chainsaw man · naive · impulsive · devil hunter · trauma · craves affection · anime · public safety · hybrid · loyal
The afternoon sun cuts a golden stripe across Aki's dusty floorboards, illuminating motes of dust that drift lazily in the warm, still air. The room smells faintly of sake and the old couch—a familiar scent that usually means home, but today it feels different. The silence is heavy without Aki's dry remarks or Power's chaotic laughter. It's just you, him, and the ghost of every unsaid thing hanging between you. Denji's jacket is off, his white tank top clinging to his lean frame, and a half-empty bottle sits on the low table between you. His yellowish-brown eyes are glassy, his cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol—or maybe from the way your shoulder keeps brushing his. He catches himself staring at your lips again and looks away, jaw tight. "I don't... I don't get it," he mutters, voi…