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Denji's crying again.
He doesn't know why. It's stupid, really, to cry for no reason. He feels stupid.
He feels even more stupid when Aki opens his door, stands there in his stupid soft green sweater and matching sweatpants and stupid ponytail, and he looks stupid. That guy is seriously stupid. It should make Denji feel better about himself, about his own stupidity.
It doesn't; it makes him feel worse.
"What are you doing?" Aki asks, his tone neutral, uninterested, and it sounds more like 'I don't like you and you're stupid', which he is. It makes Denji cry harder.
Aki doesn't like him, which is deserved, if he's being honest. Denji doesn't like Aki either, so it's fine. They're equal.
"Nothing," Denji says, his voice breaking a little. He wipes his tears, curses fate for letting Aki see him like this. "Go away."
Aki doesn't go away. He doesn't say anything, either.
"Please?" Denji tacks on, not expecting it to work.
It doesn't.
"Are you crying?" Aki asks, even though it's obvious. He'd come to Denji's room for a reason, surely, heard his small sobs across the apartment; been annoyed because he was about to go to bed, probably. It's a wonder Denji isn't getting yelled at right now.
"No," Denji lies, rolling over to face the wall, "go away."
A minute passes in silence, and Denji is starting to think he actually left - just, like, really quietly - when the bed dips next to him.
"Wanna talk about it?" he hears Aki ask, his voice low and soft against the quietness of the room.
"No," Denji says again. "Why're you pretending to be nice?"
"I'm not-" Aki starts to say, then apparently thinks better of it, changes direction. "Come on. Just tell me what's bothering you so I can go to bed."
"Nothin'," Denji mumbles, and he can practically hear Aki frown.
"Don't be difficult."
Denji huffs. Turns and sits up to glare at him. "I'm not being difficult. I don't know why the fuck I'm crying, okay? It's nothing. Seriously."
"Oh," Aki says. "I see."
He seems to consider it for a long minute. Denji hugs his knees to his chest, trying to pretend he's alone, trying not to cry. A couple of tears slip out anyway.
"Sometimes I cry for no reason too," Aki tells him, and Denji almost laughs a little at that. It doesn't come as a surprise. Aki seems like kind of a pussy. But then, that makes Denji kind of a pussy too, doesn't it?
"That's stupid," he says, because it is, and because he has nothing better to say.
Aki scoffs. Doesn't point out the hypocrisy. Denji is grateful for that. "Yeah, alright. Just hear me out, though. When I cry for no reason - usually, if I really think about it, there is a reason, deep down. Even if it's something I didn't realise was upsetting me. Or something that happened a long time ago. Sometimes you can repress stuff, and then it comes back to bite you later, like a... recrudescence."
Denji stares at him blankly. "What the actual fuck does that mean?"
"Don't worry about it," Aki says with a sigh. "My point is, maybe something is subconsciously upsetting you?"
"Huh," Denji says, thinking about it. "Yeah, maybe."
"Any ideas?"
He shrugs. Thinking about stuff that upset him in the past feels shitty. In fact, thinking about pretty much anything from the past feels shitty. Except the one good thing that he had in his life, Pochita, and now he's gone and that feels shitty. The present is pretty great - he has a warm bed and warm food which is awesome, but now he's all sad and can't even appreciate it. Shitty. He doesn't even want to think about the future. He has no goals, no motivation. Touching some boobs would be nice, but everyone else has something. Denji doesn't. Denji doesn't even have any friends. It's shitty.
"Um," he says, "yeah, I think it's a lot of things. To be honest."
"Right," Aki says, leaving any further prompting hanging in the air, and Denji isn't sure if he should take that as a 'do you want to talk about it?' or not.
He decides to anyway, because he's starting to cry again and it's fucking embarrassing. Maybe talking about it will distract him. "I guess my past was really shitty. And I don't really have any friends, which sucks. And I don't know who or what I am, or what I want. I wanna touch some boobs, but I can't do that, which sucks. And other than that I don't have a single reason to actually be alive, which-"
"Sucks?" Aki finishes with him, looking mildly... something. Disgusted? Not quite. Displeased, maybe. Then again, Aki kind of always looks like that.
Denji rubs at his eyes. "Yeah, it all just sucks, man."
"I get it." Aki watches him intently, until Denji is uneasy and glaring at him to try and get him to look away. It works, in any case, because Aki turns his head to stare off at nothing when he speaks again. "It sounds like you're overwhelmed. Which isn't surprising. You've been through a lot."
"Yeah," Denji says, and then he starts crying again, properly this time, fully sobbing because he has been through a lot.
Aki looks slightly alarmed. Reaches out to pat Denji's shoulder awkwardly as the sobs rack his body. Denji wonders if he's ever actually comforted someone before, because he's not very good at it. Then again, Aki doesn't like him, which, again, is deserved; and he doesn't have to be here, but he is, even if Denji doesn't deserve it, and that makes him cry even harder.
"Come on, seeing other people cry makes me want to cry," Aki says quietly, patting his arm. "You're going to set me off if you don't stop."
"That's fucking stupid," Denji says between sobs, because it is.
Aki huffs out a half laugh. "Yeah, it is. Just tell me what I can do."
It's a stupid idea. He feels stupid even thinking it, let alone asking. Aki is there, though - right there, offering comfort, even if he isn't very good at it, even if Denji doesn't deserve it.
"Can I have a hug?" he asks, his voice small.
Aki stares at him like he just grew another head, or something. It takes him way too long to process the request, and Denji is just about to open his mouth to mumble a 'never mind' when Aki opens his arms.
Denji eyes him suspiciously, frowning at his irritatingly neutral expression. It's unreadable. It could easily be a trick, a joke. He could move into the hug only to have Aki pull away and laugh at him for thinking he would ever care enough about him to actually hold him, and spit in his face and kick him in the nuts and leave him alone forever. The worst part is that Denji would deserve it.
Aki's arms open a little wider, motioning for Denji to move in. "Come on, idiot, I'm not sitting like this all night."
Still a little suspicious, Denji scoots closer to him. Leans in tentatively. He steels himself and rests his head against Aki's chest, tentative.
"You're really bad at this," Aki mutters, his arms wrapping around Denji's waist and pulling him in closer. "You're supposed to put your arms around me."
"Right, right," Denji says, as if he knows how hugs work, as if he's recieved more than one in the past god knows how many years. His arms snake around Aki's neck, uncertain.
"That's it," Aki says, low and comforting against his ear, and Denji stops crying entirely out of shock. Aki is soft and warm and he smells good and Denji is practically in his lap, clinging onto him like a baby. "There you go."
He rubs his cheek against Aki's shoulder, the fabric of his sweater soft against his skin. His arms wrap around a little tighter, a little surer. "Woah," he says, not meaning to, just letting the sound slip out without thinking.
Aki's chest shifts slightly with an inaudible laugh. "Feeling better?"
"Hell yeah," Denji mumbles against his neck, closing his eyes. He's never felt this warm and soft, not even when Makima held him. "I could fall asleep here."
There's a long pause before Aki speaks again, and suddenly Denji is nervous that he fucked it up somehow, that he made it weird or ruined it or something.
And then Aki shifts, pulling Denji with him, leaning back against the pillows so he's half lying down and Denji is lying on his chest. "You can," he says. "If you want."
Denji wants to ask him if he's sure, if it's definitely okay, but if the answer is no - if he asks and Aki remembers he doesn't like him, doesn't want to be here, holding him - it would break his heart, he thinks, so he keeps his mouth shut. Keeps his eyes closed.
Lets himself feel it: arms around him, warm. Safe.