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It’s late when they get to the hotel. It’s a nice place- four stars if he remembers correctly- and paid a handsome sum for the trouble of hosting Public Safety agents, plus a considerable amount on top of that, for their discretion in the matter. It’s why the receptionist regards them with faux nonchalance as they stumble in: dripping the day’s work all over the fine carpet in bloody, viscous clumps. The other patrons are more taken aback, but Angel doesn’t spare a glance at the balking expressions he feels boring into his back. He sticks a hand in his coat pockets, then his pant pockets, and comes up empty. He groans under his breath and looks over at his companion. Aki hasn't said anything since they finished the job, his gaze glued to the ground. He hovers at Angel's side, form pulled taut in some attempt at maintaining composure.
"Aki?" He asks quietly, nudging him, "...Do you have the room key?"
The words take their time getting to him, but eventually, he responds. Without bothering to check his clothes, he gives a small shake of his head.
Angel purses his lips and looks back up to the receptionist, "Hey, uh, we need a new key? Room…" he drums his fingers against the desk, leaving red imprints on the oak, "Two fifteen? I think. Second floor."
"Oh!" She jolts as if she had only now realized they were there, "That's no problem, I'll get right on that."
"Do we need to show ID or anything?"
That'd be a pain. He'd lost his wallet in the fight and hadn't bothered to remember the covers either of them was using for this trip.
"No, no, you're alright," she says, as she digs through her drawer, "I saw you two come in earlier." She turns back to them, "Here. This should be the one."
She sets the key down, sliding it forward towards him. Maybe the staff here had been warned to be wary of his touch, maybe it's just policy. Regardless, he pockets it and mumbles an awkward, "Thank you." Followed by a stiff nod.
"Forgive me, but-" as Angel begins to leave, he's stopped by her voice, "Your…friend, is he alright?"
He turns back to Aki. He hasn't moved at all since they'd gone up to the desk, frozen in place like a statue.
Angel frowns, "He's-"
"I'm fine." Aki finishes for him, his voice a low whisper. He looks up, managing a small smile, "I've just had a long day, I'm sure you understand."
The woman nods sympathetically, doing a remarkable job of ignoring the streak of blood smeared across his face. "Of course, I can't imagine what they have you doing out there."
His expression falters and Angel nudges him again, with a little more urgency, "Let's go. I'm tired."
This time, when he starts walking, Aki follows. The elevator isn't far and when Angel calls it down, it reveals itself to be empty. As they step in, he slowly grabs the other's arm. First, at his clothed wrist, then down to his stiff, bare fingers. He still hasn't gotten used to it. The sensation of skin under his own, absent of his lethal touch's tug. But it's nice. Even if Aki's hands are stained crimson and cold as the dead, it's nice.
For a moment, Angel doesn't know if he registers it, but he feels his frozen fingers begin to thaw, tangling around his. The doors close and Angel breathes a sigh of relief. It's an odd part of the day. Not quite afternoon, but too early to be called evening, leaving the hall blissfully unpopulated as they make their way down it. He takes the lead, letting Aki drag his feet until he gets to their room. It's only then that he releases his hand, fishing the key out of his pocket to unlock the door.
The inside isn't much to write home about. Two beds- queen-sized, adorned with heavy comforters- with matching dressers, as well as a small fridge. A door leads off into a bathroom. Still, it's nicer than Angel's usual accommodations, so he'll allow himself a small sense of satisfaction. He wastes little time in shrugging off his coat, dropping it onto the floor with a wet thud. His shoes and tie are next, shuffled off into a messy pile by the door. He looks back to Aki, who's drifted over to his own bed. He hasn't sat down yet, though, staring at it like he's not sure what to make of it- like he's lost.
Angel clears his throat and Aki turns to face him. "We should get cleaned up." He says, "It's gonna be hard to sleep like this."
It's a tall order. He knows both of them would rather collapse here and now, forgetting about the day's events until the next morning. But he also knows that if Aki sleeps like this- covered in the day's carnage- it's going to be a very long night. Aki looks down at himself, then back at Angel, and seems to have the same idea.
"Right." He mumbles, beginning to pull his coat off. His movements are deliberate, his eyes narrowed in focused as if it requires a great deal of concentration.
Aki makes his way to the bathroom but lingers in the door frame.
"Did you…" He trails off, looking in question at Angel.
He shakes his head, "You go first. I'll take too long." He flaps his wings lightly for emphasis.
With that, Aki nods and slips inside.
He sits back on his bed, resisting the urge to lie down and ruin the bedding. As the sound of running water trickles from behind the door, Angel wonders if Aki was ever this shaken before. When it was strictly devils and their faceless contractors he was dispatching, maybe he never came back haunted Or maybe he did, just out of sight of any prying eyes: retreating to dark corners to lick his wounds like an injured animal.
It's not like he's much better. Angel has always been a solitary creature. Displaying anything beyond quiet resignation or dull apathy proved too exhausting. Even as he's begun allowing himself to indulge the less palatable parts of himself, he's found it hard to gauge what was catharsis, and what was opening doors better left closed.
There's enough on his mind to occupy him but eventually, his focus drifts from his malaise. The sound of water had stopped sometime Angel couldn't place it, leaving him in silence. He glances at the clock on his bed stand. Aki has been in the bathroom for an hour. It’d be far from him to judge, but it’s getting late, and even if he lacks the bulk of human sensitivities, he isn't looking forward to sleeping covered in gore. He gets up and raps a knuckle against the door.
“Aki?” He asks, “You’re taking too long.”
He waits for an answer, but none comes. A knot forms in the pit of his stomach.
“Aki?”
When faced with uncertainty, Angel’s always been one to assume the worst. He gives it another thirty seconds, before turning the door handle.
“I’m coming in.”
Thankfully, he’s left it unlocked, and he steps in. Inside is ornate, but a modest ordeal. A marble sink piled neatly with toiletries and a tile floor with several mats. Aki sits on one beside the full bathtub, fully clothed, with his head resting on his knees. He’s facing away from Angel and doesn’t turn around until he places a light hand on his shoulder.
Aki flinches and snaps his head around, “Angel.” He speaks in the same quiet tone he's maintained for the whole day, almost dreamlike. It might've been inaudible if not for the echo of the tiles. "...What is it?"
Angel frowns. How far into himself did he recede? You've been in here an hour," he says, then, "Are you alright?"
He blinks like he's trying to snap himself out of a trance "Must have lost track of time. I'm fine. Just got caught up in…in…" he taps his finger against the bathtub, "My thoughts. I just got caught up in my thoughts. With everything…um-" he sucks in a breath, shakes his head, and fashions his stained lips into a thin smile, "I'm sorry, you can wash up before me. I can wait."
Aki moves to stand up and he waves a hand to stop him. He mulls over what to say for a few moments. Leaving him alone in this state is rapidly showing itself to not be an option, but what was there to say ? He's not built for the sort of delicate sentimentality Aki probably needs.
So, he asks. "Do you need help?"
There, it's something. Calls to action have always been easier than trying to come up with words of comfort.
Aki looks taken aback. He glances at the bathtub, himself, then back at Angel.
"I couldn't- that's not-" he falters, twisting his sleeve, "I'm not a child. You don't need to look after me like that."
"I offered," Angel replies coolly, leaning back against the sink.
"And I'm saying no."
He huffs. It's not like either of them is particularly concerned with modesty- it's hard to feel squeamish around someone when you've seen them half-digested by a devil before- he's just being stubborn. The day Aki admits he needs help, is the day hell freezes over. But he has just enough social grace to know that telling him he's being an obstinate ass isn't going to solve anything.
"You'd do the same for me," he says instead. Seeing the continued refusal already forming on the other's lips, he adds, flatly, "You aren't well, Aki."
That clamps his mouth shut. His expression falls, whatever remaining strings of composure holding it taut going limp. In their absence, he looks so tired: skin gaunt beneath the smear of blood, eyes a yawning void, his jaw slack like a corpse. He wraps his arms around himself and rubs them gingerly.
"Fine," he looks away from Angel, " Fine . I'll…" He drops his arms "...Thank you."
Angel only hums in response and steps forward. He lifts his hands up to rest against Aki's shirt collar. The sleeves have been torn off (Apparently, no one at Public Safety took any lessons from Chainsaw's collection of ruined uniforms) and the rest of it isn't in a much better state.
"Do you want me to get the buttons?" He asks. He remembers the other's slow, awkward movements earlier.
Aki grapples with the idea for a few agonizing seconds before he nods. He obliges, working the first button through the hole, and making his way down the shirt. The other stands with a soldier's rigidity, tensing every time Angel's fingers brush against the fabric. He lingers, perhaps longer than necessary, at the center of his chest. At the edge of his fingers, he can just feel the butterfly flutter of his heart. Not human heart, mind you, not anymore, but one that beats nonetheless. However dire Aki's state, it beats steady and resolute. That, at least, gives some reassurance. He pulls his hand away and continues downward.
"There."
He finishes the last of them, letting it fall open. He helps Aki shrug the shirt off, dropping it into the corner. His chest is in a similar state to his clothing, caked in a layer of gore. Beneath it, he can just make out the concaves of lean muscle and the ridges of scar tissue. His hand ghosts the skin for a moment before he pauses. He furrows his brow and hovers his hands in front of his pants zipper.
"I'll get it," Aki says and he quickly retracts his hand. Angel busies himself with his reflection as he gives him privacy. He splashes water into his face and scrubs his hands clean. They're probably just going to get dirty again, but the temporary relief gives him something to do. He waits until he hears Aki step into the bathtub before turning around.
He sits in the same position as he found him. Arms wrapped around his legs, which are curled into his chest for his head to rest upon. He’d let the water reach his midsection, the blood already seeping off his body to stain it red. Angel makes his way to the edge of the tub, extends a hand, and stops. He wonders, again, what exactly it is that he’s doing. He knows Aki. He’d be hard-pressed not to, having spent the better part of the last few months narrowly avoiding death by his side, but they don't do… this often. They circled around each other like the two caged monsters that they were, the shape of the vague something that existed between them left intentionally obscured. Care was implicit, affections were quiet. This was neither. So, as he sits down on the rim of the bathtub, observing his partner laid bare and on the cusp of breaking before him, he fumbles around for what to do and settles on reaching for the sponge resting on its edge.
He wets it and brings it to his back. As gently as he can manage, he drags it across, exposing the blanched skin underneath. The notches of his spine jut out, rigid with tension. His back is as decorated with scars as his front. There's a gash on his shoulder, another on his side, and dozens of smaller wounds, scattered like stars of hardened tissue in between them. For all it had healed him, the Gun Devil had left them behind. Maybe it was beyond its power, maybe it left them as some sort of twisted memento. It doesn't really matter, beyond the extra care he takes washing over them.
Aki begins to uncoil, slowly. Muscles relax beneath his hold and he releases a small sigh. As Angel washes his shoulders, then his neck, Aki leans into it, ever so slightly. Good, Angel thinks. It's good that however clumsy his care is, it brings some modicum of comfort. He finishes and examines his handiwork, rubbing a circle on the small of his back as he does (the sensation feels quiet, somehow, without life slipping between his fingers.)
He trails to his right arm next, down to the hand, and gently maneuvers it away from his body. Aki lets him, watching him from the side of half-lidded eyes. He passes over its curvature, washing in between the sculpted grooves. He takes special care with his fingers, doing his best to scrub out grime from beneath the nails. He moves on the left, shortly, letting the right one drop into the water. He entangles their hands again; brushes over the knuckles. He lingers on the gun slide that curls around his ring finger. From a distance, it could be mistaken for a ring, but he can feel how it presses flush against the skin. Aki notices and curls the finger back.
“Careful.” He mumbles.
He gives him a bemused look, “You think they’d make you pay for damages if I pulled it?”
“ Angel .”
“I’m joking, ” he huffs, but moves his hand, trailing back down the arm.
He’s talking, at least, that’s good. He finishes and pulls back, examining Aki’s front. It’s going to be awkward washing it from this position, especially since he’d rather not deal with sodden clothes.
“I’m coming in,” Angel announces and steps away. When he’s sure Aki’s heard, he strips off his clothes, grimacing at how his shirt catches on his wings. He rings the sponge out in the sink in the meantime, soaking it in unsoiled water. He turns and lowers himself into the water, shuffling back enough to give Aki space. It’s cooled by now but is still warm enough. It’s comfortable if you ignored the reek of copper.
He taps his knee, indicating to him to untuck them from his body. There’s a moment of hesitation before he obliges, and Angel pulls closer. Aki’s chest seems to have gotten the brunt of the damage. It’s covered almost entirely in a layer of rusty crimson. He sighs, and drags the sponge down it, pressing hard to ensure it catches. Aki keeps his gaze firmly upward, averting it from the blood trails Angel brushes away. His tension has eased now, the taut pull of his shoulders going slack.
Angel lifts Aki's chin, tilting it up so he has access to his throat. He passes over the soft skin and sees his breath hitch. He loosens his grip at that, washing the area more carefully. He's almost finished. He's sure more practiced hands would better be more thorough, more diligent, but neither of them has the time nor patience for that luxury. So, this will have to do.
He forgoes the sponge for Aki's face. Slowly, with the same caution he might give a wild animal, he cups either side of it in his hands. His skin is softer than he expected. It's unmarred by the hardened tissue that pockmarks the rest of his body, bellying a tenderness that sharp angles and tightly wound muscle dare not. Aki's eyes- nearly shut- snap into deer-in-the-headlights alertness. His lips part, but nothing comes out, save for a sharp breath. Angel keeps his expression impassive, fighting the same apprehension from reflecting on it. He ghosts his fingers across his cheekbones and rubs smooth circles down his jaw. Aki's gaze lingers on his before his eyelids begin to droop again. As he trails along his cupid's bow they flutter shut and he leans into his touch. Angel brushes along the bridge of his nose, along his forehead, along his shut eyes. He tucks the strands of hair that have fallen into his face behind his ears and massages water around them. He rubs away the streaks of red until his skin is bare. He keeps one hand against his cheek, thumb grazing his bottom lip, and brings the other to card through his hair. It comes out red, with small clumps of viscera collecting on it.
"I'm gonna turn on the shower," he says, "That should be it."
Aki nods. Angel pulls his hand away and to the handle. He turns it, then the diverter, sending a drizzle of warm water down. The stream’s wide enough to catch both of them and Angel begrudgingly remembers that he would have to get cleaned up too. He shuffles behind the other and begins running his hands through his hair. With how dark it is, it's hard to see where it's been stained, but he can feel the strands stick together. He pries them apart as gently as he can and combs them downwards. He massages his scalp, coaxing whatever debris clung to his roots to drip down into the water.
The process is quiet- the only sounds heard over the water are the occasional grunt of pain from Aki and Angel's muttered apologies. He doesn't know how long it takes before he can run his fingers through the inky waves unimpeded, only that he eventually can. He leans forward to turn the water off, reaching past Aki's shoulders and pressing his chest flush with his back. With the heat of the water and their shared space, the day's exhaustion begins to make itself known. His limbs feel leaden and a drowsy fog begins to creep across his mind. He drops his arms, rests his head on Aki's shoulder, and sighs.
"There, that should be it," he fumbles for the drain and pulls it. Water begins to swirl out from beneath them, leaving the bathtub stained. He hopes whatever bill Public Safety is paying for cleaning is a hefty one.
“Do you think you can dry off on your own?” Angel asks, pressing close against his hair.
He feels Aki nod and begin to pull away. He leans back to give him space.
“Do you want some help with…” As Aki stands up, he gestures at Angel’s wings.
“It’s fine,” Angel says, “I’m used to them.”
Frankly, the extra pair of hands would be nice, but not now. All Aki looks like he’s prepared to do is collapse into bed.
“Alright,” he grabs a towel from the rack and begins to wipe himself down.
“Thank you,” he adds stiffly, as Angel busies himself with refilling the tub, “Again.”
Angel gives a low hum in response, wringing his hands under the tap. “You should get some sleep, Aki.”
“Yeah, I should.” Aki wraps the towel around himself and gathers his clothes. “Let me know if you need anything.”
He yawns, “If I start drowning in the bath, I’ll yell.”
Aki rolls his eyes and makes his way out the door.
Washing up is a tedious process. Even aside from having to work his way in and around his feathers, cleaning his hair alone is miserable, especially with the water hitting his halo and spraying around him. He has half a mind to resign himself to his growing exhaustion and fall asleep right then and there, but then he might actually drown. So, he does what he can to finish quickly.
When he’s done, he towels himself off (they’d had the foresight to request extra, given his wings) and moves to leave, when something on the counter stops him. The change of clothes he’d brought: a t-shirt and a pair of loose shorts. He must not have noticed Aki come in to drop them off. It saves him the trouble of fumbling around in the dark for it. His lips quirk up and he pulls the clothes on.
Angel steps into the hotel room, pulling the bathroom door shut behind him. In the time it’s taken him to bathe, the sky outside has faded to a deep navy. It leaves the room cast in shadow, the silhouettes of furniture just barely visible. He can make out the lump on Aki's bed, letting him know he's already settled in, and hear the shift of sheets, letting him know he hasn't fallen asleep just yet. So, he stands there, waiting for…
His eyes begin to adjust, right as Aki lifts the side of his blanket.
An invitation, apparently. Angel shuffles over to his bed and slips in. Even after everything, even as he lays down on the firm mattress, side brushing against Aki, he doesn’t quite know what to do with his body. It, like every part of him, wasn’t made for this sort of quiet comfort. The fact he can indulge in it is merely a technicality; a byproduct of an otherwise merciless contract.
Maybe it is by nature, then, that he reaches out blindly in the dark, arms finding purchase around the torso of an (almost-but-not-quite) human, stealing his warmth with unholy ease. Devils are made to transgress, to take what is not rightfully theirs. Perhaps his theft is just a softer one, committed under the cover of hushed affections. Aki draws him close and he breathes out.
“Are you alright?” Angel murmurs, burying his face in his neck.
“I’m…” He falters and runs a hand across the base of his wing. “...Better. I think.”
Angel’s eyes flutter shut. Better . That’s more than he can ask for.
“Good,” he says, “That’s good.”
He doesn’t respond, only tightens his grip on Angel.
Maybe a different partner would know what to do with everything that still hovers over them, threatening to drop like a halo of blades. Maybe a different partner would know how to ease Aki’s wounds deeper than the surface level-
“I’m going to see it in my dreams again tonight,” Aki whispers, eventually. It sounds like a confession: ragged, fearful, ashamed. Angel doesn’t need to see, to know he’s toying with the slide on his finger, “I always do, after a big fight.”
Maybe a different partner would know how to protect Aki from all the carnage he’s sown and is bound to sow. Maybe a different partner could wash Aki’s hands clean of blood with something other than water.
He remains quiet, busying himself with tracing the hardened tissue of his back.
“I’ll be here when you wake up.” He responds, eventually.
Maybe a different partner could offer him something other than saccharine sentiments, that neither is programmed to accept.
Aki lets out a sharp breath against his hair and presses Angel's head closer to him.
"Thank you, Angel."
But, Aki's stuck with him. And whether he deserves better or not, Angel can offer whatever fraught sanctuary something like him can muster. He holds his partner in desperate arms and wraps his wings around them both.