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Televangelism refers to the process of religious indoctrination using broadcasts. Succumbing to one’s convictions through words and actions so potent that, even in the absence of direct physical contact between the speaker and their target, they have the capacity to completely rewrite lives' worth of fundamental beliefs. As all successful propaganda tends to do.
An ironic process to be reminded of each time he thinks about Aki, Angel feels. A pretty unfair one too, given that his partner isn’t intentionally trying to wrap him around his finger for his personal gains like he’s some sort of boytoy to toss away when he’s no longer of any use. Hell, as far as he’s concerned on account of Power and Denji’s… admittedly rather questionable reliability, Aki doesn’t even do romance. He never has.
His devotion to Makima doesn’t count, everyone who comes in contact with that woman seems to be absurdly enamoured by her. Angel can’t think of any exceptions. And of course he’s heard stories of Aki’s previous work partner after spending enough time with his yappy roommates; every other word that comes out of their mouths strives to make fun of his uptight and overly-professional behaviour. Himeno, her name was. Apparently Aki made no attempts to intentionally return her affections even if hers were always painfully obvious.
Angel is kind of glad he wasn’t around to witness her fumble that bag.
Still, he can’t help the shortness of breath that creeps up on him every time Aki does something kind. He never gives it much thought at all - it’s in his nature to look after people - but the same can't be said for Angel. He’s been around long enough to put a finger on these feelings, regardless of whether Aki is or isn't oblivious to the implications of his actions.
Angel’s pretty damn sure he’s in love, and the thought alone terrifies him because he knows he’s felt this way before. He just doesn’t remember it. All that he has is a lingering sense of dread indicating that something or other went wrong. Through faults of his own, more likely than not. And who’s to say that won’t happen again?
“That's it. Go to your rooms.”
The firmness with which Aki slams his cup almost makes the table shake. As Denji yanks her hair, Power’s mouth hangs open just a few inches away from his arm.
“Huh? What gives! She's the one that started it!
“You have no right to order me around like a feeble human offspring!”
Aki’s brow twitches in well-versed irritation, “If you're going to act like children then I'm going to treat you like them. Piss off and clean up your mess, or you'll be eating nothing but vegetables for the rest of your stay here.”
Denji wouldn't be one to complain, but the thought of Power starting food fights every time they have dinner is enough to absorb him of any arguments. With more force than necessary he shoves the fiend away and grabs both of their plates before storming out of the room, leaving Power to scramble after him with petty accusations of betrayal and theft.
“You weren't gonna finish your share anyway!”
“Burglar! Scoundrel! Get back here at once!”
They scream at each other the entire way down the corridor. Aki mumbles something under his breath and rubs the bridge of his nose when a door slams on the other side of the flat. The faint glimmer in Angel’s eyes could almost be called amusement, but he looks otherwise unmoved by their antics.
“I’ve eaten worse meals, if it’s any consolation,” he says dryly.
Aki regards him with a comically exhausted expression, “I need a cigarette.”
They don’t sit close enough to touch, and yet Angel misses his presence the moment Aki hauls himself up to his feet anyway. He lets his gaze linger and watches silently as the other man slips onto the balcony and leans against the railing; inhaling, exhaling, lighting a spark. The flame lights up his cheek gently, a warm orange contrast against the gloomy night sky.
Against better judgement, Angel disregards his food and stands up. He hesitates briefly as his hand hovers over the door handle, but then Aki steals a glance over his shoulder, and that’s all it takes to coax Angel to step outside. The coolness hits him like a breath of fresh air; pleasant, despite the storm of feelings he’s been trying to push down all evening. It’s not often they get to spend time together outside of work, and the only reason Angel’s here now is because Power insisted she was too hungry to wait for them to drive him back to HQ first. Still, it’s oddly intimate to be lounging around Aki’s apartment. Angel finds himself naively imagining what his day to day domestic life must be like after tasting just a scrap of it.
“They’re always like this, I'm used to it by now. Annoying brats…” Aki mutters with a wave of his hand, breaking the silence, “I just need a moment.”
Angel is sure not to stand too close, keeping his wings folded and his hands on the railing. The view isn’t half bad from here. It's cold enough that the stars are clear despite the light pollution from the city.
“Something on your mind?” Angel’s breath comes out as a cloud of warm air. Aki merely rolls his shoulders and sighs, because when is there not?
“More or less,” he says vaguely, taking a long drag of his cigarette. The flame flickers against the icy wind.
“Meaning?”
It really shouldn’t be any of Angel’s concern, but he pries anyway. There’s a brief moment of pause before Aki decides to humour him.
“I’m not used to the extra company.”
He doesn't look him in the eye when he admits that, and his stoic face, partly obstructed by his dark hair, doesn't betray what he's thinking. For a second Angel wonders whether he misheard him.
“Is this your way of kicking me out?” He says blankly, but Aki just shakes his head and offers him the cigarette instead of formulating a proper response.
Angel wrinkles his nose distastefully, “I've never smoked before.”
“Not once in the countless years you've been around?” Aki raises a brow, “How old even are you?”
As long as religion itself, which is pretty flimsy to calculate. Not that Angel’s memory is particularly reliable anyway.
“I don't know,” he shrugs, “I've stopped keeping count.”
Still, Aki doesn't retract his hand. Angel very quickly realises that he's just using this as an excuse to test his luck and prod the bear with a stick without outwardly admitting he's doing so. If he had any sense, he'd call him out and remind him that just a few seconds of physical touch would kill him where he stands.
Instead, he gestures with his hand to turn the cigarette around, and it takes Aki a second to get the memo, but when he does Angel gently tries a drag of it that way. He thinks Aki’s breath hitches at how close he cranes his face to his hand - inches apart, his breath tickling his skin - but it happens so fast that he can’t be sure.
Angel very quickly concludes that the taste is even worse than the smell. He instantly flinches back like he just swallowed poison, spluttering and whining when he inhales a bit too quickly and coughs the smoke back up.
“Why do humans do this to themselves?” He complains, scrunching up his face and wiping his mouth. The corners of Aki’s lips quirk up in amusement, though he tries not to show it.
“I used to hate it too.” He muses.
A shiver runs down Angel’s spine. He can't tell whether it’s from the lingering aftertaste or the chill of the night air finally catching up to him.
“I don't think devils are susceptible to nicotine addiction like you are,” he grumbles.
Aki almost looks like he wants to laugh, “But you do have a sweet tooth. Which can be a similar stimulant, in some cases.”
“One of the two doesn't taste like shit.”
“You eat literal corpses,” the devil hunter reminds him, “I'll make sure to buy you a pack of lollipops next time, or something.”
And that shuts Angel right up. Aki says that like he expects - no, wants - to have him over again. Like he intends this night to be a regular occurrence, not just a one-off thing for convenience’s sake. Angel tries not to dwell on how that makes him feel, he really doesn’t, but he lets the silence drag on a little too long for comfort.
When neither of them say anything after that, Angel forces himself to let out a quiet mumble. His wings are slightly puffed up now, tense and defensive, “You know you can just tell me to leave if I'm overstaying my welcome, right?”
Aki goes back to absentmindedly watching the cityscape, gaze distant. Angel wishes he could read his mind. It’s at times like this that he remembers that night on the roof; wonders whether Aki truly doesn't mean anything romantic by his casual acts of service, or whether he's just doing a very good job of keeping himself in check and merely making it seem that way. A small part of Angel wants to believe in the slimmest chance that his feelings are reciprocated, but an even larger part of him desperately hopes that Aki wisens up for the both of them and indefinitely keeps his distance.
“And what, have you walk back to HQ on foot?” Aki remarks, savouring the last bit of his cigarette, “We’re the ones who dragged you out here in the first place.”
“And now you're moping about it,” Angel leans against the railing with a sigh, crossing his arms. Aki fights the urge to roll his eyes.
“I’m just thinking,” he rephrases.
“That’s rarely a good sign.” Angel dead-pans.
An irritated remark dies on Aki's tongue. He looks down at his hands and rolls the cigarette between his fingers; clearly stalling, like he's trying to find the right words.
“My old partner and I would do this sort of thing all the time,” he finally says, “She’d constantly invite herself over, often completely unprompted. It wasn't a big deal.”
Angel has no idea where he's going with this, “And me being here is?”
“It’s different,” Aki mutters, ever the vague.
The devil can't help letting out an annoyed exhale when he side-glances him, “Sometimes listening to you talk feels like pulling teeth. Can you clarify?”
But his fed-up expression quickly melts away. Angel almost doesn't believe his eyes when he notices the tips of Aki’s ears turn pink. He knows it's not from the cold; Hokkaido winters are much harsher than this.
Aki conveniently kneels to the ground to put out his cigarette before finally responding, voice quiet, “I don't understand what I'm feeling when I'm around you.”
It's like the air’s been knocked right out of Angel’s lungs. He continues, eyes downcast even as he rises to his feet, evasive.
“Barely a year ago hunting down the Gun Devil and any other devil that stood in my way was all that mattered to me,” Aki tells him, “Now three of them are loitering around in my own home and I have no issue with it.”
He's so close to him. Too close. Any other person would've pulled him in by the end of his tie and done something about that by now; it's the perfect opportunity. But all that Angel can do is stare up at him with wide, stunned eyes, completely frozen in place.
“...You're letting your guard down,” he whispers, because he knows this feeling all too well, even if Aki does not. He supposes he can't exactly blame him; he can't imagine that his manufactured feelings for Makima make a very good blueprint for what love’s supposed to feel like. It's not like Aki has much experience.
“Apparently so.” Aki mutters like a scolded kid. And for once in their lives despite the evident height difference, he seems so uncharacteristically small.
Angel can't feel the tips of his fingers anymore. He desperately tries to focus on that sensation instead of the rapid beating of his heart.
“Is that such a bad thing?” He asks quietly, already knowing the answer. Naively, he wishes Aki could logic his way through this whole predicament and somehow prove him wrong.
“I don't know,” is all that Aki says, rubbing the back of his neck, “I have no idea what to make of it. I never used to see a life for myself outside of work.”
The country mouse and the city mouse coming to meet each other halfway, against all odds, is perhaps the most absurd thing Angel's ever witnessed. It shouldn't happen, and yet here they are.
“...It’s a very human thing to have other wants and needs. Maybe you just got sick of being so miserable all the time.”
“You're one to talk,” Aki huffs, which almost counts as a laugh.
“Takes one to know one,” Angel shrugs, “Neither of us are exactly great when it comes to self-preservation.”
“But being around you, Denji, and Power makes me want to be,” Aki counters, “It gets my mind wandering like a moron, making up obscure scenarios of a future that I can never have. Be honest with me. How ridiculous does that make me sound?”
And then he has the nerve to look him in the eye when Angel's thoughts are already scrambled and conflicted enough as they are. Angel blinks repeatedly.
“...I can't remember anything before I was roped in with the Public Safety Commission,” he finally tells him, somehow managing to keep that usual monotone and disinterested tone of voice, “The life of a devil hunter is all I’ve ever known. Doing the same mundane tasks over and over again, just idly floating by. And yet… lately I’ve been remembering what it's like to care and be cared for. It’s strange, but…”
He has to look away when he admits the last bit.
“I guess you're not the only one feeling like a fool.”
Aki shifts beside him.
“What are you saying?”
“You can't seriously be that oblivious.”
Power and Denji yell in the distance. Something crashes on the other side of the door, which is enough to draw Aki's attention and prevent them from saying any more than that. All too quickly, Aki leaves, and though Angel thinks he says something to him as he does so, he’s too rattled to register it. The wind howls in his ears. Was it this cold the entire time they were out here?
He has no idea. All he knows is that he said too much. Why did he let his mouth run like that? Angel digs his nails into his arms so hard that his fingers begin to shake, even if the rest of his body language appears indifferent. His mind is elsewhere when he steps inside, drowning out all the senseless bickering.
There's footsteps, the shuffling of shoes, doors opening and closing. They must be leaving now, going back to HQ. Should he try to save-face before they do? Insist he didn't mean anything of it? Panic floods him like a cold wave, but Angel is forcefully yanked back to the surface before he can fully submerge and forget how to breathe.
“You can have this.”
Aki hands him a jumper two sizes too big, and he blinks rapidly, too bewildered to refuse. He's entirely lost before he realises that Aki truly is way more perceptive than he gives him credit for. His shaking hands couldn't have gone unnoticed to the devil hunter.
“I’d have to cut holes into the…” Angel starts, but his voice trails off when his fingers brush against the messy holes already carved into the back. When the hell did he do that?
“It’s fine,” Aki waves him off, "I never wore it much anyway.”
He's obviously lying - it’s warm and smells just like him - but Angel decides to take his word for it. They share a brief look after Power and Denji tumble out of the front door, and for a fleeting moment the two of them are left alone again. Angel squeezes the sweater over his head. It slumps loosely over his uniform, big enough not to disturb his wings, and Aki can't decide whether he wants to follow after his roommates or turn back and throw all caution to the wind. He's left with one foot out the door and his mouth hanging open like the gawking idiot that he is.
And isn’t that a sight to behold. Instead of feeling sick with dread, Angel feels stupidly hopeful.
“Thanks,” he manages to mutter. Aki can't bring himself to verbalise his words in an adequately coherent manner. And so he just silently holds the door open for him instead.