Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sometimes, when he looks at the halo glowing faintly in the light, the wings folded neatly behind him as he walks, for a moment—just a moment, no longer than a second, but not short enough to pretend it did not happen—Aki forgets that the person standing next to him is not a person at all, that next to his name Angel the word Devil is not far behind, always there. Even the said devil himself told him so.

“I’m devil first, angel second,” Angel had said so nonchalantly as he looked up at Aki with tired eyes. Dead eyes. Eyes that are uncaring, disinterested.

Aki had looked into those eyes and thought, What did I expect from a devil? As he stuck his katana right between the man’s eyes, he found the grunt of pain, the squelch of already damaged flesh below him was far sickening than the remains of the devil he stood upon. The civilian devil hunter barely managed to thank him for putting an end to his pain with another pain that came with the sharp tip of Aki’s katana, the twinge Aki felt in his heart. He did not have the courage to look into those unfocused eyes.

On the dirty floor of the alley, human blood mixed with that of the devil they had slain. Looking down, he could not tell them apart. Which of these splatters and pools of blood were human? Which of the mangled flesh belonged to the devil?

Pretending to get along with Angel proved to be impossible. It seems it had never been an option to begin with. Still, after admitting this out loud, Aki hated how the light played tricks with his eyes, landing on Angel, highlighting the pure white of his wings while his face remained blank and shadowed. If Aki were to disregard his reluctance to grant the man a painless death, his apathy towards humans, and everyone for that matter, Angel had almost looked like he was crouching down to ask for forgiveness, to look for salvation in the lifeless upper body of the man he denied of peace even on the cusp of death.

That had been hours ago. Now, Denji, as always, gobbles his food up like there is no tomorrow. Meowy is next to him, stealing what she can from his plate. Meanwhile, Power is currently with Makima for her “periodical blood draining.”

“What? Got into a fight with the Angel Devil or somethin’?”

A look of disgust crosses Aki’s face at the bit of rice spilling from Denji’s mouth. A grain lands on the table near his plate. He subtly moves it away. “No.”

“Huh?” Denji pauses, confused. “Then, what? You’re more moody than usual, dude.”

“It’s nothing.” Then, before Denji can say anything else, “How’s working with the shark fiend?”

Denji bolts up as if Aki electrocuted him. “Ah! That weirdo!” He then proceeds to recount their very uneventful patrol around their assigned block except for the part where Beam suddenly appeared waist-up from the sidewalk out of excitement, scaring the life out of an elderly woman. Aki does not question him when he notices him falter through where he was after work, what got him home later than usual.

He lets Denji’s rambling drown out his thoughts, but his mind still wonders, even as minutes later they start to clean up, if Angel is only an angel in name. If there is nothing more to him than his misleading appearance.

❄ ❄ ❄

“I’d rather be the country mouse,” Angel says.

Before them, the rain pours and howls. The weather forecast had said it wouldn’t rain at all today. Aki also said he would never befriend a devil. But now there are two who live with him and another standing next to him underneath a restaurant’s awning. Unknowingly, the weather and Aki’s heart had different plans.

“My heart is in the country,” continues Angel. “I’ll pass on the dangers of associating with a city boy like you.”

He is not sure what Angel is trying to say. “Look, you…” he starts but words quickly die on his tongue.

All this time, Angel has not looked at him but peers up at the sky, at the onslaught of water landing heavily on the pavement before them. Aki shifts his gaze down at Angel’s hands, white, pristine, and deceptively innocent, as if one touch cannot take away months, years of your life. He thinks of the people of the village Angel was born and raised in who Angel’s powers killed and turned into weapons at his disposal. He has yet to witness Angel use said weapons, but Makima had told him the katana strapped to his back is one of Angel’s creations. A powerful weapon like his katana could have cost the entirety of a person’s lifespan, maybe more. A mother’s life maybe. A father’s, a child’s. All of them combined. As if sensing his thoughts, the katana feels as though it weighs heavier than it had been before.

The country mouse gets to live in safety but doesn’t get to eat delicious food like they have in the city, Angel had said minutes into being stuck trying to stay dry. The town mouse gets to eat delicious food, but runs a higher risk of getting killed by humans or cats.

Aki can’t tell from the intonation of his words, so casual and indifferent yet again, that he is stuck between thinking he said such things out of desire of solitude or fear. Fear of what is another question Aki has no answer to.

“Look,” Aki tries again, voice coming out quieter than he intended it to, “I’m not asking you to associate with me. I just need your cooperation. That comes with being someone’s buddy.”

“What do I get in return?”

Incredulously, he asks, “In return?”

“There’s a price for everything, human. My energy does not come cheap.”

Why is he surprised? Of course, Angel would be like this. “I wouldn’t have to pester you for a longer amount of time if you listen the first time I ask you to do something.” As an afterthought, he adds, “Our work will be done much quicker if you help out more.”

Angel hums in thought. In the dimness, Aki can’t tell if his lips curl into a smile or something that is more sinister, more like what a devil would make. “Your voice does get tiring to hear sometimes but no, that’s not enough.”

He ignores the jab at his voice and tries for a different approach. “Then I’ll treat you to more ice cream after a job well done. If you guarantee you’ll help, that is.”

“Just ice cream?”

He wants more? “Fine,” Aki hesitantly concedes. “What else do you want?”

“I don’t know,” drawls Angel. Aki thinks he’s mocking him. “Whatever I’m in the mood for, I guess.”

Aki sighs, giving in. “Okay. We have a deal then?”

This time, Aki is sure that it is in fact a smile gracing Angel’s lips. He looks pleased. “A deal with a devil,” he muses. “Alright, I’ll be more cooperative. The ice cream better be good.”

❄ ❄ ❄

A few days later, he hands Angel a cone of soft serve ice cream. It’s the first for today and Aki thinks it will not be the last. The sun bears down on them relentlessly that Aki feels compelled to buy a frozen treat for himself just to stave off the heat. He doesn’t though because for some reason it would feel like he lost if he did. He just knows Angel would feel smug somehow.

Angel touches the cone with careful fingers. The first time they worked together as part of the new Special Division 4, Aki had not been afraid to come near him. He was not scared to offer him a handkerchief when he asked. Even now, with barely an inch between their fingers in a brief moment of them holding the cone together, Aki’s heart does not beat anxiously at the possibility of them touching. He expects Angel to be a handful, a hassle to coax to do his job, let alone do it well, but not once has the thought of Angel threatening him with a touch of a finger occurred to him.

For Angel, however, it seems the bewilderment is still there; his face is tilted up, staring into Aki’s eyes with interest, probably thinking, What’s wrong with this human?

Then the moment passes just as quickly as it began, Aki letting go and Angel drawing back his hand which now gently grasps the cone of his ice cream. Already, the ice cream is almost at its limit, beginning to melt from the unforgiving heat of the sun. Before a drop of melted ice cream drips down along the cone, Angel licks at it then almost inhales the whole cone in a few goes.

“Let’s go,” Aki says.

Angel follows him, walking by his side.

❄ ❄ ❄

Aki hasn’t always been a man running out of time. At the beginning, even when he had plenty of life to spare, he was reluctant to offer it as payment, afraid of what the power he needed would cost him. Then, it became easier; defeat this devil first, survive, and worry about the rest later. Over and over. His hesitation grew fainter, desperation clouding his thinking, from logical to delusional. This is the only option, he would eventually tell himself. The only way, he would always reason. But was it really? And now, he finds himself here at the beginning, back to when he was younger, so anxious and afraid of what else he could lose, how much of it. He does not remember how he went from having forty years left to live to twenty-five to ten. Until, soon enough, he is left with two. Two years. Just two.

“If all goes well, I’ll make vice-captain in five years,” Nomo tells him, the mention of five years stilling Aki instantly as if cold water has been splashed on him, rendering him numb. He hopes Nomo didn’t notice the way he caught his breath, or the dread freezing his heart after he is reminded of his reality—that pathetic number two, his pathetic mortality. “And when I do, I’m gonna go all out luring you back, you can count on that.”

Across the room, Angel watches him intently, a bored expression on his face. On the mat, the next training match has begun between a recruit, by the looks of his shaky, nervous eyes, and one of his former seniors. They raise their hands up then the smacks of gloved fists hitting a midriff, a chest, a face, fill the room. Through all that noise, did Angel manage to hear what Nomo said?

It doesn’t matter. Angel does not know the truth, yet Aki finds it hard to smile knowing he’s watching, a familiar ache blooming in his chest as he tells Nomo, “Thank you, sir.” He means it.

When Angel reveals that he knows the awful truth—two years, only two years left—Aki can’t say he is completely surprised. Even upon finding out Angel had learned this from Power, he is mostly just annoyed. And tired. He sighs. That damn blood fiend, spilling secrets like they’re nothing.

“Keep it to yourself.”

Angel only stares at him. Then, “You’re so lucky.”

Lucky? Aki would have been angry if he were not used to Angel being like this, and although he does feel an undercurrent of offense beneath his calm façade, he is mostly unsure what to make of Angel’s words. Sometimes, Angel has no tact, heading straight for anything that comes to his mind, always sounding as if he talks of mundane things like what he had for lunch rather than, for instance, earlier when he so casually asked him why he had not broken the news to Nomo that he could not be recruited because by then he would be dead. But there had been times when Angel sounded… different. A tad bit more human, in the way a human’s voice would sound hollow and defeated at the prospect of something sad, something inescapable. Like that time when the rain had fallen heavily, Angel saying, I’d rather be the country mouse.

“Wish I would die soon,” continues Angel, and before he finishes, Aki is already feeling uneasy with his words, with what he truly meant behind them. “As long as I’m alive, I have to keep working. When I’m dead, I won’t have to anymore.”

Aki wants to ask him, What do you mean by that? What are you trying to say?

But before he can, Nomo suddenly appears.

“Aki! We need you downstairs, stat!”

❄ ❄ ❄

He did not expect for the evening to turn out like this.

Aki grabs on to the telephone pole as strong gusts of wind send everything in disarray: glass windows shattering, parked cars screeching across the pavement, sheets of paper and potted plants flying everywhere. A short distance away, Angel is crouched down, palms laying flat on to the concrete road. There is nothing near him that he can hold on to.

“Wah!”

Immediately, Aki grabs a fistful of Angel’s shirt, still holding on to the telephone pole as he tries to pull him in with no such luck. The winds are too strong, too persistent, and Aki can feel his muscles strain from having to go against the current. He grunts and grunts and Angel is still nowhere near where he wants him to be, safe and next to him.

“It’s fine! You can let me go!” shouts Angel. “It’s okay! I’ve been ready to die for ages now!”

Angel’s shirt slowly and terrifyingly starts to slip from Aki’s grasp. Let go. I’m ready. Three years into this line of work, Aki knows that no one is ever truly ready and that most of the time let go meant hold on. That it isn’t always a firm goodbye but a secretly hopeful see you later; words that are too much to have been spoken out loud.

Aki knows all this because every day is another day more of remembering the devil hunters he has worked with, those who have been so brutally killed that nothing that closely resembles to anything human is left to be buried. Another day of remembering the times he did not want to let go.

So, when the shirt finally slips out of his grasp, Aki does not think about his remaining time, already so short as it is, and reaches for Angel’s hand. His hand wraps around Angel’s in a firm grip. He can hear himself groan, eyes closing from the effort of pulling Angel to him until finally, finally, he has an arm around Angel’s shoulders, their skin no longer touching. He hides them behind the telephone pole, away from the worst of what the wind throws at them. Above them, although Aki can’t see much, he knows Denji is fighting that bomb devil atop Beam’s demon form. At this point, the sight of Denji riding a shark with his chainsaws revving to go, does not surprise him.

“Wh— Why did you touch my hand?” Angel says loud enough to be heard over the raucous sound of the wind, of the fight happening not far from them. He sounds distressed. “Do you want to die?”

“Hell no, I don’t!” Aki shouts back, opening his eyes to look down at him. “How much did that decrease my lifespan?”

Their eyes meet for a moment before Angel looks away. “By about two months.”

Two months. Now he’s less than two years away from—

He stops himself from finishing the thought. Instead, he holds on to Angel tightly, his wings making room for Aki to encircle his arms around him. They are crouched down on the street. The telephone pole protects them with Aki as an extra shield for Angel, caging him in with his body to save him from everything, including himself. Even now, Aki is still not afraid of Angel’s power, not at all, but he is afraid of something else.

“If you want to die, do it somewhere far away from me.” In front of Aki, Angel’s auburn hair flows with the wind, whipping against his shirt sleeve. He wonders if a single strand of Angel’s hair is capable of sending him sooner to his demise. He is reminded of the times he has mistakenly forgotten that Angel is a devil, of Angel walking ahead of him with his shimmering halo and equally bright hair. Still, he finds his hair to be bright. Still, he finds it beautiful. “I’m sick and tired of people dying on me right before my eyes,” he says as though he is confessing to a crime. As a devil hunter, he may as well be. “So, stay where you are and—and hold on. Okay?”

Through the noise surrounding them, the crackle and boom of the battle, he thinks Angel replies back with, Okay, I will.

❄ ❄ ❄

Far below Angel, a dead girl by her feet, Makima reminds him, “I told you to come with Aki.” Then, she comments further, saying, “You didn’t want to make Aki kill a girl. You’re kind.”

Out of all the words, Angel would not describe himself as kind. A monster, maybe. Heartless, another. And lost. Completely lost. “I am an angel, after all,” he agrees instead.

A squeak. Looking down, one of Makima’s mice has made its way to him. The country mouse. Angel had told Aki that he would prefer to be it, that his heart is in the country. Aki whom he irked by being lazy, not doing his job, and eating ice cream all day. Aki who did not want to kill the civilian devil hunter but did anyway, out of mercy, out of kindness. Aki who dared to hold his hand, the first to ever do so in such a long time, just so he wouldn’t die. Aki who sacrificed two months of his life just so Angel can have more.

Angel does not understand Aki, the way his mind works, nor does Angel understand why it feels like his heart has fallen where he cannot reach to pick it up again and place it back in its cage.

“Tell me,” he whispers to the mouse, to anyone who can give him the answers he seeks, “is the city a good place?”

❄ ❄ ❄

Denji has been sulking for a few days until Makima promises him a trip together to wherever he likes once she’s free; suddenly, as if the events with the bomb girl never happened, he is back to his usual, loud self. Power is better now, the excess blood “drained” from her as Makima had put it, and has since returned as Denji’s buddy. Together, they make Aki’s apartment lively again. He finds it is not as bad as before, having two devils live with him.

Everything is as it has always been. Except for one, small detail.

Aki stares at him. “You don’t want ice cream?”

Angel shakes his head, passing by the ice cream truck without sparing it a glance. He does not see the look on Aki’s face, completely bewildered by his disinterest.

“But,” Aki starts slowly as he catches up to him, “you haven’t gotten any.”

“So?”

“Angel, we’re almost done with our patrol.”

“I’m not in the mood for ice cream today.”

“Then what are you in the mood for?” he asks. “Donuts? Crepe?”

Another shake of his head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

Aki does not press him for more. Maybe it is just that—Angel simply not in the mood to indulge in his sweet cravings—and Aki is just overthinking. But the days of Angel frequenting ice cream carts, sweets shops, and bakeries seem to be over, and before Aki knows it, just like that first instance of absolutely no sweets, not even a mention of them, Angel passes by these ice cream carts and sweets shops and bakeries as if he has never taken a liking to them from the beginning.

❄ ❄ ❄

It is a Thursday. Aki comes home late with a bag of groceries in one hand and in the other something he did not plan on buying. It was sudden. They had managed to grab his attention as he walked past a shop after making a quick stop to the supermarket. “Good evening, sir. Is there something in particular you’re looking for?” the salesman had asked him upon entering the store. Aki, as if possessed with a feeling he has no name for yet, pointed to the display at the front of the store, gaze steady at the hands of the mannequin dressed in a sleek black suit. “How much are they?” he had asked but, in truth, he need not bothered for he would have bought them anyway, whether it be half an hour ago, tomorrow, or the day after. It is inevitable, unavoidable as much as the short time he has left.

At the sound of the door clicking close, Power pokes her head around the corner of the entryway, anticipation in her eyes as she looks down at what Aki is holding. “Oh, what’s that?” she asks forgoing greeting him. Immediately, Aki knows he has made a mistake. A second passes of her eyeing the small white bag, the black ribbon tying it closed when she gasps with glee, shouting, “‘Tis a present for me!” and proceeds to snatch the bag from Aki’s hand, running away maniacally.

“Hey!” he manages to blurt before she dashes to the living room and sits next to Denji in front of the TV. He drops the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter for a moment before following her. “Give it back, Power. It’s not for you.”

Power ignores him. Next to her, Denji joins in on her fun like he always does, and huddles close to her. He watches as Power unties the ribbon, almost ripping the bag in half from excitement. A thin rectangular box tumbles out and Power, still ignoring Aki’s complaints, removes the lid to reveal what may as well be Aki’s heart.

Silence. Aki looks at their confused and, most of all, disappointed faces. Power even more so. She looks up at Aki with a pout. Aki expected her to say something, but she remains silent.

It is Denji who speaks first. “Gloves?” He looks up at Aki. “What do you need ‘em for? It’s not that cold yet.”

Aki sighs and walks briskly towards them, grabbing the gloves from Power’s hand. They crumple in his grip with the weight of what they represent. He feels exposed and can’t quite look at them in the eyes even though he can tell the two devils in front of him have no clue about the inner turmoil he has been going through. Trying to come up with an explanation, Aki says, “It can’t hurt to be prepared.” He goes on to add, “I happen to pass by a store and saw them, so I thought why not?” Then, as casual as he can manage, he places the gloves, crumpled, still bearing that weight, back inside the paper bag. “I’ll make dinner soon.”

Denji and Power cheer, Meowy raised in the air from joy. The cat makes no sound to this but wiggles slightly in Power’s hold. Aki’s lips twitch into a small smile though he hides this with a quick turn on his heels as he makes his way to his bedroom, his words, set the table, probably going unnoticed by the two as he leaves.

The paper bag is placed on top of his dresser for now. Later in the evening, when Denji and Power and Meowy are fast asleep in their rooms, Aki sits on his bed with the paper bag in his lap, sleep still far from his reach. He takes out the gloves, smooth and black and leather in material. They are cold between his fingers and quite different from the warmth of Angel’s hand in that brief contact which feels like it had happened a long time ago rather than just a few weeks before. Aki will wear these gloves starting tomorrow and he won’t be able to feel that warmth if he were to touch Angel, or, a more probable case, if a situation calls for him to do so. All he will feel is the snug fit of the gloves. All he will think of is how much he wishes he can touch Angel without the risk of dying before his eyes.

❄ ❄ ❄

At first, Angel does not say anything upon seeing Aki’s leather clad hands. Aki feels unsettled by his expressionless face, but it takes a while for him to muster the courage to say something, and even then Angel beats him to it.

They are outside an apartment complex now after having killed the devil that took hostage of a teenage girl. Aki watches as she is brought outside in a stretcher, paramedics by her side as they wheel her over to the ambulance. Soon enough the sound of the ambulance’s siren fades as it hurries towards the nearest hospital. The two of them need not be here anymore; the police have arrived to take care of the rest. However, as small as the devil had been, its size had not made the fight any easier and so they still feel somewhat tired.

Usage: Five years. With these words, a pointed spear had shown up in Angel’s hand then, just as quick as it appeared, the same spear had hit the devil’s red eye, right at the center of its pupil. Aki has observed, at least, that as much as possible Angel does not wish to create weapons with the lifespan he’s absorbed. He has only ever done so when it is really needed, as is the case with earlier when Aki had almost been squeezed to death by the devil’s strong grip.

“There’s blood on your cheek,” he tells Angel now, a handkerchief already offered to him.

Angel stares at the handkerchief, takes it slowly in his own hand, and then, instead of wiping the blood smeared across his cheek, he continues to look at Aki’s hand which still remains offered to him, palm up and warm underneath the leather glove.

He smiles sadly, chuckling and not meeting Aki’s eyes when he mutters, “Not risking another two months, human?”

Aki shakes his head at this even though Angel couldn’t have seen with his head downturned. It reminds Aki of that time in the alley, of Angel resembling an angel more than a devil, a being pure and innocent, looking as though he is asking for forgiveness. “It’s not because of that.”

“Then, why?”

Angel looks up at him then. There is guilt in his eyes. Why did Aki not notice it before?

With careful fingers, Aki takes the handkerchief back. Thankfully, Angel does not protest. His gaze does not waver, fixed on Aki’s face, and lets Aki wipe the blood clean from his cheek for him. Aki makes sure to not leave even the smallest trace of blood, fingers lightly grazing Angel’s cheek in doing so, then, afterwards, the bloodstained handkerchief gets crumpled in his hand. Some of Angel’s hair gets in his eye and, without thinking, Aki tucks them behind his ear.

On the surface, Aki is unbothered, fingers steady where they linger still close to Angel’s face, but internally he feels he has done something grand, something he cannot take back. Looking into Angel’s eyes, his heart trembles. “You get messy sometimes,” he says, quieter than he intended to, and retracts his hand. “It bothers me.”

Blinking, Angel touches the cheek that Aki wiped free of blood almost unconsciously, like his body is in disbelief that it has been touched, although by a gloved hand, and has to confirm if it is true, tracing where Aki’s fingers had been a moment before. It does not last long, however, as Angel composes himself quickly. “Thanks,” is all he says in response.

Five minutes later, they leave to continue their patrol around the block, a keen eye on dark alleyways and any other odd happenings. Nothing else has transpired for the next few hours, much to Aki’s relief, and they end the day with finishing up a report on the devil they dealt with. Or so Aki has been led to believe per Angel’s silence. Just as they were about to part ways, Angel points somewhere to Aki’s left. Even before Aki catches sight of the gleam of white metal in the setting sun, the colorful menu plastered on the side of the truck, he knows that even though a part of him has shifted earlier, this at least has returned to him, something familiar and safe.

“Let’s get ice cream.”

❄ ❄ ❄

Aki has gotten lunch together with Angel ever since they’ve been assigned to one another, but Aki has never eaten with Angel past work hours, nor has he drunk with him like he used to do with Himeno every week or so.

Somehow, both happens in one evening, unplanned, and in his apartment, no less.

They’ve somewhat gotten closer. This is what Aki reasons to himself as to why he had asked Angel to go drinking with him after work. He did not intend it to be over at his apartment with Denji and Power already home, but upon excusing himself so he could inform the two devils that he might come home late, Angel had said, “Why don’t we just drink there?” Aki had stopped in his tracks and looked at him as if he said something strange. Angel had simply tilted his head. “I don’t mind. Unless you do?”

Aki didn’t mind. Truthfully, he did not even know what to feel, and as they enter his apartment, taking off their shoes while Denji and Power immediately hound them for the snacks and drinks they bought in the convenience store, the feeling that stirs inside of Aki is indecipherable, unfamiliar. This feeling grows, blooms with the cool beer warming his insides, as though he is slowly but surely burning.

Maybe it is a figment of his imagination, a byproduct of the alcohol he consumes one after another for the rest of the night, empty cans accumulating on the table and on the floor by his feet. Maybe it is the soft noise that cradles him and his half-idled state of mind: Denji with tears in his eyes, sprawled out on the floor in a fit of laughter and Power with her foot on the table, back straight, delivering a speech in preparation for the time she becomes prime minister. Something about raising tax rates and banning vegetables.

Or maybe it is the silence that has befallen Angel for the past forty minutes or so, not due to boredom but the kind of quiet that one unconsciously succumbs to when they try to understand things, observe. This quiet that renders Angel soft and calm next to Aki is somehow louder than Denji’s explosion of laughs and snorts, louder than Power’s ridiculous campaign for world domination, and certainly louder than the thump, thump, thump of Aki’s heart which has now gone to his forehead. Thump, thump, thump, it goes when he looks at Angel. Thump, thump, thump, it goes when his vision blurs, the light from Angel’s halo blaring, hurting his eyes.

“I think you’ve had enough,” Angel informs him. There’s a trace of judgement in his eyes, amusement too, as his gaze wanders to the flush on Aki’s cheeks, the too long blinking of his eyes.

“Yeah,” Aki agrees without thinking, “I think so too.”

Angel takes the can of beer he holds loosely in Aki’s hand, without that hesitation Aki longs for him to never have ever again for the gloves are still fitted nicely on Aki’s hands, and places the can gently atop the table. The words shared between Angel and Denji and Power enter one ear then exits the other and before long Aki is in front of the door to his bedroom. He looks down and sees he is being led inside by Angel, his gloved hand in Angel’s bare one. He closes his eyes and imagines that warmth he feels in his hand is not from wearing the gloves for longer than it is comfortable to but from Angel, from his bare touch, heat radiating from his palm and transferring to Aki’s.

His blazer is shrugged off and lands on the floor, his black tie, the only thing Aki didn’t forget to at least loosen to make himself a bit more comfortable in his work clothes, goes with it. The top few buttons of his shirt undone, the black elastic keeping his hair up removed, and then he is ready for bed, mind hazy as his body finally meets soft sheets. It isn’t until Angel’s soft voice saying, your gloves, does Aki remove them. They, too, fall to the floor. Fortunately for Aki, tomorrow is a Sunday; he won’t need to rush to clean this all up, as well as the mess in the living room, and manage to eat, shower, then arrive on time for work.

The katana had been put away earlier at the corner. Angel has been staring at it ever since he, to Aki’s surprise, sits on Aki’s bed.

“Did you know I made that?”

It takes a while for Aki to process his question. “Yeah. Makima told me.” Then, “How—How much did it…” He stops, unsure how to ask Angel. It doesn’t matter, though, because Angel seems to understand what he meant.

“Give or take about a hundred years.”

A hundred years. Aki shifts his position, now lying down on his back, head tilted to look up at Angel’s side profile which is partially illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through Aki’s windows. “Do you feel anything when you touch someone?” Then, because he still has the confidence and stupidity from consuming alcohol, “What did it feel like when you touched my hand?”

Angel refuses to meet his eyes, staring at the katana so intently, trying to find, maybe, remnants of those hundred years. Those hundred years that once belonged to someone else. Instead of answering, he gives Aki questions of his own. “Do you think I touch people that often? You think it’s that easy for me, to touch someone?”

Aki raises a hand to touch the sleeve of Angel’s blazer, but Angel moves his arm away upon noticing. The world spins for a moment when Aki sits up, whispering, “Sorry,” then, “And no, I don’t think it is.”

The Aki of weeks ago wouldn’t have attempted to touch him, even if there is a layer of clothing between their skin. The Aki of weeks ago wouldn’t have said those words either. The Aki of weeks ago would have thought that it is easy for Angel, reminded himself that Angel is a devil and all devils ever do is hurt and kill and destroy.

But so much has happened in the span of months since he started living with Denji and Power, since Angel became his buddy, that tell him otherwise. Denji and Power’s laughter that fill the apartment constantly. Meowy’s gentle and soothing purrs against Aki’s leg of which Power grumbles to with a mutter of traitor. Then, there is Angel, a country mouse who does not want to be with the likes of Aki, who has since been accustomed to living in the city, yet a devil like him, one of the strongest next to Captain Kishibe, has grown to care for Aki, that guilt had plagued him when his life was saved at the cost of a few months of Aki’s.

Finally, Angel asks, “Do you really want to know?”

Aki nods.

“When I do happen to touch a human, there’s nothing at first,” Angel says quietly. “Then, I feel their fear as their lifespan decreases. I can feel how much they want to cry but they’re too shocked to, and I can hear their regrets as if they are speaking inside my head.” Then, as silent and as weighted as a whisper, “But with you… I felt your fear too when you held my hand, just like the rest of the humans I’ve touched, but it wasn’t me you were afraid of.”

“Yeah,” Aki agrees, and it feels as though he is confessing something. Even in his drunk haze, he can feel it so vividly he wonders if Angel can feel it too, can see it on his face.

“You never regretted touching me. I thought you would.”

“Your life was in danger. How could I not?”

A minute or two passes. Aki dares to lift a hand close to Angel’s face.

He only makes it halfway when Angel stops him with fingers wrapped firmly around his forearm, the sleeve of Aki’s white shirt a barrier between their skins. “What are you doing?” Angel asks.

“I just want to…” Aki sighs. “You trust me, don’t you?”

Angel does not reply but him letting go is enough of an answer for Aki. For a moment, Aki’s hand hovers between them before, slowly, it finally reaches an inch or so from Angel’s cheek. His fingers curl as though to cup it, to feel how soft he imagines it to be.

“You know, you’re not what I expected you to be. Aki Hayakawa,” Angel says almost fondly, “Public Safety’s number one devil-hater.” His lips curl in a small smile. “I don’t think you hate us that much anymore.”

Dizzy. He feels dizzy again. Angel with the hazy glow of his halo, that hint of a smile—how can Aki feel hate when he sees this in front of him? “No,” Aki says quietly, “I don’t think I hate you at all.”

❄ ❄ ❄

In the morning, Aki does not remember much of what happened last night. One detail, he realizes belatedly and manages to stay with him even in the days to come: Aki Hayakawa, Angel had said. It was the first time Angel had said his name.

❄ ❄ ❄

“Hey, Aki.”

“Hm?”

“Are you into guys?”

Power laughs as Aki almost chokes on the vegetables he just put in his mouth, the same vegetables that Power put on his plate. Aki gulps down his glass of water before he says, still out of breath, “Why are you asking me this?”

“Uh,” Denji hesitates, “because you like the Angel Devil, right?”

Although Aki is a bit surprised to hear this from Denji, it is not enough to fully distract him from Power sneakily transferring more of the vegetables she does not want to eat onto Aki’s plate. Aki smacks her hand away lightly, muttering, eat your vegetables, before he manages to come up with a reply, and even then, he is not sure of his response.

“Angel is a good buddy.”

This time, Power puts the vegetables on Denji’s plate. Aki, tired, does not stop her.

“No, I mean like—” Denji pauses to think. “Oh! Like how I like Makima. You like him like that, right? Right?”

Aki shakes his head. “It’s…” The grip he has on his chopsticks is too strong that he fears he might break them. “It’s not like that,” he says, finally.

Denji looks at Power and Power looks at Denji. They share a look then turn their heads towards Aki with mischievous expressions painted on their faces, their sharp grins on full display.

“Whatever the two of you are thinking, don’t bother.” He picks up the last of what’s left of his food, even the remaining vegetables on Power’s plate which he knows she will just feed to Meowy or leave them as they are only to end up in the food waste disposal. He sighs when they still stare at him. “Stop looking at me like that and finish your food.”

The two devils snicker to themselves, Meowy purring traitorously, clutched to Power’s chest.

“’Tis what the humans call love!” Power whisper-shouts to Denji, then proceeds to repeat love over and over to Meowy. Love, love, love! Topknot’s in love! Meanwhile, Denji throws questions at Aki such as so you are into guys, huh and is kissing guys the same as kissing girls and have you even kissed someone before—all of which Aki deliberately ignores to gather their plates instead, Denji’s wiped clean and Power’s with a small pile of unwanted nutrients. Wait, how are you and Angel Devil even gonna kiss? You’re gonna die, dude!

The two are still relentless with their teasing, specifically their jabs at Aki’s lack of experience, as Aki unfortunately expected from them the very second Denji asked that question. Beside Aki, Denji spouts one question after another mindlessly, mostly to himself and not really seeking for an answer, while he helps Aki wash the dishes. Power, in the meantime, wipes the table clean with a damp cloth, or what she claims to be doing when she is obviously playing with Meowy.

There is still soap left on the surface of the plate Aki holds in his hand, a thin trail of bubbles catching the light above. Love, Power had said. Ridiculous, Aki thinks. It isn’t like that. He turns the knob of the faucet and water washes the bubbles away, sending them down into the drain and never to be seen again. At this angle, Aki can see a faint reflection of his face on the smooth surface, and he can’t deny what is so clear in the light—that even he, as well, looks as though he doesn’t believe his own words.

❄ ❄ ❄

Steam unfurls from Angel’s bowl of ramen. Outside the window, the weather has been getting colder, and although there is no snow, the people walking past the restaurant huddle close to each other, burrow their faces into their scarves, their coats and jackets. It’s a little more than a week into November and it’s also a little more than a week since Aki has felt the chill even more intensely.

“I’ll be gone for a few days next week,” Aki tells him when they’ve gone halfway through their bowl. He is thankful for the momentary warmth. “Going home to Hokkaido.”

There is a slight shift in Angel’s movements, slow in the way he brings his chopsticks near his mouth, a gyoza pinched between them, and slower still when he eats and chews, staring at Aki, almost as if he is not sure what to say. He looks almost worried.

It is not a secret—the death of Aki’s family, the reason he is a devil hunter in the first place. Everyone, Aki thinks, knows, at least to a certain extent. Even without knowing the details, he is sure of it—the stench of grief that follows him, tracing his steps and leading him by its hands. After all, it is a given for any devil hunter that eventually, despite whoever one was before, death is not too far behind the moment they signed the contract, the moment they told themselves, I can and I will and I must. That death—white and cold as snow, loud as a storm of debris and a broken home, of gloves never knowing warmth again—is something sudden and unavoidable, especially for devil hunters, especially for someone like him, even with the future devil lurking in the depths of his eye.

“You should quit being a devil hunter while you still can. Run far away from here.”

Aki huffs, a slight smile on his face. Run away. It’s not that easy. “Sure, totally,” he says. Warmth no longer floats up from his bowl; his ramen has gotten lukewarm.

“I’m serious,” says Angel, and Aki realizes that he has since stopped eating, barely lifting his hand. “You’re not like me. You can go anywhere, be anything. Have a normal job.”

Aki shakes his head. “I’ll pass.”

“Why?” Angel asks.

Why? Isn’t it obvious? There’s so much he can answer to just a single-word question, a couple of names popping up on his head, loud and immediate, that if he were to mention them alone would be more than enough to explain why, and it is because of these names, these devils who he should not be even thinking about that he finds himself not able to say anything at all.

“I just don’t think I can anymore,” is what slips out of his mouth instead.

“You still have time, you know.”

“I know. It’s not that.”

Angel, as if remembering his existence, where they are, is now alive with movement as he takes another gyoza between his chopsticks. “What then?” he says in between chewing. Then, after swallowing, he jokes, “Afraid to leave your buddy alone? You know I’m stronger than you; I’m a devil. I can handle myself.”

Aki’s too distracted to eat; his chopsticks now laid down on the table. “Why are you so insistent on this?”

“I’m not.”

He stares at Angel. Under Aki’s doubtful gaze, Angel does not crumble. He never does. Just like how his face never betrays anything, not even a hint to what he may be thinking. Aki continues to watch him even as his eyes drift to the glass, to the muted noise of the outside. The cold that keeps getting colder. Aki’s eyes trace the lines of Angel’s face, from the heaviness his eyelids bear to the slight downturn of his lips, how he opens his mouth softly to speak.

“I dream of them sometimes. They blame me for their deaths.” Aki already knows who they are: the villagers. Maybe other people as well. Slowly and not at all worried that it is quite obvious, Angel shifts his gaze to Aki’s gloved hands then, for what feels like a much slower time, into his eyes. Aki can tell by the awkward look in his eyes that Angel says this more out of need rather than want. “If I let you continue like this, I feel like you’ll haunt me too. You sort of do already.”

Is the haunting Angel is referring to like Aki’s? Does he see that in his eyes too? “I’m not blaming you for anything. You didn’t do anything for me to feel that way.” His hands feel stiff hovering over the table, the edge digging into his forearms. Faintly, he can hear the creak of his leather gloves as his hands ball into fists without him realizing. “So, you don’t need to worry. I’ve made my decision and I’m sticking to it.” Then, “Are you done? Do you want to go?”

Despite there being a bit left of their meals, Angel agrees but not before he quickly takes another bite.

“You once said that humans ought to die in pain,” Aki says once they’re outside, “which made me think you either hate us or, at least, didn’t care for us at all.” He pauses before admitting, “I think I was wrong. You don’t really think that, do you?”

“Well, you’re different. A special case, I guess.”

He hums. “Then, I guess you’re a special case too. For a devil, you’re not what I expected either.”

Walking down the street, Aki can see the air he breathes come out like clouds, white and almost magical, the sky suddenly within reach even though, at such a cold day like this, it wouldn’t have been. And with that trace of winter, these words of reassurance for Angel come forth, surging and unstoppable:

“I don’t think you’ll ever do anything that would make me blame you.”

“You don’t know that,” argues Angel.

“I do.”

“How?”

“I just do.” Their eyes meet seconds before they part ways. “You’re not as bad as you think you are.”

❄ ❄ ❄

The cemetery is empty. Only stones that mark lost loved ones and snow. So much snow.

When Aki had informed Denji and Power of his trip to Hokkaido, all he received were pleads for him to take them with him, repeated whines of No fair! and We wanna go! It’s for a grave visit, he had said. They don’t care, their faces had told him in response. Meowy had been handed to Captain Kishibe while Aki’s plans changed from a trip alone, sad but peaceful, to a trip with problematic devils involving messing around inside the train, puking on the deck, and being hit with snowballs multiple times.

And now they are here: Hayakawa Family Grave. Aki stares at those words, and even though it has been a long time since he lost them, all he ever feels upon seeing the graying stone etched with his family name is the cold. His hands come up instinctively, pressed together in prayer. The leather gloves close to his face, a view of their sharp contrast against the white of the piled snow atop his family’s gravestone the last he sees before he closes his eyes.

Aki is not religious. Neither was his family. Still, every year since their deaths, he visits and bows his head in silence, spending at least half an hour trying to come up with words to say only to end up with a quiet sorry. The first few years had been nothing but guilt, all the ways he could ask for forgiveness from his departed family, maybe even to a higher being like others believe to exist in the skies, watching over them. To his parents: sorry I wasn’t understanding enough. To his brother: sorry I made you get those gloves. To all of them: I should’ve stayed. I shouldn’t have whined. I should’ve been there with you. A lot of regrets that, over time, had become meaningless too. Pointless to go over when he can do nothing with them. Only when he grew older did he manage to turn his pain into something useful, something he can do. Detailing his progress with hunting down devils is the usual for him since he first became a devil hunter, his own version of confession and absolution and salvation wrapped with a neat little bow of his dwindling lifespan. It helped to focus on some kind of goal rather than the bad things that plague his heart, that cold creeping in to clutch it so tight he fears it will never let go.

But standing before his family’s souls, after everything that has happened in the months that had gone by, the arrival of Denji and Power and Angel in his life, he finds himself not murmuring case after case of devils and deaths and blood or how close he is to revenge for their sake and his, but the words: I’m not alone. I found a family. You don’t need to worry about me.

A family. His two menaces. His angel.

Later, when the silence has become too obvious, Aki wonders where his problem kids wandered off to until he finds them munching on grave offerings then, immediately after and to his distress, vomiting said grave offerings.

He sighs. Maybe he had spoken too soon.

❄ ❄ ❄

“What’s up with you?” Denji asks him. “All lost in the view.”

Aki continues to stare outside the window as Denji sits across from him. Snow had already started to fall before he took a seat with a beer in hand. At the time, Power had been fast asleep, her legs sprawled across Denji’s chest, face scrunching and relaxing as she dreamed.

“Oh, shut up.”

Denji joins in on watching the white blur ever moving and changing past the window. “Can’t see crap with all this snow,” he comments.

It’s true. They can hardly see anything through the thick storm brewing outside. Just white and increasing amounts of it. In the distance: a line of trees. But soon it will be gone too if the weather doesn’t let up. Aki hopes by morning it’ll be better and safe; they go home tomorrow after all.

Maybe it is the blankness of the scenery before them, how it seems that anything is possible, the chance at starting over that makes him start to say things he wouldn’t normally say: like how it would always feel so depressing coming back and how he didn’t have time to feel that way at all, not when two pests took up most of his attention so that trouble doesn’t come tumbling its way to them, looking for a challenge.

Denji looks at him strangely when he’s done talking. “You’re welcome…?” he trails off, bewildered.

Aki remains silent but no less grateful.

It takes a while before they go to bed. Denji had to lightly tug his duvet from being tangled with Power’s legs. Now, the two devils are back to their initial positions: their mouths open, legs and arms overlapping. Aki stares at the ceiling, sinking into his mattress. Again, like a prayer, his hands press together for warmth, a slight chill finding its way to him. He blows into the hollow he formed between his palms, his own breath warming him.

On the table, his gloves lay motionless, caught in the scant moonlight streaming through the window. He thinks of Angel then, thinks of his hands, and hopes that it isn’t cold back in Tokyo like it is here.

❄ ❄ ❄

The first thing Aki notices is Angel’s halo. The second is his hunched and waiting silhouette sitting next to their apartment door.

It started raining when they arrived at the station, roaring and persistent, getting into their shirts despite the jackets they have on. Its downpour drowns out everything else—the streets, the chatter, even their own breathing as they walk up the steps.

But, strangely, not the beating of his heart, the way it thuds in time with his surprise.

“What are you doing here?” He wasn’t expecting to see Angel until tomorrow at work.

“I have ice cream,” says Angel, and shakes a plastic bag containing a few frozen treats for proof. His blazer is set aside to dry leaving him with rolled up sleeves and a loose tie, his hair damp and dark from the rain. Did he come here straight from work? Already Aki is reaching for his handkerchief and hands it to him.

At the mention of ice cream, or any food for that matter, Denji and Power perk up and invade Angel’s personal space, peering into the plastic bag. “We get some too, right?” Denji says, excited, while Power exclaims with grabby hands, “They’re all mine!”

“Stop that!” Aki snatches the bag from their thieving hands. “Don’t just take someone’s ice cream.” To Angel, he says: “Sorry. Here.”

Angel shakes his head. “As long as I get strawberry, they can have the rest.”

They cheer in delight. It would have been alright if they had not gone for the same ice cream bar. The next second is just filled with: Dibs on chocolate! Hey, I wanted chocolate, give me that! No, it’s mine!

Aki sighs. “Stop fighting over which ice cream flavor and get inside. Takes this and don’t drop it. It’s Captain Kishibe’s, remember?” he says, handing them the bag containing a glass bottle of alcohol, a thank-you gift for watching over Meowy, which reminds him that he needs to meet Captain Kishibe tomorrow after their patrol to get the cat back. Turning to Angel, he asks, “Are you staying?”

While Denji and Power enter the apartment with newfound excitement from their acquired treats, Angel is already unwrapping his own, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. It didn’t matter to him, it seems, that eating ice cream is unfit for a weather like this, harsh and wet, as he continues to enjoy his ice cream before answering.

“Not for long. I just came here to give you ice cream.”

“Okay. You should dry yourself first before you leave,” he says almost scoldingly, and takes back his handkerchief to do it himself, wiping away the wet traces of rain caressing Angel’s skin.

“Huh. You wore them going to Hokkaido.”

Aki follows his gaze, at his gloved hands unafraid of touching Angel like this, of taking care of him. That is, if it still counts as touching when there’s a layer of leather between them.

“It’s cold. Even more so there.” He stops. “Are you sure you want to go? You can stay for a bit until the rain calms down.”

“I’m good. It’s not like I’d get sick.” Angel hesitates, ice cream now finished. “Walk me back down?”

“Fine. But I’ll lend you an umbrella first. Not gonna let you go without it.”

They go down the stairs, the umbrella clutched in Aki’s hands. Angel is ahead of him, his halo shining even more in the dimness, wings folded behind him. Seeing this, it feels more like he is the one being guided to a place he is not sure yet where. Maybe this is what it means to be haunted by him.

Even as he hands the umbrella to him, the awning above protecting them from the pelts of rain, Angel makes no move to leave. They stand there just outside his apartment complex watching the rain fall, ripples forming on dark concrete where the water pools into puddles.

“I’m still a country mouse.” Then, looking up at him, Angel asks, “Why did you start wearing the gloves?”

“Why are you asking?”

“I think I already know why but I want to be sure.”

Aki smiles. “You think you do?”

“You’re kind, Aki. Sometimes too kind.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. It was for me, wasn’t it?”

He offers his hand, and with trust and something more, Angel gently takes it in his own. The cold ebbs away into the dark, into the storm, into this supposedly depressing and lonely November, into that silver snow riddled with remains of everything he loved. And although he may not feel it, the leather glove and Angel’s powers cruel, it’s there—Angel’s warmth in the palm of his hand.

“Yes,” he answers, squeezing his hand.

“I could’ve been the one to wear them, you know.”

“I know. I just thought you didn’t have to.”

Shaking his head, Angel says, sounding fond more than anything, “You care too much about other people. One day, it’s gonna destroy you.” He squeezes his hand back. “But I’m grateful for it, city boy. Thank you.”

“City boy? So, we’re back at this again, huh.” He smiles wider. “Then, country mouse, what do you think of this city boy now?”

Angel’s face, Aki thinks, is so much warmer than his hands. He brings Aki’s hand up to cup his face and returns his smile, small yet as bright as the halo hovering over his head.

“A city boy like you?” he says. “I don’t think I’d mind being with you a little longer.”