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“You can see the ocean from here.”
The hotel room is lit only by the dim lamplight on the nightstand. The window Angel is peering out of has broken blinds and smudges on the glass. The air conditioner whirrs with intensity in an attempt to make the room less stuffy, but whether it be from the suit he has on or the lack of space in the room itself Angel can feel himself working up a sweat. He reaches for his tie, loosening it as he turns away from the window.
“Do you think I can open it?”
Aki Hayakawa is perched on the edge of one of the small twin beds in the room, folding his dress shirt neatly in his lap. Angel watches as his eyes flick to the side in his direction just for a second. “You can try, but I'd be surprised if the window wasn't bolted,” he replies plainly. “I need to get you back early tomorrow. You should sleep.”
Angel almost audibly groans at the thought of getting up early just to end up back at headquarters. Aki gets to go home and Angel gets to be returned to his dealer just like a car rented out. He taps his index finger to his pointer finger and notes the blood caked stuck under his nails, more brown than red.
Scratch that, Aki returns him to headquarters like he’s a killer for hire. Because at the end of the day that's what Angel is meant to be.
“You’re no fun,” he drops his hand, attempting to lean back into the chair as much as his wings will allow him. Aki scoffs, standing to place his clothes on the floor near the door. Angel wouldn’t expect Aki to do something so careless, but it’s not like getting your clothes dirty is much of a concern when they’re already covered in blood.
Aki makes his way over to the window and scans it for a bit. And Angel watches him. He watches the way his eyes squint a bit as he gives the top a once-over. He reaches out and his hand pauses in the air before he settles on a clasp that he slides upwards, the window moving with his hands. He drops his hands and Angel’s eyes follow, lingering on the bend of Aki’s fingers and the redness of his palms. For a brief moment, he wonders whether they’d be hot or cold, but then he realizes he got the chance to figure it out and he still doesn’t know the answer.
He forces his eyes up as Aki leans against the window sill, the breeze blowing his hair back and filling the room with the scent of salt and blood, but Angel doubts Aki catches the underlying essence of iron.
“You’re not very lively yourself,” he says, reaching into his pocket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes.
Angel would argue if he had the will to, but Aki’s not wrong and he doesn’t want to spend time defending an aspect of himself he couldn’t deny if he tried. Instead, he inhales deeply, taking in the new stench of tobacco.
Angel’s tired.
He wishes he could cite a reason. He wishes he had some sort of noble cause under his belt that could justify the bags under his eyes and his despondent attitude. He doesn’t have what Aki has, a story where the second people hear it they understand the set gaze and the slight jitter in his hands when someone passes by a little too quickly. Some sort of explanation to the flinch when a loud sound fills the room. A reason to inhale the smoke until you end up with your guts on fire and your bones are charred.
Maybe in a past life, he did have a reason, but it’s not as if he’d remember it. And he’s not sure if he’d want to.
He sighs, growing tired of the silence in the room. He forces himself to stare the way Aki does, fixing his eyes back on the water outside.
The ocean looks far more imposing at night than it does during the day. The sand takes on a sort of gray tinge without the sun glaring down on it. The water would be pitch black if it weren’t for the moon shining down on it. But despite its appearance, the tide moves against the shore in a manner that almost seems calmer than usual, sloshing on the sand and retreating with a sense of tranquility that contrasts with the aggressive waves that plague the shore during the day. He’s seen it from afar, the way the water splashes against people that wade on the beach. The way people will start on the sand and somehow end up found whisked away into the depths. The fact that drowning is a silent killer. Maybe it has to do with the moon. Maybe it’s the lack of humans giving the devils that dwell in the ocean no reason to be aggressive. Angel doesn’t care enough to think about it.
Maybe he’d be able to meet a similar fate if he threw himself in there. He’d probably need drowning lessons first though, Angel has an unlucky streak when it comes to demise.
“Do you think I could make it to heaven if I killed myself?” He says it as casually as he would if he were asking what time it is. He doesn’t turn to face Aki, but he catches the way he moves in his peripheral.
“You won’t,” Aki says it like it’s an order and Angel wants to laugh. He can’t.
“It’s hypothetical,” Angel makes himself turn to face him and ends up being met with a furrowed brow and a glare that sends daggers straight through Angel’s own eyes.
If looks could kill he would be grateful.
Aki doesn’t respond, so Angel takes the cue to keep talking. “Devils never really die. We die here, go to hell, and then are reborn with no previous memory,” he shrugs as he speaks, “I think something’s wrong with me. I don’t remember anything, but I still feel like somethings’ bothering me.”
Aki blinks and his eyes soften, flickering with something Angel wants to believe is sympathy. The crease between his brown remains though and Angel wants to reach out and soothe his thumb over it to make it go away.
He wants a lot.
“I don’t get why I exist anyways,” he continues, “if angels did exist why aren’t they doing anything about devils?” He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, dropping his gaze. Against his better judgment, he finds himself staring at the way Aki’s free hand shoves itself into his pocket. He almost starts talking again just to ease the silence that suffocates the room, but Aki beats him to it.
“You’re an angel,” his voice has a tinge of hesitancy to it and Angel tilts his head up.
“I’m not actually an angel, you know that right?” He knows the answer, but he still watches as Aki purses his lips together as if his thoughts were culpable. Angel doesn’t hold it to him. He doesn’t think he could.
He doesn’t feel much against the fact that Aki thinks this, but it must seem as if he does because Aki is frowning and taking a long drag from the cigarette pinched between his fingers. He exhales, letting his eyes flutter shut for a second. He flicks the stick out the window, bringing his hand back inside once it’s discarded. Angel tsks, pointing out the window. “You’re giving the climate crisis devil so much fuel right now.”
“If it’s any consolation,” Aki ignores his jab, stepping closer so the fabric of his pants against his knee makes contact with Angel’s own. His wings jolt against the chair and cram closer to him. He tries to open his mouth to scold him, but Aki’s talking again.
“I never thought of you as scary. It’s hard to believe anyone can,” Aki breathes it out like it’s the simplest thing in the world and Angel wants to combust. ‘That’s not true,’ he wants to say, if it was he really wouldn’t exist. Maybe that’s what Aki wants, but Angel finds that hard to believe when Aki’s looking at him with something Angel could almost describe as care.
His face heats up and he averts his eyes. You’d think after being in hell so much he wouldn’t feel hot so easily but here he is, cheeks tinged and chest tight after lip service from someone who’s threatened his life on multiple occasions. It’s almost comical. So comical that in another life Angel would’ve laughed or made a joke instead of feeling his stomach drop at the idea.
Falling is in Angel’s nature. To end up in hell he surely had to have fallen from the sky and landed in the fire, doors opening in his wake. And now he feels himself falling again, but this time it’s not from the sky. This time he’s falling toward Aki Hayakawa and no matter how much tries to slow the descent he ends up plummeting faster. He wants to apologize, to say he never wanted Aki to get dragged into this.
Unfortunately, being too prideful is also in Angel’s nature.
“Well if people aren’t scared of me then I had to have done something wrong,” he looks back up, “I just don’t remember what it is.”
Aki stares at him in a way that makes Angel feel transparent. He knows the surface level of what he’s done but doesn’t remember a second of it. And he knows Aki has heard of it as well, he could figure that from how he said he couldn’t even stand to pretend to get along with him when they first met. Angel’s glad he doesn’t remember and that no one else seems to know the details because if they did there's a chance Aki would be staring at him with less precaution and more malice.
“How would killing yourself fix that?” He says it with a practiced cadence and Angel figures he’s had to say it before. He’s seen the devil hunters that pass the halls at headquarters and their panicked dispositions. Angel shrugs.
“Repenting,” the word feels foreign on Angel’s tongue and Aki raises a brow at him. Angel continues despite that. “Evening it out.”
Aki presses his knee firmer against Angel’s own. “You want to play the Paradise Lost card?”
Angel swallows a laugh in his throat, allowing himself to grin if only for a moment. “Lucifer didn’t kill himself in Paradise Lost.”
“He might as well have,” And when Angel blinks again Aki’s smiling too.
And for a moment he thinks that maybe that’s it.
Maybe he just existed to play Lucifer in whoever ruled the world's story. It’s not like he betrayed anyone as far as he can remember, but maybe he’s Lucifer in the sense that he finds himself grappling and wondering if there’s any hope for forgiveness. Anything he can do to appease whoever he wronged. But he’s also Lucifer in the fact that he never explored those ideas because he finds it hopeless. If there was a chance for him at all it’s gone now, because all he thinks about is never having a chance at all. And maybe that’s the reason why he falls.
He never asked to be created and now he’s the one paying the price.
“Don’t think about it too hard,” Aki snaps his fingers like he’s trying to break a trance. His fingers twitch for a second after they clack together and Angel finds himself drilling holes into them. He despises it. Aki’s fingers clench inwards towards his palms and Angel finds himself searching for eye contact; Aki’s pupils are already burning into him when he finds it.
“How much of a devil are you?”
The question hangs in the air. It’s heavy and spans between them, the words pressing against Angel’s chest and digging into his clothes. “Depends what you mean.”
“Would you kill me if I tried to do something right now?” The hand that’s been in Aki’s pocket for a while now finally emerges, and pinched between his fingers is what Angel recognizes as a pair of gloves. His mouth runs dry.
He’s not really an Angel. This isn’t really a touch. This is sweet misery and every other oxymoron in between.
“I’d tolerate it,” he forces his voice to seem relaxed and he knows that it’s bullshit. They both know it’s bullshit because Aki’s eyes widen just a bit and he’s pulling the gloves on as if they’ll disappear if he waits any longer. The question that hung in the air just a few seconds ago falls to the floor as Angel watches; his stomach churns with want and he wonders how often humans get to feel this sort of thing. The gloves are on, Aki stands up straighter, and the lightness in Angel’s stomach becomes the weight of anxiety.
Aki looms over him like he has countless times before and for the first time Angel feels actually threatened by it. Aki gestures his hand out, fingers clad in latex. He ghosts his hand across the bridge of Angel’s nose and he flinches at the contact.
“Calm down,” Aki mutters, “it’s safe through cloth.”
Angel knows good and well that it is, but the idea of being touched in a situation where there's no imminent threat causes his mind to be clouded. Aki Hayakawa is careless and altruistic. Angel doesn’t think he can remember a time when Aki was just doing something for himself, despite his attempt to put on some sort of headstrong persona. Aki doesn’t do things for himself. But here he is pressing his thumb against the bump of Angel’s nose with purpose. He reaches his other hand out, gesturing for one of Angel’s.
“Hand,” he mumbles, “Hand,” he repeats when Angel falters. All Angel can do is clench his fist and Aki must be impatient because he reaches out himself and pulls his hand out, running his thumb over his knuckles. There's a sense of urgency in the way he moves and it dawns on Angel very quickly that Aki is being selfish. And that means Aki wants this.
Aki’s fingers drag across his face, refusing to miss anything. He drags his index finger across the skin of Angel’s eyelid while his middle finds a place on Angel’s cheek. Angel finds himself leaning into it and just for a moment thinks it might be okay to fall, but he knows that way of thinking is the exact reason why he fell in the first place. Aki makes quick work of getting Angel to unclench his hand, pressing the pads of his fingers against his as encouragement. His hand traces the side of his jaw and Angel feels nauseous. This was what humans do, what people give into and lose their judgment for. Devils weren’t supposed to get attached and feel their pulse in their throat. He swallows and Aki’s ring finger stretches to press against his Adam's apple. He swallows again and feels how his finger bobs with the motion. His cheeks flare and he’s sure his skin is wine-washed. His suspicions are confirmed when Aki’s tongue darts out of his mouth and runs over his lips.
Angel’s mind isn’t clouded, it’s filled with cigarette smoke and he doesn’t mind. ‘This is embarrassing.’ He interlocks their fingers and Aki squeezes. ‘It won't last.’ The gloves are leaving some sort of powder residue across his skin and he can’t even find it within himself to care. ‘He’s not actually touching you.’ Aki presses his thumb against the skin of his bottom lip and Angel is pliant under his hand. His thoughts don’t matter and with every movement, he’s starting to understand the appeal of addiction.
He exhales gently through his mouth and when Aki pulls his thumb back, settling it on the corner of Angel’s mouth. The glove is damp now. He feels his wrist get bent back just slightly, enough to crack but not enough to strain and a sigh escapes his lips.
“Good?” Aki’s voice breaks the silence like a glass despite his tone being mellow. Angel nods quicker than he wants to.
“Your pupils are huge,” he notes. Aki hums.
“Must be the light,” he insists. Angel doesn’t miss the slight upwards tilt of the corner of his mouth.
“You think?” Angel mutters as he leads Aki’s hand upwards. “You should touch my hair,” he doesn’t treat it as a suggestion, untangling his fingers from Aki’s own to give him initiative. Aki’s eyelids droop as the action.
“The gloves might catch on it,” he grumbles but he doesn’t make any attempt to remove his hand. He’s right, Angel can immediately feel the slight tug and catch of latex against his scalp. “Ow,” he grins at the way Aki’s face shifts to one of mild annoyance, eyes narrowing as he runs his hand backward.
“You don’t care. You can’t talk about killing yourself then care about some hair getting pulled,” he sounds tired and Angel lets his eyes flutter closed. He almost reaches out to grab at Aki, to pull him in by the collar and indulge just a bit. To press the bridge of his nose against his neck and breathe in. To crash his lips into his, figure out what ash tastes like, and drown in it.
Instead, his fingers just twitch where his hand lays in his lap and he feels his bangs get pushed out of his face.
“Got it, don’t play Lucifer,” his voice sounds breathy to his ears and his heartbeat rattles in his chest. He can’t see Aki, but he can only imagine that he’s nodding in agreement. He feels a finger graze the cartilage of his ear as his chin gets tilted up by two fingers pinching his chin. He keeps his eyes closed.
“Careful,” there's a lilt to his voice but there's real concern behind it.
Aki scoffs from above him. “I wasn’t planning on doing anything,” he responds. Angel breathes a laugh.
“You thought about it,” he murmurs. Aki’s hand leaves his chin a moment later, settling on the curve where his neck connects with his shoulder. He grips and Angel thinks he can feel nails and tenses. He shoves his back against the chair in an attempt to put some space between them but Aki’s hand doesn’t shake. He drags it up, palm soothing over the span of Angel’s neck until his fingers are fixed behind his ear, thumb pressing against the lobe. Angel’s breath hitches.
“It’s through the gloves,” Aki pinches his earlobe between two fingers and Angel feels the slight press of a nail again.
He sighs, shoulders still tense. “Don’t rip it,” he whispers. Aki nods, switching to using the pad of his fingertip.
It’s eerily quiet. The air conditioner seems to have shut off on its own and with how late it is the streets aren’t bustling with their usual noise. All they have is the breeze whirring through the window and the melodic lines that pass their lips. Angel doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of it and the room is getting more stifling as time goes on. How long has it even been? Five minutes? Ten? Maybe thirty? All of it consists of the same pattern, repeated languidly as if they have all the time in the world.
They’re both fully aware that they don’t.
Aki’s concentration is back on Angel’s lips and his thumb presses with a new sense of vigor. There’s a knock against his teeth and his stomach jumps with it. He wants this to stop. He wants more than this. He’s never gonna make up his damn mind.
Aki Hayakawa is the temptation devil in disguise and Angel would make a contract with him in a heartbeat.
Aki presses his thumb firmly against his cupid’s bow. “This is nice,” he hums despite it being obvious. His eyes gloss over in a way that makes Angel’s blood boil. There’s been a lingering sense of anticipation polluting the air since this started, but this time he thinks there may be a sliver of a chance something will happen beyond the gloved touches. A chill works its way through him and he’s ashamed that it’s more enthusiastic than uneasy. He starts to open his mouth to ask what Aki’s thinking, but he’s shushed before he can even get a syllable out.
“Don’t move,” Aki’s voice is hushed and seraphic. He bends at the knees, face level with Angel’s own and the latter feels his breath hitch. Angel tries to speak again only to be met with Aki’s brow furrowing. His teeth bite the skin on his bottom lip and Angel notes that it’s raw. “I told you not to move,” his tone is firmer now. Angel closes his eyes.
He feels pressure against Aki’s thumb paired with breath on his skin and any defense he previously had up clatters to the ground. He exhales softly and the glove dampens. The press becomes harsher until it’s almost painful. Aki settles his freehand back against Angel’s jaw despite him already mapping out that area over and over again. His finger presses against Angel’s pulse point and it quickens under his touch. Angel can almost feel it reverberate through Aki’s skin and into his bones. He opens his eyes, lids hanging low and catches Aki with his shut tight. His cheeks are ruddy, eyebrows still knit together in an expression that's almost colored distressed; Angel’s eyes widen at the sight. He moves with discretion as he lifts his hand to find Aki’s. His fingers barely make contact with his knuckles and like clockwork the tension in Aki’s features eases. Angel’s heart swells in a way that makes it feel too big for his chest.
Maybe he can have the privilege of being Azrael instead of Lucifer in the end. Hold Aki with no bounds or coverings and play his role right. Throw all caution to the wind because being cautious won’t save him at that point. He lays his palm against the back of his hand and tries to ignore the latex between them. He’ll miss him more than anything.
Angel doesn’t move a muscle.