Work Text:
* * *
If memory serves
We were walking around on the east side
Talking what you deserve
To live as much as you learn
And I saw your face fall
Through the hours of daylight left
Now we’re running out of time
I think I’m losing perspective
* * *
“. . . ji.”
So calm, so soft, so peaceful. It’s been a while since I’ve felt like this, or if I ever did.
Not feeling like all I do is run. Like chasing a dream that never takes shape. An illusion to the unattainable.
“. . .Denji.”
I don’t know what this feeling is, but I want to drown in it.
Gently, slowly, as it wraps me with a warm coat, in pure bliss, in eternity.
“. . . Denji, come on.”
My head tickles somehow, as if someone’s lips are caressing it, faint whispers tenderly falling through my sleep.
“. . . Hey.”
Denji opened his eyes just for the harsh reality to kick in.
Unescapably, another doomed day lied ahead.
He looked around and he was still surrounded by dusty, cracked walls with falling paint; ivies growing outside, sneaking through the window frame.
Fortunately, by his side on the narrow bed, there was Yoshida. Looking handsome, he always did—even carrying several scars on his face, and with his skin chapped more akin to a man ten years older his age.
Life was rushing through the both of them, yet Yoshida seemed to get the worst of it.
Yoshida kept staring curiously at him. Denji rubbed his eyes, leaving his drowsiness behind.
“We should get going.”
Clarity began to form in his head.
That’s right, he kissed Yoshida last night. He fucking kissed Yoshida.
He had let his heart laid bare, open and vulnerable for him to take. And Denji would gladly place it himself in Yoshida’s hands again, be it full or in pieces.
For Yoshida’s hands were used to being stained with blood, after all. Now with Denji by his side—the only person who might carry some hope for their desperate world—his efforts to keep them both alive were more crucial than ever.
Denji faintly remembered his lips against Yoshida’s. They were soft, too warm, and too eager. The memory was latent, and his heart pulsated at the simple sight of them again—even his damned beauty mark underneath was poignantly distracting.
“Can’t we stay a little longer?” Denji cooed.
Yoshida’s insistence seemed to falter the moment he heard Denji’s plea.
“Denji...”
Denji’s guts twisted.
God, since when he leaves me shaking like this.
Perhaps living in a world where people became monsters starved for flesh and blood wasn’t the ideal moment to dwell on Yoshida’s kisses, but Denji’s mind was one of a kind.
His body was one of a kind, too. Having been bitten several months ago and still being himself, not presenting any traces of madness nor inhumanity was proof enough that he was immune. A word that echoed hope, something everyone had painfully lost.
Despite it all, Denji wanted to kiss Yoshida again. He wanted to forget there was a chance that he could be of use, as he would do whatever it took to allow Yoshida to have a better future.
Denji craved a future with him, though. Some kind, any kind—living in an abandoned house with stray dogs and baking cakes, he didn’t need anything else. Yet, until they reached that dream, the fear of losing him constantly dangled in-between.
And Denji would rather kill Yoshida with his own hands than see him become one of them. Even if that killed him as well.
Denji grabbed one of Yoshida’s hands and placed it over his chest, near his neck. He inhaled deeply, let his warmth penetrate every pore and every cell. Yoshida was soothing—his only human anchor to their wretched world. Denji wouldn’t know what to do or where to go were it not for him.
“Is it too much to ask to stay like this forever?”
Yoshida saw right through him and chuckled softly. Denji mirrored him, a sly grin shaping up along his crooked teeth.
“No?” Denji added, squinting.
Yoshida was beaming. Denji hadn’t seen him smile so often and so widely in a long time. He was always carrying his poker face, or eyes hunting, searching, worrying. There was barely any moment for peace and relief.
A moment that was taken out from the wildest dreams.
“Are you okay with this?” Yoshida shifted on the bed, getting closer. With his other hand, he cupped Denji’s face gently, just the way he yearned.
“Using you, you mean? Why, it’s my favourite thing.”
After last night, Denji was allowed to play along. He craved for Yoshida’s contact, for the butterflies in his stomach, for the anticipation in his lower half.
He expected Yoshida to feel the same, but one could ever be so sure of themselves.
“What’s gotten into you?” Yoshida’s breath latched onto his skin like a wave of fire. “You woke up really...”
Denji stared at him, his eyes fixed on his mouth. He knew he must look ridiculously wanton—he might as well be foaming.
“Hmh?” Just how stupid one could sound?
“. . . frisky?” Yoshida answered, meeting his eyes. Denji’s cheeks blushed the moment he heard him say that.
Not that he needed any further push to dare him to try.
Denji wrapped his arm around Yoshida and brought him closer. Their legs rocked against each other’s, so did their hips, which made Denji feel a tingle of adrenaline dashing up his spine.
Yoshida let out a muffled moan as his body bumped into Denji’s, and Denji took that as enough proof to keep going.
“Denji,” Yoshida’s tone was more of a warning, but Denji had got used to it, he knew how to brush it off.
“Come on,” he prompted, urging Yoshida to unleash. The remnants of their previous evening were nothing but embers in Denji’s chest. He craved to feel him again. Sneakily, he slid his hand under Yoshida’s shirt, on his back, and he shuddered.
Yoshida was burning as usual, and Denji was too selfish to let him go so soon. Yoshida met his gaze, and caressed his neck, sliding his palm softly to his nape.
“You’re not listening to me,” Yoshida could say whatever he wanted that Denji would still press on. He knew Yoshida’s eyes blared devotion and he was allowed that much.
“Just five,” Denji begged one last time. He had very few virtues, but pleading and being indulged was something he’d learned to do pretty wisely. Anything to survive.
Yoshida’s pupils dilated and now it was Denji who shivered. Before he could insist more, Yoshida sunk his face on his neck and kissed him right away. It wasn’t only lips but tongue and a little teeth, and Denji whimpered effortlessly.
“Fuck-”
His grip on Yoshida’s back tensed, pressing him closer, his fingertips clawing on his skin. Yoshida trailed his lips underneath his jaw, sucking tenderly, and Denji wouldn’t admit but that was too much of a sensitive spot for him. His face burned by then, the heat of pleasure rising up from lungs and heart.
He pulled Yoshida’s body and snuck his leg beneath until he was able to make him shift on the mattress and crawl under his weight. Yoshida hopped over him, bending his knee over one of Denji’s sides, enough to straddle him yet letting him have room to breathe.
Denji took the opportunity to wrap his right leg over Yoshida’s, tightening their embrace. Shamelessly, he ended up grinding his crotch against his in dire need. Yoshida gasped at the contact and clutched onto Denji’s hair.
“Already?” Denji asked, too cheeky for his own good.
Funnily enough, it was Denji who was already hard.
“Testing my patience, are you,” Yoshida muttered, lips near Denji’s ear.
“Huh—” Denji tried to keep his voice steady, although it was already shaking. “Can’t you see the state of me?” I’m dying here.
Yoshida leaned back a little, enough to dart his eyes upon Denji’s face. Whatever he saw was alluring enough to flash a sly smirk.
“Wasn't last night enough?”
Of course not. Denji didn’t remember how long they kissed for, but he would’ve gladly kept going for much longer. The taste of Yoshida’s tongue still lingered in his mouth.
“What can I say,” Denji knew they were running out of time, but he still clung to the very last minute where he could bask in momentary pleasure, away from the peril. “A free man always dreams for more.”
And Yoshida understood, because he was just as lost and alone. Feeling another human’s touch and warmth, as well as being reciprocated in your desires, was something nobody could take for granted anymore.
That’s why he gave in, abandoned any last restraint left, and captured Denji’s mouth with his.
Denji inhaled as his lips brushed Yoshida’s, reminiscent of so much bliss he had cradled to sleep. Yoshida pinned him down, pushed his weight onto him, rocking their chests, legs, all along his body. Denji could feel his burning skin even through the thick layers of their worn-out clothes, yet still craved for more.
Yoshida’s hand was tangled on his hair, his fingers running between his glossy and wild hair. Denji loved the way Yoshida managed to balance tenderness with lust—his hands caressing every fiber and every pore, while his lips battled for control.
Denji slid his tongue into his mouth first, impatient to taste him whole. Yoshida seemed to swallow down a moan, but welcomed him with his own. They kissed eagerly, passionately, as though nothing else clouded their minds.
Yoshida pulled away abruptly the moment he felt Denji’s hand fidgeting along his belt. Denji gawked at him wide-eyed, wishing there was still more. Yoshida stared at him silently, observing his features, his eyes travelling from eyes to mouth. Delicately, he brushed his upper lip with his thumb, and Denji timidly licked it.
He knew he was pushing it. He knew this was no time for it, to forget about their mission, but Denji’s resistance could be so flimsy.
Yoshida smiled grimly. He caressed Denji’s cheekbone, brushed his temple, swam his fingers along his scalp.
He was struggling just as much.
“It’s not safe during daylight. We can’t waste more time.”
It was undeniable that Yoshida would put Denji’s safety first, above everything else, even above his own wishes. Denji knew how hard it was for him to stop—he could see it in his fiery eyes, in his trembling hands.
“. . . Okay.”
Denji was content, though. If he harbored any doubt concerning Yoshida’s care and devotion for him, it immediately vanished.
Yoshida gazed at him with such intensity that Denji felt his heart swirling and spiraling in agony. He reached for his right wrist, the one with the fateful scar.
Denji shivered when Yoshida brought it to his lips and kissed it. He placed gentle pecks over his infection bite, healed long ago, now only but a glimpse of hope that there were still things they blindly ignored.
“I can’t lose you, Denji,” Yoshida uttered, voice low and heavy, ricocheting on his scarred skin.
God, he’s so stupid. He really is.
“Hey, you know nothing will happen to me if I’m bitten again,” Denji said right away, composing himself back again. “But you, on the other hand...”
Because Denji wasn’t the one treading on thin ice—he wasn’t concerned about turning into one of them.
Yoshida’s eyes flickered back to him.
“I don’t care what happens to me.”
Denji’s mouth went agape.
“What?”
“I promised to protect you, to take you to safety. And that includes achieving this mission no matter the consequences.”
Denji couldn’t believe this sudden blow of selfishness.
“You’re just gonna say that? What about me?” Denji wouldn’t survive a day without him—he wouldn’t fathom the idea of not having him by his side, of witnessing the possibility that he lost his essence. “What if there’s a cure? What if--” what if they can use me for it?
There was a chance, there might be a chance for Denji to do something for him, for everyone. He could bring a future when it seemed there was none.
“No,” Yoshida replied bluntly, leaving no room for discussion. “I won’t allow you to be put at risk.”
Denji couldn’t escape a scoff. “As if you can make that decision for me.”
Yoshida’s face fell. Denji recognized the hopelessness in him, the wish to stop his never-ending altruism. Denji thought he understood what it meant to cling to the only thing that made you feel alive.
Yoshida seemed to soften, although his voice still sounded downcast. “We’re closer to their base camp. We’ll know when we get there.”
“You don’t sound very convinced.”
“I’m not,” Yoshida admitted plainly. “You know I don’t trust anyone.”
Denji sighed.
“So if... if that doesn’t work out-“ Yoshida kept gazing at him with such deep affection that it crumbled Denji’s walls of defense, his ability to articulate words before someone who only cared for his survival. “What’s left for us?”
Running in fear till the end? Worrying about being cornered and ripped to pieces? Dreading the possibility that you’ll become an infected while I roam this hopeless land alone?
Finally, Yoshida opened up—his only dream, the one he'd hidden for months, for Denji to accompany him.
“We’ll make a shelter. We’ll make it for the both of us.” Yoshida was running his fingers through his hair again, but this time, Denji felt true love in them—something prophetic even, a delicate touch over the rough skin of his palm, as someone who brushed lush open meadows on a sunny day. “Somewhere remote, where not even they may reach us.”
And Denji would follow him. He would go wherever he was headed to—be it in life or death.
Yoshida’s fingers massaging his head, picking wild strands to tug them in place left Denji with a sense of calm and peace he thought no longer existed.
“Denji, for the first time, after all these shitty years... I’m looking forward to a future,” his hand trailing back and forth, cuddling him in his warmth, in his love, in which Denji would drown. “And I’ll fight until I grasp it. With my own hands.”
Denji was sure he would be able to. He’d never met anyone so resourceful and committed as Yoshida. If there was someone he’d gladly trust his life with, it was him.
“I want dogs,” Denji whispered, out of the blue. “There must be some alive. We must find them and save them.”
Yoshida blinked, and Denji struggled to repress a grin.
“And I also want a house. Double story.”
Now it was Yoshida who couldn’t manage to contain a smile on his drained face.
“Did you forget Santa doesn’t exist?”
It had been proved that the unimaginable could still be possible. That being bitten was no synonym to death. That there was something better, somewhere, waiting for them.
Sooner or later, it might come true.
Denji lifted his arm to cup Yoshida’s face. It felt liberating and reassuring the way Yoshida leaned into it, the way he immediately grasped his wrist warmly, pulling him even closer. “I know we can make it.”
Their noses almost touch each other, and Denji could merge into Yoshida’s scent so easily. His taste was still present in his damp lips.
“I believe in you, Yoshida. It’s not the first time you’ve saved me. You’ll do it again.” They were running out of time, so unfairly, so fast. Denji would get hold of every little second left, he would pour his thoughts in the earnest way. “I should have nothing to fear.”
Yoshida slid up his palm, caressing Denji, until he squeezed his hand under his. “You put too much faith in me.”
“Because this time I’ll save you too,” Denji confessed, heart in hand and love in eyes. “Trust me, I won’t let anything happen to you.”
When he stared into Yoshida, he knew he felt the same—like looking in a mirror that for the first time wasn’t shattered.
“Remember, you—”
“. . . ‘re all I’ve got,” Yoshida finished off.
In all honesty, it wasn’t words what they needed, as comforting as they were. As long as they relied on each other, they would find a way. That’s why it was Denji who leaned forward this time; who kissed Yoshida with the devotion of someone who had finally found his haven.
As long as Denji had him, there might be very little left to fear.