Chapter Text
Four knocks. "Denji, get up."
Aki waits half a minute before knocking again. "Denji. Time for work, come on."
Denji has never been a morning person, but to his credit, he does manage to be ready in time for work - even if that does involve bribes of waffles or pancakes or coffee with obscene amounts of cream and sugar more often than not. It's not unlike him, though, to sleep past his alarm, or beg for five more minutes, or very politely tell Aki to fuck off when he attempts to shake him awake. Aki lets it slide if it's before nine, because, to his credit, Denji usually knows better than to use that kind of language with him. Usually. And - to his credit - he usually feels pretty bad about it later, when he's fully awake, and apologises sincerely, one of the few situations where he actually has the sense to say sorry. If 'hey, sorry for telling you to fuck off earlier, I was, like, half asleep' counts as sincere. By Denji's standards, maybe.
What is unusual, though, is Denji completely ignoring him instead of groaning or shouting obscenities. Not even the slightest whine of 'five more minutes' this morning.
Aki, for whatever reason, is worried.
He doesn't know why. Worst case scenario, Denji died in his sleep, or something - and wouldn't that be kind of a blessing? He shouldn't be worried about him.
"Denji, up," Aki says again, knocking on the door louder this time, telling himself that he's only worried because he does not want to be late for work, doesn't want to be reprimanded by Makima. God forbid. Still no response from Denji. "I'm coming in."
He hesitates just for a minute, in case Denji isn't decent, just to give him time to cover up if he needs to - not that he would even bother, the shameless little fuck that he is. Years of living alone and not having learned much propriety has made Denji believe it's somehow acceptable to walk around someone else's house in only his underwear. It doesn't matter how many times Aki scolds him, he doesn't listen.
"I'm opening the door, Denji," Aki reaffirms, just in case, because he is polite. When it's fully open, he freezes in the doorway. Denji lies unmoving under the covers, and for a second Aki thinks maybe he really did die in his sleep. The thought isn't quite as appealing as it would have been a couple of weeks ago. "Denji? You awake?"
Denji makes the smallest of noises - barely even a whimper, really - and pulls the blankets further over his head. Good, he's alive.
Aki sighs. "Denji, come on, I don't have time for this. We have work. Get up."
Nothing.
"Denji," he tries again, more insistent this time. "Seriously, get your ass up. I'll make you breakfast."
Denji doesn't respond, and an uneasy feeling churns in his stomach. No reaction to the promise of breakfast. Yeah, something is wrong.
He pushes himself off the door frame and into the room, steps uncertain, until he's at Denji's bedside. Reaches out a hand to gently shake his shoulder. "Denji."
Denji groans, weakly pushes at his hand. Mumbles something that could be loosely interpreted as 'go away'. He sounds like shit, though.
"What is it?" Aki asks gently.
"Don't feel good," Denji croaks after a minute, his voice scratchy and hoarse.
Aki stares at him. His mind goes blank. What the fuck is he even supposed to do in this situation?
He tugs the blankets down a little, away from Denji's face. Denji looks horrible. He's too pale, his hair a tangled mess, face slick with sweat despite his shivering.
"Shit," Aki says, reaching out a hand to lay against Denji's forehead. His skin is feverishly hot. "Fuck. Um, okay. Wait here."
He leaves the room. Shuts the door and leans against it. Fuck. Denji is really, really sick.
Denji is fucking immortal, he shouldn't be able to get sick. He's a devil.
Aki slams his head back against the wall. Denji is half human, too. Human, like him. Vulnerable. Trusting Aki to take care of him. Aki doesn't know how to take care of a sick human. Definitely doesn't know how to take care of a sick devil. He's lived alone for far too long. He's like Denji, in that way. Never learned how to live with someone.
His mind wanders, almost instinctively, to his brother. How their mother had taken care of him day and night. He shoves the thoughts aside.
If Denji can't work, neither can he. He has to stay home to look after him, right? He can't just leave him.
Okay, he has to call in sick, then. That's a good first step. He can figure out the rest later.
Aki dials the number with shaking fingers - fuck, why is he trembling? - and presses the phone to his ear. He should make soup. He should - fuck, do they have medicine? He should go buy some, he should buy treats, too, to make Denji feel better, he should-
"Yes?"
"Oh, hi," Aki says stupidly into the phone. He belatedly remembers to show some respect, and adds, "Miss Makima, good morning."
"What is it, Aki?" she asks, her tone gently quizzical, but Aki doesn't miss the undertone of mild irritation.
He frowns. "Denji is sick. He won't be making it into work today."
"Oh dear," Makima says sweetly, and Aki wonders if he imagined the annoyance in her tone before. "That is unfortunate. I suppose you'll be staying home to tend to him?"
"Yes, ma'am," Aki answers, thanking the lord for the small mercy of her suggesting it first. Asking for time off is always uncomfortable. "Will that be okay?"
"Of course. Tell Denji I wish him a speedy recovery."
The line cuts out before he can even open his mouth to reply. She must be pretty busy; she always is, isn't she? Regardless, Aki won't take it personally.
He puts the phone down and leans against the wall, dragging a hand over his face and sighing deeply. Fuck, he needs a smoke.
Instead, he starts some herbal tea brewing, and sticks some bread in the toaster. Taking care of Denji hasn't been a problem so far; the guy's pretty independent, and despite him making a huge mess in every corner of the apartment, and never doing his own laundry, and always expecting Aki to cook dinner, he's... relatively self sufficient, at least. He makes his own toast - an abomination of a breakfast, Aki thinks, with every jam and spread within reach slapped upon it - and gets himself dressed, albeit with his tie wonky and too loose and his shirt creased and buttoned up all wrong and his socks mismatched. He bathes himself, brushes his teeth at least twice a day without needing reminding. Sure, he sucks at it in many ways, but he doesn't need Aki taking care of him.
Now, though? Taking care of a sick Denji? It's uncharted territory, it's weird, it's - he hates to admit it, but it's scary.
Aki knocks on the door with one hand, balancing a tray on the other. Herbal tea, painkillers, two slices of very reasonable toast - just one jam, apricot. He's not a monster, though, so he made sure to spread it on thicker than he would have for himself. Thick enough to leave deep indents with his teeth should he bite into it, and the thought makes him feel a little sick, or maybe that's the nerves.
He has no reason to be nervous, he reminds himself. It's just Denji. It's not like he's taking care of a sick, injured puppy. Denji isn't vulnerable. He's just sick. Aki doesn't even have to be nice.
"Can I come in?" he asks, and then opens the door anyway because it's his house, and he doesn't have to be nice, and Denji's voice is barely there enough to properly answer him regardless. "I brought you breakfast."
Denji lifts his head just barely, before flopping down onto the pillows again. "'M'not hungry."
The cold, uncomfortable pit in Aki's stomach deepens. Denji must be really sick. He's never not hungry.
"Okay," Aki says carefully, "well, I also brought you tea. And medicine. It will help soothe your throat."
Denji just eyes him suspiciously.
Aki sighs. "Would you sit up, please?"
"Mm," Denji says eventually, dragging himself into a marginally more upright position, leaning his back against the pillows. He still looks far too pale, and he's uncharacteristically quiet, and it's freaking Aki out.
"Try and sip some tea, okay? And take those pills, they should help."
Denji does as he's told wordlessly, only wincing a little when he swallows the pills.
"Your throat hurts, huh?" Aki asks quietly, sitting on the side of the bed. "Anything else?"
"Head," Denji mumbles. "Headache. Feel sick. Dizzy."
"Could you try and eat something? Just a little bite?"
Denji looks distraught. "Aki, I don't think I can go to work today."
Aki huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, no shit. I called in sick already."
"Oh. Thanks." Denji nibbles the edge of the toast pathetically. "What about you? You're gonna be late if you don't leave soon."
"I'm taking the day off too. I'm not leaving you alone when you're..."
He gestures vaguely. "You know."
"I didn't even know I could still get sick," Denji speculates, his voice still sounding way too rough.
"Yeah. I guess the human in you won this time, huh?"
Aki didn't mean anything by it, but Denji's eyes light up a little, his mouth twitching into a small smile.
"You think so?"
"Sure," Aki says flatly, trying not to frown. He doesn't know why Denji's reaction bothers him. "Devils don't get sick, do they?"
"Huh. Guess not."
They sit in silence for a few minutes as Denji attempts to eat his toast, wincing every time he has to swallow. Aki doesn't dislike silence - in fact, he frequently finds himself wishing Denji would shut the fuck up - but now that he has it, it's weird. Uncomfortable.
"Hey," Aki starts, if only to break it, "Makima said she hopes you feel better soon."
Denji damn near chokes on his toast. "She did? What did she say? What did you tell her? Please tell me you didn't tell her I'm gross and sweaty and sound like I ate a cheese grater."
Aki snorts. "Idiot. No, I just said you're not feeling very well. That's all."
"Aw," Denji says, sounding a little dejected. "She didn't say anything else about me?"
Aki doesn't dignify that with a response. Instead, he takes the second, untouched piece of toast and takes a bite. With Denji, it's easy to dodge questions or change the subject; his attention span is piss poor.
"Hey!" Denji protests. "That's my toast, what the hell?"
"I made it, so it's technically mine," Aki says, taking another bite. Too easy.
"Asshole!" Denji shouts, throwing a badly aimed punch at Aki's head, which he easily dodges.
"Hey, if you're well enough to throw punches, you're well enough to go to work."
Denji settles down at that, pouting slightly. Fakes a little cough.
"That's what I thought," Aki says, glaring at him half heartedly, not even really annoyed. He lets out a long sigh.
"What's wrong?" Denji asks quietly, even though he's the one who's sick. He shouldn't care so much.
"It's nothing, Denji. I just... I don't know how to take care of you." He turns his head to stare at the wall, acutely aware of Denji's eyes on his face. Reminds himself not to tear up. That would be stupid. "It's just that I'm supposed to look after you, and I hate seeing you like this, and I want to help but I don't know how."
"That's it?" Denji scoffs. "That's a dumb thing to be upset about."
Aki turns back to him, fully ready to smack him over the head.
"I mean," Denji adds quickly, "you're doing a pretty good job already."
Aki stares at him. "What?"
"Like, you made me toast and tea and you gave me medicine. And you called in sick for me. That's what you're supposed to do, I think. It's not like you can magically make me feel better, but..."
Whatever he was going to say, if anything, trails off into nothingness.
"Huh," Aki says, a little dumbfounded. "I guess you're right."
"I'm always right," Denji says, far too smugly for someone whose voice is coming out in a hoarse croak.
Annoyingly enough, he is right. Aki's worrying about things for no reason. He's doing what he can, and that's enough.
"Idiot," Aki says gently. "Eat your toast. I'll run you a bath, okay?"
Denji smiles. "Okay. That sounds nice."