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Rain. The afternoon after Miss Himeno's death had been covered in rain. He remembered well the impatience in her gaze when she vanished, edged with hopelessness.
Such was the world dominated by demons, gone mad in the senselessness of belonging, of having to do something to earn one's worth. A place in the world. Most were driven by rage, or vengeance.
They endured lesser demons to defeat stronger ones. On many of the nights that followed, he thought of her. Of Himeno, with her long eyelashes fluttering over him with hope. It wasn't that he liked her, but having her near gave him clear comfort. That's why he had slept with her.
A ritual, she had told him, that made her feel she was keeping a piece of her comrades. They had started when Aki was still an inexperienced youth; he had learned most things with her. However, he had felt a certain relief at no longer having her nearby.
At not finding her hovering around his messages for nightly visits, or interrupting his routine in the company's archives.
He felt strangeness and relief at the same time.
He once wondered what it felt like to love; he had forgotten the sensation since losing his parents. It hurt in his chest to think about it. Yet, lately, that thought had been circling. Sex was not synonymous with love. Love was something more complex than genital friction.
His feelings clashed. Now, with a new assigned partner, he was surprised by the coldness towards compassion that being possessed, with the beauty of an angel but the fierceness of a demon.
He clung to death as if nothing else remained. It was hard not to grow fond after glimpsing him up close, while his other two charges were violence, tensions, and disaster.
Angel was tranquility. An idle tranquility, but the least of his problems. Aki had taken him in as one more. It was easy to look after him; he just had to buy a few ice creams along the way. He had adapted to the philosophy of saving each other's lives.
Aki began to feel better with his company, something beyond continuous stupidities.
Angel had absorbed time and at the same time had given him the answer he needed: no more dead comrades.
And now, Aki, right there, couldn't think of anything else but the softness that the sight of those celestial wings seemed to grant. Mortal, perhaps forever. He didn't want to die.
And yet his companion contemplated death as the only way out.
It had started happening continuously: innocent, light brushes that ended in palpable tension. It was electric. Despite not being able to touch, the sudden contact of skin covered by cloth, or just feeling his warmth, had become a mental cage.
In one of the many missions, involving infiltration into a shabby old bar, Makima had ordered Angel to be a bit more feminine to get by, although they hadn't dressed him as a woman.
He wore a long coat that covered him and curly hair, perfectly styled with the boss's help. The makeup had been Power's idea, although in the end his poor partner had only kept the soft lip gloss, along with the mascara that couldn't be removed.
The worn jeans, hidden under the coat, gave him that casual look. Aki was also in disguise, with his hair down and street clothes.
Their goal was to go unnoticed, leave without making a scene, plant the bombs in the basement, escape, burning the club in their wake.
A club full of demons and pseudo-humans who had been defiled by the rigged games they offered.
Under the red lights, despite wearing nothing that would feed any misguided idea, Angel lost his natural form to become a sexualized version that Aki couldn't help but see. It was as if the time of continuous contact, talking with the other, sharing, had become a hallucinatory burst of intense hormonal triggers in his system.
It was like finishing an entire pack of cigarettes in one day.
As if teenage hormones had returned. He imagined Angel wearing only the coat, with thin legs tracing their rhythm. Indecent and ethereal with those treacherous celestial wings.
He shook his head, embarrassed. It wasn't possible that he thought that. No, he owed him respect. He tried to stay firm, but something hung in the air.
Angel seemed to notice. "Try to breathe slowly. I'm feeling it too; there must be some aphrodisiac carrier nearby." Aki nodded, for he was ashamed to admit those thoughts weren't new at all.
The plan continued. Amidst the music and frenetic bodies, they both reached their destination: the basement. The place smelled of mold, rot, and filth.
Angel pulled out the explosives he kept under his coat, passing them to Aki, who placed them. It took less than five minutes. By the time anyone noticed, they were already out. Aki's car was far enough away when the redhead pressed the switch; the club exploded in a huge rain of debris.
The task was complete.
The ride home was weird; both were uncomfortable, heated. Angel had already taken off his coat, leaving the work dress shirt. Aki felt numb.
"It must be a persistent effect from the place," Angel whispered, and even that innocent whisper made his hair stand on end. Aki cleared his throat; the situation was unexpectedly awkward. Angel seemed to think for a moment before asking him to pull over.
Aki obeys, confusion and heat clouding his judgment. Angel sighs, bringing his delicate body over Aki's in an unexpected, burning movement. "I know this isn't comfortable, but we need to calm down before going back. If you don't agree, you can say so."
His brain melts, his skin buzzes and then trembles. He looks at Angel, swallowing drily. They can't touch, but the friction of clothing is safe. He tells him he can drag him when he doesn't want to work, or when the redhead stops him by pulling his sleeve to buy him ice cream.
Sweet. His scent is sweet, familiar, like freshly baked pastries. He always smells of vanilla because he's always eating ice cream.
Aki murmurs something his own ears don't hear, and then comes that: he holds Angel's clothed waist while rubbing against him. He has to stay firm not to come in his pants the first instant.
It's hot. The air suffocates him as he embraces the light body. There's something different about just rubbing compared to what having actual sex would entail. The desire, that growing desire, flows through his veins. It's animalistic. He's never done it with a guy; he only knew the familiar warmth of his old friend.
And yet, feeling that emotional connection become physical, even if only through clothing, does something to his brain. Angel also holds back, keeps the noises at bay, but he can hear him breathing heavily. Then comes the sensation. That one you get when you're about to have a huge orgasm.
He goes quiet, biting his own hand, while Angel covers his mouth. They say nothing on the way home. Aki leaves him at the organization's apartment and travels home in silence. He uses his coat to hide his wet pants and takes a long shower.
It's hard. If he reasons it out, it's easy for something to become an addiction. It was already an addiction to see the demon with angel wings; it was already an addiction to hear his jokes. It made the work more bearable. Now that he's rubbed himself against him until making him come like some promiscuous high school student, it becomes an addiction too.
He likens it to what he felt with Himeno. He didn't like her, but that security, the sensations, made him come back again and again.
The next day they pretend nothing happened. Aki doesn't want to make things awkward, so he invites him to dinner. Power and Denji are a pain in the ass, but it turns into a great movie night.
Finally, the annoying demons stay playing on the video game console while Aki sets up an improvised bed for Angel, who watches him. It's inevitable. He doesn't seem bothered, but still, he refrains from saying anything; it's the redhead who brings up what happened.
"I wanted to tell you I'm sorry."
He seems genuinely remorseful, something very rare for someone like him.
"There's nothing to apologize for."
Aki approaches, placing a crushed flower he carried in his pocket on Angel's lap. "I don't regret anything."
Aki's words trigger something in him, something that beats strongly. That night the door is locked. It becomes recurrent, like a human way of getting a moment, some time with Angel. He can't touch him directly, but rubbing becomes addictive, the sensation of danger hammering in his ears.
But the caresses are vibrant, they fill him with an inexplicable warmth he had repressed. It drives him crazy.
He can't kiss him, but it's that addiction to seeing his blush that makes him covet him, the desire, the forbidden.
---
When he wakes in the snow game, throwing snowballs, he sees him. Among scarves, his red hair fluttered. He was angelic, a small child with a pink nose and rosy cheeks.
Aki approaches because the child is crying. His hand moves to his cheek, cupping it as he tries to calm him. "Why are you crying? We were just playing, don't cry."
The child looks at him with big, teary eyes, and Aki hugs him tightly. He doesn't know why, but he wants to kiss him.
---
Angel trembles as the Gun Devil brings the gun's muzzle to his lips. He kisses the metal on Aki's head, or what used to be his head. His tearful eyes water.
"I immensely desired to do this," his corrupted voice was heard, that vestige of what he once was. A silence before dying.
One last wish.