Archive of Our Own ^omega

It’s only after Denji, shoulder-deep in a debate with Power, accidentally spits a crumb of his hot sauce-jam-pickles-and-mayonnaise riddled grilled cheese sandwich into Aki’s left eye that Aki discovers the extent of Future Devil’s power. Just as Aki covers his eye, already growling a warning to Denji, there are flashes—ones that usually only crop up with his premonitions. 

Aki sees in slowed portions: Denji and Power clutching their stomachs with laughter, slamming their fists into the table. Their ruckus disturbs Meowy and the kittens curled up by her stomach, and she hisses her disapproval. Power’s hair is shorter, Denji’s is longer, Aki can tell his is about the same with the way it brushes against his neck. They’re all older—wounds litter their arms (or, arm, in Aki’s case) and bare shoulders and laugh lines etch into their faces. But they…

Denji snaps his fingers in front of Aki’s other eye. “Hey! Hey, hey, hey are you stuck like that or something?”

“Maybe his hand is glued on his face!” Power grins at the thought.

Both of them lunge for Aki’s wrist at the same moment, rattling the dishes as they do so. Aki swats them both away with the hand that had been over his eye, scowling. “Finish your dinners.”

Power scrunches her entire face—eyebrows, nose, mouth—and juts out her jaw. “I shan’t! I refuse your weakling human food until you reveal the glue on your hands!”

Aki glances at Denji, whose head swivels in his direction with the excitement of a puppy that has ham dangling in front of him; a.k.a. he’s waiting for permission. Aki sighs, nods his head towards Power, and picks up his chopsticks again as Denji pounces.

Aki chews his rice thoughtfully as Power and Denji wrestle over another monstrous sandwich. Power’s screams of “Back away this instant, fiend! It’s mine, mine, mine!” and Denji’s response of “You just said you didn’t want it so! Give me! Give me!” fade into the background as Aki assesses the vision.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t something that would happen any time soon. At the very least, it would be several months before anything of the sort could happen, judging by the litter of kittens at Meowy’s side. They’d just taken her to the vet after an incident with swallowing string and there’d been plenty of x-rays and ultrasounds, none of which indicated anything else going on there.

Considering Meowy never leaves the apartment, that future remains far away. A thought strikes him, one that sounds an awful lot like the Future Devil’s voice, it says, Perhaps it’s too far for you to be in.

Aki’s arm hovers in the air, poised over his bowl along with the several precious seconds he chooses to take to breathe. He sighs, mentally responding to himself, Yeah, most likely.

Just then, Power wins her lunch back with a cheer, Denji groans and rolls around on the ground. Aki shoves more rice in his mouth. Stray grains of rice slip through his chopsticks as grains of sand would in an hourglass. Aki watches them fall and pile into his lap.

‘I inhabit your right eye,’ the Future Devil reminds him with a jovial voice. ‘I see what you see as well as your futures.’

Aki raises a brow. He refuses to look towards the Devil peering with greedy eyes through his window. “So what?”

‘Making me spell everything out, eh? Your life is a steady line. It can’t change. But there are branches that stem off…’

“And?”

‘I see all your futures, Aki. Even the ones you cannot have. And because I live in your eye, I know which ones you want the most,’ the Future Devil says, a crooked smile clear from his voice alone.

“So you’re showing them to me?” Aki asks—rhetorical, unnecessary maybe, but clarity when it comes to Devils is important. “For what? That’s not a part of our contract.”

‘Incorrect! If you know what you could’ve had, it’ll make your death all the more sick to watch!’ He coos the information like he’s singing a grim nursery rhyme to a baby in its crib.

Maybe that’s all Aki is in the grand scheme of Devils—an unknowing baby, helpless and dependent, hardly new to the world before he’s set to leave it. A thing to be pitied by the best of Devils and swallowed whole by the worst of them. (Aki doesn’t believe the former even exists.)

Aki can’t muster the energy to tighten his jaw or ball his fists or furrow his eyebrows; all he can do is calmly remove his hand from his eyes and tucking the covers around his shoulders, facing away from the window.

The Devil’s snicker is the last thing he hears before dropping into dreams of a nonexistent future.

Aki moves forward, as he always does. He does his chores as always, goes to work; he’s loyal like a good dog and gnashes his teeth like a feral one—just what this division wants from him. He comes home drained, bruised, ready to burn through the rest of his day with cooking, eating, and preventing Denji and Power from destroying their apartment. Aki still sees the future, which comes with the territory of his contract. Only now he also gets precious glimpses of a life that isn’t his.

It’s as if Aki is watching a movie—one with his doppelganger acting in his role. It’s him, but it’s not. These visions are tinted with a golden hour filter that shades everything in the most flattering light. He doesn’t know of the hardships that his double faces. Maybe it’s something simple, common, normal, though equally as terrifying as his current predicament.

Aki gets the feeling it’s taxes. Taxes are probably the main worry of Other-Aki. He’s glad that the division has the perks of an agent that handles all the red tape for him; Other-Aki doesn’t have that.

As menial as it is, that fact always brings Aki back to reality—his reality, that is. What currently is, is what matters. The sharp smiles and jeers that remind Aki far too much of his younger brother are hard earned by him, the real version of him. He chooses to focus on that rather than the ache of missing years.

Lucky for him, the Future Devil quickly bores of his refusal to be jealous of something that he currently has, even if only briefly. And because Aki has never been the lucky type, he only gets a single day before the visions begin to morph.

He’s on a job the first time he sees the Angel Devil in his alternate future. It startles Aki enough that he stumbles backwards—it’s only a moment of weakness but it’s enough for his opponent to get a slight leg on him. Aki mentally curses at his contract.

Future Devil sneers back. ‘Don’t go blaming me when you’re the one who covered your eye!’

Aki had closed it briefly due to the dust flying everywhere. Apparently, the Future Devil decided to take cheap shots now.

He channels his frustrations into finishing off the Devil in front of him and slumps his shoulders in relief when the job is finally done. His partner should be done clearing the upper floors soon, and he’ll return with his standard dispassionate expression to proclaim that he’d done as asked, then complain about something of little consequence—most likely that he wasn’t allowed to eat some of the carcasses he left behind.

But at the thought of seeing Angel and knowing that the Future Devil will find the next possible opportunity to pop in, Aki, for the first time in his life, wants to run. There’s already too much happening before trying to decipher what the flashes of Angel, head tilted towards him and eyes wide with…with emotions, mean. The simpleness of it is: if he had a future, Angel would be a fixture in it. A positive one.

And that contradicts another simple fact: Aki hates Devils. Even ones that he has to rely on.

A sigh reaches Aki’s ears from the other end of the room. “Finished. Can we please leave? Oh, you haven’t cleaned up.”

Aki blinks, slowly moves his line of sight to fully take in the disgusting scene and the remnants of Devil on his sword. He hums. “Looks like it.”

“...can you then?” Angel raises a brow almost imperceptibly. “I have plans.”

“Plans?” Aki responds with a doubtful look.

Angel doesn’t respond for a moment, as if debating whether the question is worth answering or maybe debating on the semantics of getting away with murder. “Plans,” he confirms. “Ice cream.”

Aki can fill in the gaps from there.

He makes quick work of clearing the area and walking out the door in strides too large for Angel to feasibly catch up to. As his sneakers squeak against the concrete, he sheaths his sword and summons his contract to ensure that there aren’t any leftover fiends waiting for an opportune sneak attack.

Instead of that, Aki sees a large puff of debris, spinning around in a twister and luring the whole team in. He sees an Angel take flight. He sees his bare hand reach for the ethereal and feels the life force drain from his body at a single touch. He sees that single touch extend for two breaths before he tugs Angel into his arms, holding onto him as if Angel is providing life rather than taking it.

The vision ends and Aki scowls. “You’re close to violating our contract. Stop trying to play games with me. I’m not interested.”

The Future Devil grins, sharp and wicked and unnatural in a way Aki didn’t know was possible. ‘Oh, Aki. That one is real.’

Aki pauses. His whole body screeches to a halt, even his heartbeat, for the next few moments. The only thing that feels real is his hatred for Devils.

Since Aki avoids covering his eye at all costs, the Future Devil invades his dreams instead. 

Thus, that night he lives out a love story carved from the hands of the great romantics. Aki witnesses it all through the eyes of a protagonist in an ancient Greek tragedy.

The bare stage is set in the hopeful hues of white, surrounded by darkness so the spectators can look on unimpeded. Two characters that Aki barely knows stand shoulder to shoulder; they do not look at each other.

“Do you think we could’ve fallen?” Not-Aki asks quietly. “If given the chance?”

Aki’s heart pounds in his seat.

Angel Devil’s lips and eyebrows twitch to an unknown rhythm. He sighs, soft and resigned. “Maybe,” he says back. Angel hums and amends, “Probably. Most likely. Too easily, for sure. But that’s a big—“

“If. I know.”

The Future Devil laughs beside Aki. He cackles and cackles so hard that he drowns out any other words exchanged. As if he were watching a comedy, he mocks the irony of their thinking they lack a chance when they are the versions that have one.

Aki looks away, looks down, blinking away the spotlight that drowns the real him in blood red.

Aki wishes it were easier to keep his distance from his work partner. He and Himeno had gotten close due solely to her overly-touchy and outgoing nature. She always wanted to drag him places, partially so she’d have someone to walk or drive her home after drinking herself under the table. That’s not the case with Angel.

By all logical means, they shouldn’t be. Neither are sociable, for one thing—conversation isn’t a priority and the desire for leisure trips to bars or parks or restaurants simply isn’t there. Plus their mere existences contradict one another. A supernatural creature who wants to die but cannot and a mortal who’s next breath could be his last. Different in all the ways they shouldn’t be and it makes it difficult for them to get along at all.

And yet.

Aki finds himself sitting on a bench near a duck pond with the stickiness of melting ice cream between his fingers. Angel sits next to him, savoring his third cone in a row, the fourth one awaiting him in Aki’s hand—paid for out of Aki’s pocket as well.

They haven’t spoken aside a soft ‘thank you’ from Angel when he’s handed his next ice cream cone. Aki isn’t sure why they bought them all at once instead of going back for a fresh one each time. Aki isn’t even sure why they’re here in the first place.

Or, rather, he doesn’t know when this—going out for food and/or ice cream after a mission or patrol—began in the first place. It sort of…happened. Like two spinning magnets caught in each other’s orbit, closing in on one another feels inevitable.

“Can you machine wash these ties?” Angel asks from nowhere.

Aki tilts his head towards him and notices that Angel is staring intently down at his tie where a streak of ice cream travels down the length of his tie. Aki gives him an unamused look. “Have you never washed your tie? At all?”

“No,” Angel informs him. “It’s hard to tell when it’s dirty. At least I rinse it.”

“You sound like Power.”

Angel’s nose wrinkles briefly before snapping back to neutral. “I do not stink.” He really doesn’t. But now that begs the question of how he doesn’t smell. Probably because he keeps everything else clean. He continues, “At least I bathe.”

“If you keep everything else clean then why not the tie?” Aki presses as he reaches inside his pocket for a crinkled napkin.

“I forget, obviously.”

Aki rolls his eyes and holds the napkin out to Angel. Angel begins to reach for it but suddenly halts. He stares at the closeness of their hands with an unchanging expression. Briefly, blink and you’ll miss it, Angel’s eyebrows twitch into a little furrow. Then he drops his hand, fisted, to his lap.

“Do it for me,” he demands. 

Aki’s lips thin. With careful movements, Aki lays the tie out in his palm and starts to dab the drying spots. “Bossy,” Aki mutters.

Angel shrugs, says nothing more than that on the matter. “How often should I wash it?” he whispers.

Aki responds after a moment of thinking, “If there’s blood involved, you can machine wash or hand wash it. Air dry it. But don’t worry about it too much. They don’t give expensive ties to front line soldiers anyway.”

Silence settles for several seconds as Aki finishes cleaning up. He sits back and Angel thumbs the damp tie fabric. “Have you ever owned anything expensive?”

“No,” Aki answers immediately. “Lived out in farmlands with my sickly brother and joined Public Safety right after he and my parents died so. No time for that. No want or need for it either.”

“I see.”

Aki breathes in, fills his lungs all the way up to let it all out at once. “And you?”

Angel snorts. There’s no humor in it, but there almost never is. “Country mouse, remember?”

“Right,” Aki says, slouching further onto the bench. “Of course.”

“I think…” Angel starts. He pauses after, blinks as if he’s surprised he even started talking. The stretch of silence goes on long enough that Aki believes he won’t continue at all. But after a few minutes, he does, though hesitant, slow, methodical. “I think you might be more like a country mouse than I thought.”

A raised brow from Aki. That was…not what he expected. Another insult would be better suited for—

(He recalls a gentle bell-tone laugh only heard when he closes his eyes.)

...for this Angel.

“Are you saying that because I’ve never had much money?”

Angel huffs. Aki thinks it might be as close to a laugh he’s going to get. “No,” Angel says, finally looking Aki in the eye. “I’m saying that because we might be more similar than I thought. That’s all.”

And that is. For the day at least.

And all according to plan, Aki almost falls in love.

Bile rises in his throat and his hand, unthinkingly, reaches out to grasp Angel’s hand before the winds can carry him far away from Aki. The expression on Angel’s face mirrors the horror flooding Aki’s chest, even as he forces Angel into the safety of his arms. Just as it played out in his previous vision.

Funny thing about Aki’s acceptance of his lack of future: it only applies to the severance of his own timeline. The discrepancy happens when applied to those like Denji, Power, or Meowy. Their futures are supposed to last. They go on after Aki is gone. If that isn’t possible then…Well, then what’s any of Aki’s existence worth? If he can’t extend their lives before achieving his revenge and going out with a bang large enough for the Future Devil to beg him to witness? What’s the point?

Aki doesn’t know when this started extending to Angel. He does know that this is confirmation that the Future Devil has his teeth sinked into him, that he has him thrashing around like wounded prey as the Devil smiles around the life slipping out of Aki.

Angel asks Aki why.

Aki can only explain that he can’t watch anyone else die.

There’s nothing much to say after that. Angel hangs limp in Aki’s arms, doesn’t exude any warmth or care, simply allowing Aki to hold him.

Against his will, Aki closes an eye against the breeze and sees an alternate future where Angel leaps into his arms—his eyes alight and a tiny smile pulling his lips as his long sleeves brush against False-Aki’s neck, ruffling his loose hair. Aki hates the way his heart gives a slight twinge.

Fuck, Aki thinks, tightening his grip on the real Angel. Fuck you, Future Devil.

Sometimes Aki likes watching the flame in his lighter flicker. Something about watching a tiny fire begin, burn brightly with a couple waves from his breath, and then poof. Gone. Out. Death. An entire life cycle at his fingertips. Totally within his control.

Because here’s the thing: Aki, with all his knowledge about death and Devils and the Future, fears dying itself. He doesn’t want to die. Now more than ever.

A slight but unmistakable panic zaps down his spine when he learns of assassins tracking Denji down. That fear creeps over his shoulders like cold, wandering hands trying to wrap around his throat. Denji isn’t going to die. Aki knows he’s not because he’s checked with Future Devil again and again and again until he’d been told not to summon him until something important happens. (And he means it because he doesn’t even show Aki fake futures for two whole days.)

Sleep evades him. Aki can’t tell if it’s the anxiety driving it away or because the lull of a domestic future doesn’t draw it near. Perhaps a mix of the two. But either way, Aki is still infallibly human, and humans need sleep to perform at full capacity.

“Dude, you look like shit,” Denji informs him, very casual, unlike any normal person learning that they’re being hunted in some sick sport. Aki wants to hit him upside the head, so he tries and Denji dodges it with a jutted lip. “I’m trying to help you, man!”

“By telling me I look bad? Very helpful. Thank you.” Aki sighs.

Power chucks a magazine their way; it hits the wall between Aki and Denji with a dull thud, and Denji catches it as it floats to the ground. “Silence! I am trying to concentrate but you are bothering me with your silly human problems! Now give me back my important readings this instant so that I may continue without your blabbering.”

She holds out her hand expectantly and Denji growls.

“Shut up, Powy! Wait, tell Aki he looks like dog shit,” Denji says in a rush. Power lets out a long groan that turns into an almost-scream and Denji yells over it. “I’m not bringing this back to you, lazy ass! Get it yourself!”

Power continues to scream and throw a mini-fit as she stands, stomps over to them and snatches the magazine from Denji’s hand. She stops for a second, turns to Aki, gives him a once over, remarks, “You, peasant, look like canine feces!” Then growls and mumbles the entire five feet back to her pile of blankets.

Denji lets out a laugh. “Ha! See! I told you. Stop being such a mother hen and worrying about me! I gotta live to go on that trip with Makima, alright?”

Aki scoffs, trudges back into the kitchen to finish their dinner. “Whatever. I don’t care.”

Approximately 24 minutes later, Aki dishes out their dinner. About 3 milliseconds before Aki takes his first bite, there’s a knock at the door. At first, Aki is annoyed—Denji would probably describe it as ‘hangry’—but the moment Aki remembers their situation, that vanishes.

“Wait here,” he says, quiet. Aki creeps towards the door, careful to avoid the creaky floorboards and keep his steps silent. He reaches into his room to grab his sword and then peers through the peephole. It’s…Angel?

Still suspicious, Aki cracks the door only enough that his voice carries through easier. “What are you doing here?”

If Angel is at all phased, he doesn’t show it outwardly. “You told me to.”

Aki’s hackles rise even higher and his grip on his sword tightens. “No, I didn’t.”

A blink. Then Angel blows air out of his nose and digs his flip phone out of his pocket and hands it to Aki. There’s a brief conversation between them from not too long ago.

Me:

hayyyy hw r u?

Angel Devil:

What

Me:

What are u doing right this instant DEVIL?

ANSWER OR PERISH

Angel Devil:

Nothing. What do you want

Me:

obvee uss ly i want u

i want 2 werisiowejfwe

Apologies. I would like to request your presence for the night.

NOW PEASANT

pleez

Angel Devil:

Fine.

Me:

SO EASY!!

Angel Devil:

Ok.

Aki peeks over his shoulder to see Denji and Power snickering and giving each other a not-so-subtle high five. He turns back to Angel. “You don’t really believe it was me that sent those, right?”

“I don’t care,” Angel says. Aki wants to call him a liar because clearly it takes some level of care to show up. “Only Power would call me a peasant,” he adds.

“Yeah. Just give me a second.” Aki shuts the door without giving Angel a chance to input.

Aki strolls into the living area where crumbs litter the floor, table, and the faces of the two fiends. He kicks Denji’s thigh harder than necessary.

“What the fuck, man?!” Denji complains.

“You’re stupid. When?”

Denji’s jaw tightens as he gives an expression that is simultaneously bored and stubborn—Aki isn’t sure how that’s possible. “You’re stupid! We did it while you were distracted with cooking, obviously. Get some actual sleep tonight, idiot.”

“Whatever,” Aki spits out.

Power wiggles in excitement and exclaims with a full mouth, “Oo!! Fight, fight! Duel to the death for my mealtime entertainment, worms.”

“No.” Aki turns on his heel but stops short of the entryway. “Behave, will you?”

Shit eating grins appear on both of their faces. “Not a chance,” Denji whispers.

Well. Denji is nothing if not honest. Aki whispers back, "fuck you" before opening the door. Taking another look at Angel, he notices that he’s dressed in a slouchy sweater and sweatpants instead of his usual day wear. Should Aki ask if he plans on staying the night? 

“Did you want me to just stand here all night?” Angel asks with a hint of annoyance.

Grunting, Aki lets him inside the apartment. He triple checks all of the locks while Angel watches him. “Have you eaten?”

Angel pauses, eyes rolling to the ceiling as if it knows the answer. A beat and then he snaps back. “Not today.”

“Do you have to eat?” Aki tacks on.

“No,” Angel admits. “But I like to.”

They enter the apartment’s quaint kitchen and Aki retrieves another plate from a shelf that was most likely too high for Angel to reach. “There should be some extra if you want it. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it.”

Angel mutters his thanks, gingerly takes the plate from Aki, and follows him into the living area. Denji and Power are still there, of course, though, they’re both uncharacteristically quiet. Both stare very intently at them while they enter. What the fuck is their problem?

Power speaks first. “Greetings, Devil. If you plan to claim this apartment for yourself, you will have quite the fight ahead. This place is mine and mine alone! I will not give it to you easily.”

For a very brief second, Aki thinks Angel is about to laugh—his mouth wobbles almost imperceptibly. A bubble of something far too close to excitement fills Aki’s chest and with it comes the dread of knowing Future Devil’s plan is working. But Angel’s expression reverts back to normal within seconds.

“I have my own apartment so I don’t have any need for yours,” Angel tells her.

Power huffs, crossing her arms and lifting her chin in pride. “That is what you say but my apartment will always be far superior to yours! That is why you were summoned.”

“Is not!” Denji argues. “You said you wanted to study your opponent or some shit!”

“Did not, did not, did not!” Power fires back at him. “You know nothing of my plan, worm.”

There’s no such thing as a peaceful dinner around here, Aki sighs internally. In actuality, he doesn’t mind all that much. But based on the texts that these two gremlins sent to Angel, they have some wild ideas in their head, and letting them loose is like unleashing a rabid animal ready to bite the first thing it sees.

Aki motions for Angel to take his spot and he scoops up his own plate. He pinches Denji’s arm with his socked toes and Denji yelps despite the fact that it definitely didn’t hurt. “Move.”

“You’re the literal worst!” Denji says through gritted teeth.

“I know. Now scoot.”

All in all, dinner is both a disaster and not as bad as Aki was expecting it to be. Denji and Power mostly fight amongst themselves, occasionally dragging Aki into their verbal sparring match and attempting to make slights at Angel. Angel isn’t rattled easily and eats his entire meal with an air of calm. He seems to enjoy it too—Aki has seen him spit out a flavor he wasn’t a fan of…right in front of the ice cream truck’s owner so Aki is sure he’d be hearing it if Angel didn’t like it.

The rest of the night passes in a blur of surprising normalcy. The only notable difference is Angel’s presence there. Until Power and Denji decide to turn in, of course; then Aki and Angel are left alone for the first time that night and for the first time ever in such a personal setting.

They sit on opposite ends of the couch, saying nothing as some sitcom plays on the television. Other than the occasional laugh track, nothing else can be heard.

“When do you need to head back?” Aki asks. 

Angel has his cheek propped in his hand and elbow perched on the couch’s arm. He exhales through his nose in an imitation of a laugh. “I thought you wanted me for the night.”

Aki’s traitorous stomach flips. “I won’t make you leave. But tomorrow will be a long day so if—”

“I don’t need to sleep as much as you,” Angel interrupts him. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

“...why?” Aki questions.

Angel levels him with a flat look. “You look like shit.”

Okay…ouch. The worst part about it isn’t the fact his sleep deprivation is affecting him, it’s that Denji was right. That’s frustrating.

“Thanks.” Aki’s statement clips short. He genuinely considers telling Angel exactly why, the intricacies of his fear, the anxieties and questions that whirl around in his head when he tries to lull himself out of consciousness. And he wants to, for a split second. But he can only bring himself to say, “Feels like my job has become a 24/7 one.”

Angel shrugs. “It has, in a way. I’m surprised that they’re sending you back here with no back up.”

Aki stretches his arms above his head and stands up to turn the television off. “They have pretty good tabs on the whereabouts of our main concerns. Makima knows almost everything, it seems.”

Angel stands as well, lazier and much slower than Aki—you’d think he was the one who hasn’t gotten any sleep. Aki pads into the bathroom to begin his nightly routine. Toothbrush, toothpaste, water, brush. All the while Angel stands in the doorway, pulling his sleeves over his hands.

“If you know that they have such good tabs then why haven’t you been sleeping?”

Aki’s movements pause. Fair point. Though fear hasn’t met logic as of yet and rationale flies out the window in the rare cases where he feels truly frightened. “Like I said. Job. Can’t have anything go wrong.”

“Right.” Angel doesn’t even try to act like he believes him in the slightest. “Makima wouldn’t like it if Denji died on your watch. And you like Makima.”

Relatively true. Truth adjacent. He likes Makima, yeah, who doesn’t? But something about Angel saying it makes Aki feel uneasy. With as much of an alternate future as he’s seen, he never once has seen Makima in any of it, let alone any romantic interactions with her. All of those had been reserved for Angel. Which should be odd considering how much he likes Makima. Yeah, he likes her a lot.

“Yeah.” Aki’s voice does not waver—it doesn’t.

“Where do you want me?”

“What?” Aki swivels his head towards Angel, toothbrush dangling from his lips.

Angel busies himself by searching his surroundings, walking away to fiddle with the locks and make sure the glass door to the balcony shuts completely. Aki hears him lock that too and soon enough he’s back.

“I’m staying for the night. Would you prefer me to stay in the living room so I can keep an eye on everything from there? It’s probably the best vantage point that you have here.” Angel stares at him, waiting for an answer that Aki isn’t sure he’s willing to give.

Aki rinses his mouth. “Weren’t you complaining earlier about how you hate the couch?”

“I hate your couch,” Angel confirms.

Aki snorts instead of laughing. “Then stay in my room. It might…” He grinds his teeth together and continues through his embarrassment. “It might help to know that someone is there in case...”

A beat.

“Okay.”

Angel disappears into Aki’s room without another word.

It takes Aki several seconds to fully compose himself. He hates admitting that he’s anything but fully capable of handling his own damn problems. Of course, Denji and Power had to call the one person that Aki feels might try to understand and listen and do what he can in some weird backwards Devil way. They’re too much. Aki wishes he could be mad about it.

Aki takes the elastic out of his hair, careful to set it down in the back of his drawer so Meowy or Power cannot eat it while he’s not looking. He decides that it’s best to get it over with. He can’t imagine getting too much sleep tonight, regardless of what he told Angel or what Denji’s intentions were when inviting him.

He enters his bedroom, automatically checking to make sure his uniform is properly hung on its hanger and prepared for him to throw on. Then he goes to his alarm clock to make sure it’s set to a decent hour (even though it always is).

Angel sits towards one side of the bed throughout this, legs criss cross and halo glowing in an otherwise darkened room. He keeps his hands tucked into his long sleeves and his sweater pulled tighter around his neck, eliminating some possibility of an awful accident.

Aki settles into the other side of the bed without changing into proper pajamas. For some reason, that would be too much, too intimate in an already personal situation. Coworkers shouldn’t be sleeping in the same bed, should they? That said, only one of them will be sleeping so does it really count? God, that sounds like Denji logic.

Before he can contemplate that any more, Aki forces his eyes to shut and utters, “goodnight.”

A soft “goodnight” barely reaches his ears as he drifts off into an unexpected sleep.

“Good morning.” Angel whispers over him, a small but bright smile etched onto his face. Their chests are pressed together and if it hadn’t been for the layers of shirts, they would be touching.

“Morning,” Aki finds himself saying. Not real, he reminds himself. This isn’t real.

“Denji and Power have already come to check on you. You’ve been asleep for over 10 hours. They said to tell you that you’re a lazy ass and they’ll be home in time for dinner.”

Aki chuckles, a genuine and happy one, very unfamiliar to Original-Aki (he likes how it feels). Stop. It’s not real. “I always sleep better when you’re around.”

“You’re gross in the morning,” Angel says, very fond and soft around the edges. “Worse than those old dime novels.”

Aki’s lips curve up ever so slightly. He teases, “You read those things?”

“Shut up.” Angel giggles and Aki cannot tell the difference between his own heart and the alternate version of himself. This isn’t him. This is fake.

Aki reaches with longing and gentle hands out, out, out and traps a piece of Angel’s hair between his fingers. He closes his eyes and sighs. Not real…

He opens his eyes again and the light has faded ever so slightly. It’s not the same visceral golden lens as the visions normally are but now it’s settled into something more subdued. The rays of light from his blinds seep through and hit Angel right across his eyes, the dust particles raining down around them like snow. The only thing that could reach them is the sound of Denji and Power bickering in the next room.

Angel’s lips look like they’re about to curl back into that smile of his but they just twitch instead. Aki twirls that piece of hair around his finger and gives it a playful tug. Angel’s responding chuckle bounces between Aki’s lungs and knocks the air straight from them. Leaning down closer, balancing on his forearm, Angel returns the gesture, gently touching the only part of Aki he could. He takes his time studying the way it feels, the way it falls, the way it twists ever-so-slightly at the ends.

“I’ve never seen your hair down before,” Angel whispers, all at once too close and too far away.

Aki opens his mouth to respond but finds that no words spill out. No predetermined script compels him to say something incredibly loving or teasing or unserious. Nothing comes to him at all. And then he realizes the implications of what Angel just said.

He’s…the future that Future Devil had shown him, Angel had already been over many previous nights. He said that Denji and Power had already left for work. Which means…

This is reality.

Aki chokes on his own air and his eyes go wide as he scrambles away and nearly tumbles off the bed in the process. The almost-smile disappears from Angel’s face entirely and he sits up into a perfect posture. His hair slips naturally out of Aki’s grasp—Aki hadn’t realized he was still holding it.

“I’m sorry,” Angel murmurs. “I…hm.”

“Not your fault,” Aki tells him.

Angel’s brows scrunch together, frowning. “You…you grabbed for me. It shouldn’t surprise me that you have a death wish even in your sleep.”

The phrase ‘I didn’t mean to’ remains on the tip of Aki’s tongue. He almost says it, should probably say it but something stops him. Aware of it or not, Aki did mean to reach out, to try to touch what he could. Not good.

“Sorry,” Aki says, even though he feels like he shouldn’t have opened his mouth at all. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Angel questions softly.

Aki can’t do anything but shake his head. “I don’t know.” He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes hard enough to see colorful shapes.

There’s some sounds of ruffling fabric that Aki pointedly ignores but other than that, nothing between the two of them. Angel takes in a deep breath, “Do you want to—”

“No,” Aki snaps. If Angel wants to talk, now is not the time to do it. Right now, all he really wants to do is throttle the Future Devil until he forgets their contract, until he forgets Angel. “What time is it?”

“...almost 8:30.”

Aki nods, slides until his legs dangle off the bed. “Breakfast?”

“No thanks,” Angel states as he hops onto the floor. “I’m going home. See you later.”

Oh. Oh, Aki fucked up. He hadn’t recognized it in the heat of his panic but he sees it now: the tension in Angel’s shoulders, the way his fingers keep clenching and unclenching, the eyes hidden behind a curtain of hair. How can he fix that?

“Okay.” Not like that. “I’ll see you later.”

Angel nods, making a beeline right towards the exit. He reaches for the doorknob when he stops in his tracks. He stays like that, not moving in the slightest, and says in a voice that Aki can barely hear, “Did you dream last night?”

All the moisture leaves Aki’s mouth and throat. “Yes, I did.”

Another deep breath from Angel. He angles his head, though not quite enough to be able to look at Aki. “Did you think I was her?”

Dangerous ground, dangerous words. No matter where Aki treads, someone will come out bruised and scraped—but that “someone” could also be Aki’s pride. A feeling of helplessness overcomes him and he, for a time, wonders what the purpose of all this is. There’s no clear answer to that.

“No.” His voice comes out hoarse and nothing more than air. “I didn’t.”

At that Angel finally meets his eyes from over his shoulder. “Can I ask what you dreamt of then?”

Aki breathes and answers—truthfully as he can manage, “Something I can’t have.”

The answer is vague but Angel accepts it with a nod anyway. He quickly bids another goodbye and flutters out of the room, then the apartment as a whole. Denji and Power quiet down for a moment to watch him and Aki jumps to close his door so they can’t question him.

He leans his forehead against the door and clutches at the fabric of his shirt that lays over his erratically thumping heart. Each beat sends an echoing “too easily” directly into his veins.

The next chance he gets, Aki snarls at the Future Devil, “Cut it out.”

‘Why should I?’ Future Devil would be grinning if it were physically possible for him to. ‘I’m showing exactly what you want.’

Aki grits his teeth. “You’re toying with me. As long as you’re useful and don’t get in the way, I don’t care. But if you involve my work, I’ll sever the contract.”

‘You need me much more than I need you.’ Future Devil lazes back with his giant hands behind his head. He’s quite involved for a contracted devil, Aki will give him that and only that. ‘You’re mad though! Oooh, you’re so angry!’

“Because you’re fucking around,” Aki snaps. “You know I don’t have time for that. Mess with me, not my job.”

With a single chuckle, Future Devil leans in closer, pointing a finger into the air and drawing invisible shapes with it. ‘I know how to read between the lines, Aki. You really mean that I can mess with you but not your Angel Devil, right?’

Aki won’t answer him. He’s done nothing to earn an answer.

‘HA!’ Future Devil roars. ‘Bingo!’

“Wouldn’t it be more fun for you to just watch how it all plays out—without getting involved?” Aki would love nothing more than to throw something at Future Devil’s face, scream at him, but that’s the reaction that he wants and a reaction Aki can’t give. “It’s easier that way. What’s the point?”

Future Devil lets an elongated sigh fall out of him. ‘You’re talking in circles, dear Aki! We’ve been over this!’

“Right. Teasing me to make my death worse for me, got it.”

Future Devil hums a brief and happy tune. ‘Of course. But I’m also doing you a solid, dude! I don’t show this to just anyone—’

“I don’t care.” Aki crosses his arms. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Stop showing me things at inopportune times.”

‘Mm…would you believe me if I told you that I didn’t do anything? That that dream was all your own making?’

Aki wants to throw up at that thought. He can’t bear it. Aki will swallow the bitter pill that he’s formed a bond of mutual respect with a Devil—one that has saved his life countless times, thinks that his well being is important, and his life isn’t something to squander. A far cry from hatred but manageable. Controllable. It boils back to a flame. That single flame that sparks and shines in a similar light as an angel’s halo and burns like hellfire. Take the fire from the lighter and it becomes uncontained and susceptible to spread—it gains the ability to consume him in a raging inferno.

Aki doesn’t want that but that morning is proof enough that fire has caught and if it stemmed from a dream of light and tenderness—one that he fed to himself—then the damage is far worse than he could have imagined.

The grin is clear in the Future Devil’s voice, ‘Gotcha. You really bought that, didn’t you?’

Aki can’t answer, only walks away. Because yeah. He’d fallen for that.

Even with all his talk of hell, Aki knew almost nothing about it. All he knew was from the bits of information Angel had given him in confidence. Nothing, not even the most detailed description Angel could provide, could have prepared him for what they encountered.

Aki was certain that he’d die; that this is what Future Devil so desperately wanted to see: his dejected form, blood pouring from his nose and mouth and into the puddle of his coworkers’, Power’s, and Denji’s blood below him. The droplets stream down in slowed motions. If he had hands, they’d be shaking.

Darkness itself looms over him, outstretches its clawed fingers to deliver his head to the collection of dismembered limbs. Aki’s vision blurs and he collapses to the floor, breathing shallow.

The black grass begins to seep away after a few seconds, or minutes—Aki isn’t sure which since both feel like an eternity. The grass recedes to dirt and dirt compacts into concrete and tile forms atop the foundation, transforming until it’s the very same scuffed floor he’d been on before being dragged to hell.

He gulps in air like a fish released back into its element for the first time since its capture. The pain pricks at his shoulders, where his wounds scratch the inside of his coat jacket. Despite the white-hot pain, Aki shivers—full body and intense enough to force a breath out of him.

“Aki,” a weak voice calls out to him.

Shit. Aki tries to grasp onto the voice like a lifeline. He needs to focus. Gather intel on the surrounding area. Find Denji and Power and…fuck, he needs to find Angel and make sure they’re all alive. But he can’t move, can’t get past the murkiness of all his thoughts blending together, he can’t…he can’t save them if they’re in danger.

“Aki! Answer me!”

Aki doesn’t like to cry. Not really. Himeno had called it respectable once upon a time—told him that he’s one of the few in the corps with that ability. He doesn’t like it though. Yet the tears leap into his eyes at the hysteric thought of how unable to help them, any of them, if they needed him.

“Aki, please!”

He tries to answer. Nothing leaves him except his blood. He rolls onto his back the best he can.

“Don’t move too much, stupid human!” The voice climbs in pitch and urgency as Aki moves fully onto his back. “Stop moving, stay right there.”

Aki knows that voice. He knows it very well, too well in his opinion. He’s heard it express all manner of emotions in all manner of lifetimes. Never this though. This is unfamiliar.

“Angel,” murmurs Aki, throat too raw to speak any louder.

“Aki!” Angel finally reaches his side and leans over him. It reminds Aki too much of Angel that morning. Fuck.

Aki coughs. “I—”

“Shut up,” Angel silences him firmly. “Shut. Up. I’m…I’m not sure where your arms are. I think I saw one of them right— there it is. I can’t—”

“It’s fine,” Aki assures him. He repeats, “It’s fine. I’m fine. Do what you have to.”

Angel’s jaw sets. “I told you to be quiet!”

Aki must have lost too much blood because he does so without any complaint or further argument. Angel scrambles about the room doing who-knows-what and every time he strays far enough that his noises are muffled, Aki sobers enough to panic.

Shivers run through Aki’s body like uncontrollable lightning bottled up deep in his muscles, begging to be unleashed into the world. Except the lightning is so hot it feels like ice. Aki is really, really cold.

Angel returns and with him a jacket flops onto Aki’s torso, then after some ruffling, another jacket follows suit—this one much smaller from what Aki can tell. “I don’t really know what I’m doing,” Angel admits. “But…I know that you shouldn’t be bleeding this much. I’m going to do my best to stop it. Are you breathing okay?”

Aki thinks so. He nods to confirm with Angel, who slumps in relief. He isn’t wearing a jacket anymore.

The next thing Aki knows, two legs straddle over his chest, not putting any weight fully on him. Angel shifts around so that the tops of his knees put pressure on the stumps of what’s left on his arms. Aki hisses at the sensation.

“Shhh,” Angel shushes him. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry.”

Aki groans, slightly more aware of how intense the blood loss is. Fuck, it’s seeping into Angel’s pantleg. “But what about you?”

God, Angel doesn’t have any arms and he’s only trying to help Aki.

“I found one of your arms,” Angel says in lieu of an answer. “I’ve put it somewhere that’s hopefully cool enough until help gets here.”

“What about you?”

The stark white sleeves of Angel’s uniform bloom a bright red but his face shows no sign of pain, only frustrated worry—for Aki, not himself. “I’m fine.”

“But you—”

“Aki.”

Angel leans in, head tilting. Light catches, Aki's left eye shuts, and he sees flashes of them in a similar position, under different circumstances in a different world. In the vision, Angel traces a gloved hand over Aki’s brow but in the moment, Angel can only level his pleading eyes at him.

“Please,” Angel begs in both universes.

And in both, Aki is incapable of denying him.

With the taste of death and loss still so fresh on his tongue, no one can blame Aki for his turnaround regarding the Gun Devil. Because it’s not just him on the line. He’s known that since the beginning and he should have acted like it since then too. He can’t lose another family to the Gun Devil—he doesn’t think he can take it.

Even after he backs out of the mission to kill the Gun Devil, he gets dragged back on soon after. Aki’s trepidation grows but he’s now going to meet the Gun Devil with a different goal as before: protect Denji and Power.

His suspicion is in the midst of transforming into determination when the Future Devil appears and fucks everything up.

‘You and Power will be slaughtered by Denji.’ 

Aki…failed. Or, is going to fail. This is the true future that lies before this version of themselves—their little family destroys itself. Aki knows that the aftermath will gnaw at Denji for the rest of his days, however numbered they may be. 

Needless to say, Aki has a lot of things to settle and he doesn’t know exactly how much time that he has to do so. Though he wants to spend several minutes cursing out the Future Devil in every language he can think of, those are minutes he may not be free to expend.

Once again, Aki can’t sleep. He has paperwork to fill out, people to contact, Power’s nightmares to chase away…too much to do, to organize. He doesn’t tell Denji or Power, treats them as normal. 

He continues his bi-daily hospital visit to Angel though, and the day after Aki feels he has a substantial amount of work done, he confides in Angel. Then tells him of the letter of recommendation he’s gotten together for him—of his chance to live. 

He stares at Aki, face indiscernible. “That’s nice of you…” He leans back more into the pillow, breathing in deep as he does so. “You know, I heard from my caretaker that out of all of Public Safety, Aki Hayakawa hates devils the most.”

A pause, Angel laughs but it’s hollow and empty and Aki can’t stand it. “I guess the rumors aren’t true.”

Unfortunately, they aren’t.

Dangerous territory. Not only that, but territory they should never venture—correction: never should have stepped close to, as they have. It’s best that he dances around it all together, end it now.

If there’s one thing he’s learned about himself is that Aki is a stab wound on the people he loves. He’s a poisoned knife that continues to twist—it’s only fair he does his best to heal the wound of his presence on his way out of the world.

Which is why this conversation has to stop right where it is and never be picked up again. Aki’s chest caves in as he stands. “I’m going to meet the Gun Devil tomorrow. This might be the last time we ever see each other. So.”

Angel struggles to sit up in his haste. “Wait. Sometimes…the people killed and turned into weapons through my power appear in my dreams. Saying things like, ‘How dare you turn us into weapons?’ Even if I can do so little, I want to help you live. If you die like this…you’ll start showing up in my dreams too.”

His teeth bite down on his tongue as he holds back from responding that Angel already appears in his dreams. It’s not the same. And it’s somewhat insensitive. But Aki doesn’t know what else to think or say.

Aki’s face must reflect some of his conflict because Angel continues, “Let’s go talk to Makima together. She seems like someone who might know something about avoiding death.”

He’s trying to do the same thing for me that I’m doing for him, Aki realizes. He wants me to live as I want him to. 

A breath. Fuck. They’re in too deep for him to swim to the surface it seems—a level barely past the shallows but more than enough to drown in.

“When?” Aki says.

“Now.”

Aki raises an eyebrow, gaze drifting to the empty hospital gown sleeves. “In that?”

The brows on Angel’s forehead form a distinct crease. Petulant, Angel swings his legs over the side of the hospital bed. “Call my caretaker to dress me then. My uniform should be around here somewhere.”

“No need.” There’s a small pile of Angel’s folded clothes on the opposite side of the room that Aki walks towards. Nearby on that same counter is a box of medical gloves. With a little struggle, Aki manages to roll one onto his hand. “I can help.”

“No,” Angel blurts. His legs start to climb closer to his chest, making him so much smaller. “Your…how much help can a guy with only one arm be?”

“More than no one at all,” Aki deadpans. “I’ll need help with the tie though.”

The smell of latex burns his nose as he secures the glove fully onto his hand using his mouth. Despite his back being turned, Aki can still hear the glare in his voice, “If you have to summon her anyway why not do it now?”

Aki doesn’t know. He shouldn’t get close. He shouldn’t make his death possibly harder on anyone. He shouldn’t but he can’t stop himself from chasing the ideal that Future Devil dangled before him. Hook, line, sinker; he’s fallen for it.

He elects not to comment.

Gathering up the pile of clothes in his arm, Aki starts to lay out each individual piece on the bed, hoping to smooth out some wrinkles. He stands in front of Angel once all the preparations are done, who refuses to move his gaze from the tile in front of Aki’s shoes. “Ready?”

A hesitant nod.

It starts with the hospital gown slipping from his shoulders and pooling around his waist. A white dress shirt soon takes its place. Buttons have been a hurdle the past few days for Aki—one he’s been getting the hang of overcoming, though he’ll have to go slow in order to do it on another person. And that requires Aki to close the gap.

The gloves prove to be an added level of difficulty but a necessary one as his knuckles brush Angel’s bare stomach. A shiver visibly runs through Angel. “Cold…”

“Sorry,” Aki apologizes in a tone barely audible.

He continues up Angel’s torso, focusing on his task and keeping the rise and fall of his chest to a steady, unstressed rhythm. Every so often, he can feel a heightened pulse on the backs of his fingers.

Once done, Aki kneels in front of Angel. “Stand.”

He obeys, the gown slips down to his ankles and he steps out of it. Aki switches it out for the dress pants so Angel can get his feet in and Aki can pull them up and around the shirt without much trouble. He has Angel lean back so the dress pants don’t fall as he zips and buttons them.

After that, Angel flops back onto the hospital bed, hair fanning out and legs dangling. He’s staring at the ceiling again and from his viewpoint, Aki sees the dark circles under his eyes. “This future could be certain, couldn’t it?”

They’ve been over this. They already have a plan to see Makima together that day and they’ve already been over that his fate has been sealed by the future itself. Angel asks the question more like there’s room for plausibility that isn’t there.

“It is certain,” Aki confirms.

“Didn’t you say that the Future Devil likes to mess with you?”

Aki’s knees creak as he stands and dusts himself off. “Future Devil is many things. An asshole being the main one. But he never shows me anything without an air of truth.”

Angel meets his eyes and holds them there for a while. His lips thin into a line as the seconds tick by. Then he sighs. “Help me up.”

Obligingly, Aki rests a leg beside Angel so he can keep his balance as he bends down. His splayed palm traces over Angel’s back and pulls him close, Angel melting into it, forehead to Aki’s shoulder. 

That moment, of all weird and mundane and untimely ones, plucks a taut string running along Aki’s spine. Words threaten to spew from his throat, roll off his tongue and tumble into the stuffy hospital air. A confession about a future that officially can never exist for them.

He straightens them the best he can without losing his balance and crashing. It ends up with them on the edge of the bed, Aki practically in Angel’s lap, Angel’s nose jabbing into Aki’s collarbone. Filling his lungs with the scent of old soap and antiseptic, Aki trails his hand up, along the ridges of Angel’s spine, pulls him closer.

“The Future Devil showed me all sorts of things. If I dreamt or covered my other eye, I’d see alternate futures,” Aki admits before he can stop himself. “No one else knows.”

Angel turns his face, cheek squished instead of his nose now. “Why?”

“Like you said. He likes to mess with me.”

“What has he been showing you?” Angel questions softly.

“Random happy moments—” Aki’s hand reaches the base of Angel’s skull, thumb stroking the skin below his ear, “—between me and the people I care about.”

Angel hums. “Tell me who?”

Any and all desire to open up, leaves him in an instant. He’s toeing that line he’d worked to avoid even minutes earlier and…he doesn’t have the time to avoid this anymore nor to address it fully either. Fucking hell it’s too complicated and dramatic for his liking.

Aki pulls back, his palm sliding along with him until it rests at Angel’s jaw and only the latex lays between them. “You know who,” he breathes, cryptic enough—telling enough—for Aki’s own comfort.

Angel seems to understand him enough. “I think I do.”

For their sake, Aki releases Angel completely and summons the caretaker to finish dressing him. Angel watches him the whole time and his fingers burn hot enough to liquify the glove on his hand. 

They pull up in a rental car to the beach. From where Aki’s parked, Makima remains hidden, though her presence still presses in—for a second he thinks the windshield might cave in with the pressure. Both he and Angel both know that her help probably won’t be much, if anything substantial at all.

‘You can’t change a future that’s already carved in stone, you can’t extend a life that has already ended,’ is the last piece of advice that the Future Devil left with him before disappearing. (Aki gets the feeling he’ll never see him again.)

Angel says he wants to try anyway. Aki lends him the only hand he has.

They sit in the car for a moment, not even bothering to unbuckle as they stare out into the distance where the saltwater peaks and foams. Angel leans his head back against his seat and shifts his gaze upwards towards the setting sun.

“We’re out of time,” he says, voice as distant as the horizon.

Aki grips the steering wheel until his nails create crescents in the faux leather. “You mean me? I’m the one…”

And then Angel tilts towards him, holding every emotion he’d kept closely cradled to his chest within his eyes. Every word, sentence, sentiment left unsaid wells up, fills them both with raging saltwater that’s inches away from pouring out of their mouths. Wave after wave of it slams into Aki’s chest. But Angel looks away and all he says is: “We.”

Aki doesn’t want that but at this point, there’s no use in arguing with Angel, whose mood is subdued even by his standards. Not much more is said as they walk down the sidewalk, mostly idle talk and demands for water, and it’s…uncomfortable in a way that can only exist between two people who mean more to each other than the other can ever know.

He knows Angel doesn’t like beaches. He’s said that there’s something about them that makes him unsettled and filled with despair—probably something to do with vastness and existentialism, he said offhandedly. But he’s here with Aki. And Makima too, once they find her.

When Aki pleads with her, the Future Devil leaves him with a final gift: a snapshot vision of him, Power, Denji, and Angel in that same ocean, water lapping at their ankles and smiles splitting their faces in half. It’s the closest thing Aki will ever have to a family portrait and he hugs the image close to himself even as he accepts a pre-death contract against his will.

Aki knows that there's at least a dozen other lifetimes that he's lived out somewhere. And that…feels nice, comforting. They aren’t his life, not this Aki—it wasn’t meant to be with his circumstances and decisions surrounding him. However, Aki finds that there's a peace in knowing that those futures have validity, possibility to be lived so long as he exists, and that he's lucky he gets to know that they were ever lived at all. Because then that means, in a way, it’s sentient and organic and…

Real.