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Summary
Aki had become accustomed to pressing away the harrowing thought of his future. He kept his cursed sword purposely tucked away from him at all times, it being the first thing he took off and nestled by the door of his bedroom as he undressed. He’d spent so long being unburdened by however many more years he had left that he didn’t think to check.
That is, until Denji. Denji with his stubborn tongue and his needy, scratchy whine ringing in Aki's ear.
He must've been out of his fucking mind to miss it, now.