#vanille

You always knew Denji loved too hard.

Not in the romantic sense. It was the way he latched onto scraps of kindness like a starving mutt, the way his face lit up if you offered him food, or let him crash on your couch after a mission. 

He had a hunger that went beyond his stomach, a gnawing emptiness you couldn’t fill no matter how many late-night conversations or cheap dinners you offered him.

But tonight, you realized that hunger could turn on you.

…

The Devil had been grotesque, a stitched-together thing of wires and eyes. It had slaughtered two rookie Hunters before you and Denji cornered it in a rain-slick alley. 

You’d done your duty, but it was Denji who ultimately tore it apart, chainsaws screaming, blood splattering the brick walls until the whole street looked painted in red.

When it was over, he didn’t turn his saws off right away. He stood there panting, drenched head to toe, eyes glowing with adrenaline. Then he looked at you, and smiled.

“See that?” he shouted over the rain. “That was all for you.”

You stiffened. The way he said it, as if the now slaughtered Devil had been nothing but a bouquet he’d plucked for your amusement, made your stomach knot. The gratuity of it all was something you were never able to fully stomach.

“Denji…” You tried to keep your voice even. “We should report in.”

But his smile faltered, twisting into something jagged. The saws retracted with a shuddering screech, leaving wet chains dripping from his arms.

He stalked toward you suddenly, steps splashing in bloody puddles. You backed up instinctively, hands raised.

“Don’t,” he said, voice low now. “Don’t say it like that. Like I was just…working.”

You frowned. “What are you talking about—?”

The chain shot out before you could finish, wrapping around your wrist with a sharp, wet clatter. You yelped, stumbling as it yanked you forward into his chest.

His eyes were wild. “You don’t get it, do you? I ain’t fighting for them. I ain’t fighting for money, or food, or none of that crap. I’m fighting because you’re here.” His grip trembled, desperate. “And if you leave…”

You tried to pull free, but the chain dug deeper, biting your skin. He winced as if it hurt him too, but didn’t loosen it. Even as it punctured your skin and drew fresh blood, he didn’t let you go.

“…If you leave,” he whispered, “I got nothing.”

You stared at him, rain running down both your faces. He looked half-insane. Bloody, trembling, eyes rimmed red, but behind all that was something worse. Sincerity.

“Denji, you don’t mean that—”

“I do!” His voice cracked. “You’re all I got. You…you’re better than any dream I ever had. You look at me like I ain’t garbage. Like I ain’t just some dog waiting for scraps. If you go…” His breathing hitched. “I’ll die. I swear I’ll die.”

You froze. He wasn’t bluffing. He believed it.

He leaned his forehead against yours, chains rattling as he drew you tighter. His smile was trembling, pitiful. “So I can’t let you go. Okay? Just stay. Stay with me, and I’ll make it worth it. I’ll kill a thousand Devils, I’ll rip the world apart if I gotta. Just don’t leave.”

The bag of flesh in the alley twitched, the Devil’s dying nerves spasming, and Denji turned on it with a snarl so feral you barely recognized him. The saws roared out again, tearing the thing into pulp long past the point of death. 

He didn’t stop until nothing was left but steaming chunks sliding into the gutter. When he turned back to you, his chest heaving, the chains tightened like a leash between you.

You could see the toll in his shaking limbs, the glassy edge in his eyes. He was terrified. Not of any Devil he had to face, but of you, slipping from his grasp.

“Please,” he murmured, voice raw. “Don’t make me be alone again.”

You thought of Pochita. Of how Denji had given up everything once already just to keep a piece of love alive inside him. And you realized with horror that he wasn’t bluffing when he said he’d die without you. He’d make it true.

The chains slackened just slightly, enough for him to brush his hand against your cheek. He smiled softly this time, trembling, almost human.

“See? Fits perfect,” he whispered. “Like you were made to stay right here. With me.”

And standing in the ruin of the alley, bound by blood and rain and steel, you understood the truth:

This wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t a joke.

This was Denji’s love. Messy. Bloody. Unbreakable.