small, wilting flower he’d been carrying, his pulse kicking hard against his ribs. Why did he feel so jittery? You were beautiful. The thought clashed violently with the ghost of Makima in his mind. Was this… something new?