Chapter Text
Aki is woken up at two in the morning for the third time this week.
The first time, he hadn't bothered to get out of bed. He'd just rolled over and gone back to sleep, ignoring the sound of Denji retching and coughing in the bathroom, for numerous reasons: reason number one being that Denji, while annoying and pathetic, is fairly hardy, and - having lived on his own for a good chunk of his formative years - is by no means incapable of taking care of himself.
The second reason, of course, is that Denji is a little shit, and Aki couldn't care less if he's violently throwing up in the middle of the night. It is undeniably not his problem.
On the second night it had happened, though, he'd brought Denji a glass of water, offered with an impassive "here" - simply because he hadn't been able to get back to sleep; Denji had been too loud, groaning and sobbing - and Aki had, unfortunately, felt a little bad for him.
Denji hadn't said thank you, but in all fairness, his head had been in the toilet bowl, so Aki had let it slide.
"Alright," Aki says, leaning against the door frame on the third night, because this has been going on for long enough that it's affecting his sleep schedule and he's waking up tired and he's had enough, quite frankly. It becomes evident that it very clearly isn't alright, though, as he watches Denji throw up again, his grimace landing somewhere between sympathetic and disgusted. "What's going on?"
"The fuck do you think?" Denji snaps, voice raw, knuckles white from how hard he's gripping the toilet seat, and he glares up at Aki with contempt. "Obviously I'm-"
He cuts himself off to throw up again. "Sick."
"Clearly," Aki says flatly. Reaches over to grab a tissue. Hands it to him.
Denji wipes the tears from his eyes and the snot from his nose and says, defensive, for some reason, "It's not my fault."
"Never said it was," Aki retorts, folding his arms across his chest. He's not playing this game - bickering over nothing, when really he's trying to be nice, when he would much rather be in bed, asleep.
"You're mad at me," Denji says. Less defensive, now, and more sort of defeated.
"No, I'm not."
"Well," he starts, and then he's throwing up again. Comes up coughing and gasping for breath.
"You want some water?" Aki asks quietly, and Denji answers with a pathetic sort of groan, which Aki takes as a 'maybe'. "Do you have any idea what could be causing this?"
"You're trying to kill me," Denji says, loudly, accusatory.
"What?"
"You're poisoning my food. You hate me."
Aki scoffs. "We eat the same food, that's ridiculous. Why would I do that?"
"To get rid of me," Denji says, and Aki feels a twinge of something like guilt for letting Denji believe he's that level of disposable.
"Please," he says instead, brushing it off, "it wouldn't be worth it. Too much paperwork."
Denji, by way of response, drops his head to violently throw up.
"Jesus," Aki says. "Are you okay?"
A long minute passes before he gets a response.
"Think I'm done." Denji flushes the toilet. Sits back, leaning against the wall. He's trembling.
"Good."
Water.
Aki goes to fill up a glass. Sets it down on the floor next to Denji. "Small sips, okay?"
"Thanks," Denji says, and picks it up with a shaking hand, sipping it tentatively.
"You know I'm... not poisoning you, right?" Aki asks, and Denji shoots him a suspicious frown.
"I guess."
"Denji," he says, and sighs. "I wouldn't. I promise."
Denji stares at him for a long moment before he speaks, softening. "I trust you."
It's not much, and it doesn't undo the continuous bitchiness and disrespect Aki has endured from Denji ever since he moved in, but feeling a little appreciated doesn't hurt. And Denji trusting him - well, okay, it doesn't mean much, really, but it at least means that he must be doing something right.
"I guess," Denji says. "Maybe I'm just not used to eating a bunch of different foods. And, like, regularly. And that much."
"Yeah," Aki says, sitting down across from him. Solidarity, or something. "That makes sense."
"Your cooking is really good, though."
He half laughs. "Thanks, Denji."
"Seriously. You should be, like, a chef, or something." Denji offers him a lopsided smile. "Less dangerous than being a Devil Hunter."
"Less fun, too," Aki points out, although he isn't entirely sure if that's true.
"Still," Denji says. "You better not get killed, or anything. I'd miss your cooking."
"You're such a shit," Aki says, with no bite behind it, and Denji grins.
"Sorry for waking you up."
"It's okay."
"And sorry for keeping you up."
"Don't worry about it. It's my choice." Aki gets to his feet. Smiles in what he hopes is a sympathetic way. "If you're done puking, you should probably try and get some sleep. I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted."
"Right," Denji says. "No, yeah, me too."
Aki offers him a hand. Helps pull him up.
"Thanks," Denji says.
"Sure. You okay?"
"Yeah." Denji stares at him for a long moment before glancing away, looking embarrassed. "Thanks. Seriously."
"Sure," Aki says again, with a small shrug, starting to feel a little bad that he'd just left him to it the previous two nights. "Hey, Denji? If you ever feel ill, or... you don't have to be alone, okay? You can wake me up, I don't mind."
"Okay," Denji says, and nods. "Yeah, okay, I'll keep it in mind."
"Okay." Aki thinks about patting his arm or something. Decides it'll be too awkward. Settles with asking, instead, "You gonna be okay?"
And Denji smiles, and it's kind of warm in spite of his slightly pale, sickly look, and suddenly being woken up at two in the morning is almost worth it. Almost.
"Yeah," he says, "I'll be okay. Goodnight, Aki."
Aki smiles back, because of course he does, because there's a fondness growing in his chest despite Denji being quite literally the most annoying person alive, and fuck, he's soft. It's kind of pathetic, actually. "Goodnight, Denji."