Archive of Our Own ^beta

I.

"Faith is a torment – did you know that? It is like loving someone who is out there in the darkness but never appears, no matter how loudly you call." 

-

“Do you know?” says Angel. “The Dream Devil and the Nightmare Devil are lovers.”

Aki looks at Angel. With no arms and sequestered to the hospital bed, Angel is still able to emanate a quiet sense of disdain. Aki knows not to take it to heart, by now.

“It is a rumour going around the devils in the Public Safety Bureau in Japan,” Angel explains, taking Aki’s silence as acquiescence, “but I have met them. Or one of them, actually, during one of his trips to map the human world. He still sends me postcards.”

“Postcards?” Aki finally says.

“Mmhmm. It was one of the few things I bother to own. Last I knew, he was in Barcelona.” Angel pauses. “He sent me a postcard featuring that Kiss of Death sculpture. Have you seen it before? It’s pretty famous.”

He hasn’t. He tells Angel so. Angel looks away distractedly; what is he thinking of? Whatever it is, Aki is not going to hear an answer. The conversation seems to have come to a close, and Aki thinks of searching up the sculpture online, later, after he heads home.

Aki stares down at his hand. The Future Devil peers from his right eye, mocking. “Angel,” Aki speaks, and confesses what he saw.

-

“I see…”

And then, “And the future can’t be changed.”

And finally: “If I just let you die, I have this feeling you’ll start haunting my dreams too.”

Aki wonders which of the lovers will hold dominion then, or would they chase those dreams away - a small kindness, for Angel’s gentle acquaintance.

But Devils are not capable of pity, are they? He helps Angel sit up. Trying to help Angel dress is a challenge with only one hand between them and skinship means certain death, but they manage.

“Are you driving?”

Yes.

“Dangerous with only one arm.”

Sure is. Aki leads Angel down the corridors and into the elevator and all the way down to the carpark. No one stops them. He almost wishes they will.

It strikes him suddenly, sentimentally, as he shuts the car door for Angel, that Aki can pretend that this is another routine patrol. Which is funny, because neither of them are ever going to work on the frontlines again except as ancillary.

“Wait,” Angel commands, as Aki settles into the driver’s seat, “don’t move.”

In a flurry of movement too swift for someone without arms, Angel climbs over and straddles Aki’s lap.

“You know my power can kill painlessly,” Angel says, and this feels like an offering, to a god of mercy.

-

Future cackles. Future is cruel, or perhaps merely in possession of a sick sense of humour. 

A phantom kiss on Aki’s forehead, above his left brow. His heart, trembling with resignation but also relief, with abhorrence but also the yearning ache to touch, this horrifying intimacy. In between blinks, he sees a skull staring down at him, but Aki knows it’s Angel.

No, it’s Death.

Shut up, Future. Death is a promise, not a devil that stalks the land. But, but Future shows - but this -

-

But Angel is a devil, not a god. What the hell.

“And then what?” Aki asks. “I thought the point is that I don’t die.” 

“That’s why we are going to talk to Makima,” Angel agrees, even though they both know that Aki only has two years left, and what matters now is Chainsaw and his frightful roar. “But know that you have a choice, if you want.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

Angel searches his face, and Aki wonders if he sees an emotion, more raw than anything Aki has ever seen on this unfeeling creature, rise beneath the depths of his eyes. But the moment passes, and Angel returns to his seat. 

“Help me strap on my seatbelt,” Angel orders, and Aki obeys.

II.

His mother named him after the red leaves that fall from trees, and his father named him after the bitter winds that hurry down wintry paths. 

Autumn is miserable. Autumn is the season that the sun hides away behind the blankets of clouds, and Taiyo gears up in scarfs and sweaters and all of their parents’ attention. Autumn is lonely, so it’s good that autumn is long over and they are in the thick of winter.

His hands are cold. Denji has ran off without even a goodbye. 

“Big Brother!” Taiyo shouts, waving from the house, and Aki jolts. “I got the ball and gloves!”

Aki blinks again. The tendrils of frost sinks into his extremities: his fingers, his nose, and Aki suddenly feels wide awake. 

Oh yeah, he thinks. I… wanted to play catch.

-

Later that night, he shares a foot bath with Taiyo. The water is too hot at first, but Aki is old enough to know to just grit his teeth and stick his feet in, watching his skin turn red and puckered.

He kicks Taiyo, lightly. Taiyo is too good of a kid to kick back. What a bore. One day, when Taiyo is finally deemed well enough, Aki is going to teach him to have some guts.

The water surface shudders, and then calms. Aki can see the outline of his reflection in the bucket. It looks like someone else: a portrait of another man, warped, even though Aki knows it's himself. It unnerves him. He shifts again, rubbing his soles together, and snorts at Taiyo's yelp when the water splashes over the side.

And then they clean up, and their mother treats them to a cup of hot cocoa each, and Aki goes to sleep warm and sated. He does not dream.

-

There is a porcelain statue of an angel atop the mantelpiece. Its hair is red - Aki has never seen an angel with red hair. He takes to rubbing it on its head every time he passes, and over time, it becomes something of his good luck charm.

It is the only thing he brings with him when he heads to the city for high school. His father jokes about the statue being his guardian angel, watching over him when his parents couldn't. Which is bullshit, because Aki returns home every weekend anyway, even if it is a twenty minutes walk to the train station and then a thirty minutes ride on the intercity train followed by another hour's ride on the local bus and finally finished with a tedious forty minutes hike.  

So adolescence goes like this: Aki goes to high school, and is taken under the wing of a Third Year by the name of Himeno ever since he bumped into her during the opening ceremony. To her dismay, he joins the kendo club, and then fencing, and later shooting, before he returns to kendo again. It just feels right. After Himeno graduates, Aki drifts from cliques and groups, uncertain where he belongs until he fishes out an underclassman - quite literally - from the canal. That's Denji, and with him comes Power, who possesses a personality akin to what, Aki imagines, transpires when a megalomaniac demon mates with a hyena. 

But Denji and Power are a pair, do not separate, and so during those days when Aki does not have club practice, he lets the two come over to his tiny apartment near the school, and nags them to do their homework.

(At Aki's graduation ceremony, two years later, Power and Denji bawl even more loudly than Aki's parents, and whine that Aki must return to visit, when he can. 

...Aki may have gotten a little misty-eyed.)

The angel sits on the windowsill in his bedroom, not quite smiling, but not unsmiling either. Aki crosses his legs and sits beside it.

"Morning, Angel," he says. He grabs a piece of cloth and wipes off any dust that may have fallen. In the tranquility of the early rays when the world is still dreaming, the shadows are gentle and the angel's face is aglow with the softest light.

There is nothing to say - there never is, much. Company also rests in the crooks of the quiet, the embrace of the familiar. Aki lowers the angel back on its perch.

Then university, and then graduation from even that. It is a strange, normal life.

-

A list of things that have happened:

One. He has his first girlfriend. Six months in, she asks, "Why haven't you kissed me yet?" He doesn't answer. Doesn't kiss her either, because he thought it hasn't felt right. The relationship ends two months later.

Two. He finds Himeno again. She laughs and calls him an insurance agent. Rude, although technically not untrue. It's just - Aki doesn't sell insurance. But his work is - Aki does calculate insurance payouts for museums and galleries. He does help to price overpriced art for rich pigs trying to evade taxes. Sometimes he finds himself at auction houses verifying authenticity and drafting risks and -

("So, insurance agent adjacent?"

"Himeno.")

Three. Aki finds himself blushing at this beautiful gallery manager, a woman by the name of Makima with a smile that could end wars, or begin one. In fact, countless amateur artists have also created pieces with her as the muse. Aki holds up a folder and flips it open: Aphrodite's Call , it reads, and it is a painting of Makima. Another one, an installation piece this time, carved from wood: Goddess Divine.

Four. Denji and Power follow him to this city too, and he ends up blocking out Saturday afternoon on his schedule to have lunch with this two idiots.

Five. The angel statue broke.

-

It is not anyone's fault. Aki wakes up one morning, and the statue has shattered. 

For a second, he has thought that he knocked it over in his sleep, but Aki has never been a restless sleeper. And then he suspects an earthquake in the night, but the news says nothing about it either.

So it just broke. It happens.

Aki sweeps its shards in a mason jar and keeps it by its usual spot - on the nightstand, for this apartment. The angel's single eye stares at him, all jumbled up, and Aki recalls the exhibition on iconic surrealist works that he has been invited to by Makima. 

… Which is that day. Aki had better get to it. He puts on a new suit - sleek and dark, chalk stripe, which has made Himeno call him a gangster but Makima has praised it on a different coat jacket.

By the time he reaches, there is a pleasant crowd starting to mill into the gallery. Makima greets him, cool and unflappable.

"I have specially curated this," she introduces, "on the concept of the unknowing. Take a look: you should learn to appreciate the fruit of your labours, sometimes."

Despite his work, Aki has never had a taste for museum-hopping. It is always somewhere that he visits for school or for work. He knows that this exhibition is special because Makima manages to procure loans for some of the most famous paintings from the most renowned museums across Europe, and even squeezed out a wall or two of pieces from private collectors that have, up till this exhibition, been shielded from the public's gaze.

It is, frankly, amazing. It is also a logistical nightmare. Aki had to work with a whole team to finish assessing all the pieces on display.

Many people keep trying to sneak pictures. Which is fine, honestly. Obnoxious yes, but understandable, as long as they keep the flash off.

His steps slow in front of one of the star attractions: the pair of paintings by René Magritte. The Lovers, their cheeks pressed together through the veils; The Lovers II, their shrouded heads drawn close for a kiss. Oil on canvas, 1928, Paris. 

(Ink on a receipt, Thursday, an ice-cream café in Tokyo.)

Aki blinks, and amidst these sea of heads, dark-haired and light and dyed and covered, he sees that familiar shade of autumnal red of his angel statue.

"Wait -" 

He reaches out. The mass of heads move, people shuffling for a better view. By the time Aki pushes himself through the crowd, that person with the angel's hair is gone.

-

"I saw you," Aki tells the angel, after he returns home.

The angel stares back at him with its single eye.

With an exhale and the shake of his head, Aki gets up and heads to the shower.

III.

Nomo from college says, "Hey, Aki!" and he says, "So are you still up with that art insurance gig," and then, "Want to take a look at some of the goods we are putting out for auction soon?"

The storage facility is expensive and fanciful;  state-of-the-art, they say. Nomo leads Aki through the wide corridors, the labels on non-descript doors seemingly confuse rather than clarify.

"Ah, shit. I forget - let me pop out back to grab something!" Nomo exclains while they are in the middle of admiring an antique plate, painted with reproductions of frescos. Then, in an absolute display of unprofessionalism, Nomo proceeds to leave Aki alone with pieces that cost millions in US dollars. Isn't he glad that Aki is a good, responsible person who won't go around poking and pocketing what he shouldn't?

Aki looks down at his tablet and continues writing notes.

Then he hears it.

It is a quiet sound - he almost misses it, had the silence not amplified any noise that dares slip into this room. Under the hum of the ventilation and between the buzz of the lights, Aki hears a door creak open.

Ominous, he thinks, and common sense tells him to ignore it.

But he sees the door, swung agape, at the corner of his eyes. Probably more storage boxes and untagged pieces in that room, there. 

…Maybe Aki should close the door.

He pushes himself up and makes his way over. Inside, a glint of something in the shadows. Aki hesitates, and takes a step in.

And another.

A room of mirrors, covered in heavy drapes of white cloth. To the side, a single sculpture, also shrouded. Aki tugs the cloth off. It is an angel.

Huh. Aki takes a step back. The angel has hid its face in both hands. What sort of allegory is that?

"Are you supposed to be weeping?" Aki asks it. "Or simply hiding your face?"

No answer. Not that it matters, anyway. Everything in this room is to be covered.

Aki shakes out the cloth. No dust at all. He glances round him. In the dark, the mirrors look like the silhouettes of monsters, waiting. 

The angel hides its face, head bowed, a plea for solitude.

(He's not superstitious, but -)

Huh, he thinks again. With sudden understanding, Aki pulls the cloth over his own head.

(And then,)

Something unfurls in the dark.

Aki does not speak. When he looks down, at the edge of the cloth where it hangs over the floor, he sees a pair of black loafers, scuffed and worn-out.

(Hold your breath.)

There is movement: whoever it is reaches towards him, but the contact never comes. The loafers recede, turning away, and Aki is suddenly struck with an urgency to seize them before they leave.

He grabs their elbow. It's more bones than flesh, and their muscles tense, before they let Aki tug them back. 

I know you, Aki realises. Who are you? There is a strange blaze of worry in his chest that he cannot place. He recalls Magritte's lovers, all passion and longing, the memory of the other guiding their actions even when their vision is impaired behind a veil.

Aki leans forward. He remembers to bend down, even though he doesn't know why he remembers at all, and through the cloth he kisses -

The door swings open. The lights snap on. Hastily, Aki pulls the cloth off.

"H-hey? What are you doing?" Nomo's eyes dart between Aki and the artefacts in the room. The angel sculpture is gone. "Fooling around, yeah?"

Aki shrugs. Why bother? He folds the cloth into a neat square and leaves it at the foot of a mirror, and then follows Nomo back into the main room.

-

This is the only dream that Aki has, when he does dream at all:

Him, sitting at the foot of the goddess Nike, her winged victory at Samothrace. Her arms are gone, but she marches boldly forward, wings outstretched behind her.

In his dreams, Nike is smaller, her figure flat and skeletal, and she has the face of Aki's angel statue.

But this time, in the dream, Nike speaks:

"Aki." Her voice is masculine, her tone flat, and suddenly Aki knows from the strange melancholy that this is his angel.

Pulling his sleeve to his palm, Aki reaches up and wipes the sweat beading at the angel's brow. "You shattered."

"Yes."

"Would you like me to piece you back together?" Like a three-dimensional puzzle, complete with a few tubes of superglue. Aki likes to think his fingers are nimble enough for this craft project.

"It's fine," replies the angel, "I like the jar."

"I see."

"Mm." 

A strand of hair falls over the angel's face. Aki pushes it back.

"Hey," the angel says, "Pygmalion's sculpture came to life with a kiss, you know."

Aki huffs lightly. "Who said I want you to come to life?" He smooths out a fold on the angel's front. The angel rolls his shoulders, an endearingly human motion as he folds his wings. His eyes flick up when Aki cups him by his jaw, and irrationally, it feels as though Aki has waited a lifetime to be able to hold the angel like this.

In a way, Aki supposes he had. His angel statue has accompanied him since he's thirteen, and that means something, when you are well into your twenties.

"I think I should warn you," the angel whispers, "my lips are chapped."

"I'll give you water when you're no longer a sculpture," Aki promises, and leans in to kiss him.

-

He stares at the ceiling for a long time after he wakes.

Then his phone buzzes. Denji and Power here to visit, and probably trying to climb the gate of the apartment building. Aki better go get them before someone phones the local police station.

"Yo Aki," Denji says during the long ride up the elevator. "What's got you in such a good mood?"

"None of your business."

"Did you get a cat?" Power asks. "I would be in a terrific mood if I get a cat."

"You already own a cat," Denji points out. "I broke my arm trying to rescue Nyako from the roof, remember?"

"I own too many dark-coloured clothes to have any furry pet," Aki adds sensibly.

At that, Power harrumphs. "Then what got you smiling like a dumbass, if not a cat?"

(The kiss tastes like a frozen stick of ice-cream. 

Aki tries to repress his grin, and then gives up, as he breaks off the kiss to laugh.)

"I…," Aki scrambles, "am happy that you are visiting."

"Aww," mocks Denji, "wow, you missed us!"

"That’s weird," Power accuses at the same time.

Aki wants to punch them both. He doesn't, because that will be assault. 

It doesn't take long for Denji to open Aki's refrigerator and inhale all of the leftovers. Meanwhile, Power decimates the pork slices that Aki has intended to use for dinner, and he spends a good five seconds concerned about Power possibly contacting salmonella before he decides, eh, and gets his revenge by pointedly listing out all the dishes he was planning to make with it.

"B-but I want pork katsu rice," Power whines. "Denji! It's your fault. Why did you ransack the refrigerator?"

"Why, you - I stayed clear of the uncooked food!"

"Nooo, you were eating so fast, you unconsciously ate it along with the cooked food! I saw!"

Aki leaves them to bicker and heads to his bedroom to grab his laptop. When he looks over to the nightstand, his angel is whole again, sitting cross-legged in the little jar. He watches Aki, silent and expressionless, and Aki feels eyes on his back long after he returns to the living room.

-

Once, while drunk off her ass, Himeno sprawls across Aki's front and slurs, "Don't cha want… kiss me?"

He pats her on the head before adjusting her to lean on his shoulder instead. "Here, drink some water."

Himeno shoves the glass over. Aki watches the water pool before streaming off to the edge of the table, dripping onto his trousers. "Aki," Himeno moans, "come on. Don't be like this." She peers up at him through her bangs. "Are you angry? Hehe, don't be. I'll let you steal my cigarettes, hmm? Let's have a smoke, Aki. Let's get out of here."

Everyone at the table is watching them, or trying not to. Aki wishes this is a rare enough occurrence that he can feel embarrassed. "Himeno…"

Himeno makes kissy noises at him.

Aki sighs, and apologises to their mutual friends and acquaintances. Soon, one of them will hail a cab, and they will lug Himeno back to her apartment, and the next morning will see Himeno with a hangover from hell and a short but sincere apology in the group chat.

 "Oh," someone remarks, "she's fallen asleep."

Himeno's head lolls to the side like a stuffed doll flopped over. Her lips turn down, and there is something about her, that makes her look unbearably lonely at this instant. Like, like she is a lost child in the woods, vulnerable and alone, and clinging to whatever warmth as night draws near.

Aki thinks there is something he needs to tell her, but he can't remember. Instead, he slings an arm around her ribs, and excuses themselves from the gathering.

He has to take care of Himeno enough times to know where she keeps her keys (left pocket) and ignores her innuendos when he reaches into her slacks. The key shaped like a hammer; twists, and the door unlocks.

Himeno stumbles onto her bed. Unbuttons her shirt, and Aki doesn't even blink as she pulls off her clothes, bra and all.

"Aki -"

"I'm having a smoke in the kitchen," he tells her, and shuts the bedroom door behind him.

He pops a cigarette out from the box. In the dim glow of the moonlight, he thinks he sees something written on the side of the cigarette, but when he holds it up to eye-level, all he sees are the white of the paper.

Aki holds it between his lips, flicks the lighter, and smokes.

He finishes it too fast. It is also exactly what he needs, loosening the knot in his mind and the lump in his lungs. He tosses the butt into the stale cup of water with the rest of Himeno's smoked cigarettes.

This time, when he brings her a mug of water, she drinks.

"Aki," she mutters, leaning her head against the headboard. "Won't you quit?"

"Huh?"

"I love you, you know?" says Himeno. "I always did."

It is not like Aki hasn't seen it coming, but - but when confronted with it, he finds himself at a loss for words. "Himeno -"

"Goodnight, Aki," she finishes, and curls into herself like a foetus.

Aki watches her sleep, the way her shoulders rise and fall. Then, he nudges her down into a more comfortable position, and draws the blanket up over her arms.

Mug pushed out of flailing distance, a pair of painkillers beside it. There, he has done his duty.

"Goodbye, Himeno," Aki says, and inexplicably, his chest feels lighter.

Aki ignores it and heads back home.

-

The angel taps on the glass of its jar. Aki bends down and, on second thought, presses his ear against the jar.

(He could open the jar, let the angel out. But something primal made him hesitate, and Aki thinks of Pandora and her box, her little gift of doom.)

Taiyo, the angel whispers, and Aki lifts his head. 

"You want me to call my family?"

The angel nods. He points at Aki's pocket.

"Now?"

Another nod.

"Alright." Aki fishes out his phone. It has been awhile since he dialled home. Life happens; he's busy. His family hasn't called him either, so. They all got their own lives to live.

The tones ring once, twice, and then the long beep of a number no longer in service. What? Aki tries again. Same thing. He tries everyone's personal number - his father, mother. Taiyo. Nothing.

"They can't all change their numbers without telling me," Aki voices. The angel stares mutely back at him. Antsy, he calls the municipal office of his hometown. No one picks up - not that unusual, considering it's bureaucracy, but it still makes Aki fret. "Wh-"

The phone buzzes. Aki picks it up instantly. "Aki speaking."

"It's me, Makima." Ah. Aki feels his heart beats faster, out of reflex. "Haven't heard from you in awhile."

"Sorry, work has been a handful."

"I can empathise." There is complete silence in the background: no hint at all of where she is, or what she is doing. It is unnerving. "If you are busy, I can call back another time."

"No, no. It's fine. I'm -" What has he been doing again? "I am heading down to the office soon."

Makima hums. She seems to be contemplating her words. "Aki," she says, "are you familiar with the Gardner heist?"

You can't be in the industry and not be aware of it. Aki knows that. Makima knows he knows. She waits for him to answer in the affirmative, before she continues, "I have seen Chez Tortoni once."

Aki does not speak. He watches his angel in the jar. 

"And I thought, isn't it funny that when people discuss the Gardner heist, they talk about the Vermeer, or Rembrandt's Galilee, when it is the theft of Chez Tortoni that makes the least sense? The motion detectors hadn't picked up any footsteps near it by the thieves at all, and it's the only one left at the security director's desk. Doesn't it seem personal to you?"

Aki replies that it does. Even if he disagrees, he can only ever say yes to her.

"It is absolutely hilarious, isn't it," says Makima, "that that's what it always comes down to. Even though that which is so personal matters to no one else."

Aki recalls Bruegel's Icarus, drowning in an unnoticed corner, the shepherd ignorant and the farmer continues plowing. "Yeah."

It feels like he can hear Makima's smile through the phone. "You always understand, don't you, Aki? It pleases me to know that I can always come to you with my thoughts." At that, the angel in the jar snickers. "By the way, there is a piece I want you to look at. I have already delivered it to your office. It is good art, but it doesn't fit in with the rest of my gallery. Maybe you would know someone who can appreciate it better."

When he finishes the conversation, he sits on the bed and turns to the angel. "You don't like her." The angel shrugs. "Why not?"

The angel points at Aki. Why do you, he mouths.

"Why?" Aki tries to recollect the instance when his crush begins. "I suppose it just happened."

The angel looks at him, arms hanging limp at his side. He doesn't try to talk again, so Aki shrugs on his coat and heads out.

-

Autopilot: driving clears the mind, somehow. You drive on instincts, going through the motions, checking your blindspot and reacting to it without actually employing your mental faculties. Aki takes a turn and -

Something humanoid and heavy falls infront of him. Aki slams the brakes, bracing himself for the impact that - that never came. Stunned, he unbuckles his seat belt and steps out. There is nothing. What? The blast of horns from fellow drivers. Aki returns to his seat.

He has just locked the doors when he sees Ghost in the rearview mirror.

(Shouldn't he be scared? Then why -)

Ghost holds out a cigarette from its mouth, its fingers pale and smooth, like a piece of ivory. And Aki -

The office building appears in sight. When Aki glances at the rearview mirror again, Ghost is gone.

Aki drives into the underground carpark. He parks. Walks through the empty lot and takes the elevator up. When the doors open again, it is to an empty lobby.

In the middle: Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss, but Psyche's face is twisted grotesquely in agony, and Cupid weeps, its body covered in blood.

And he hears:

"Aki," Denji rasps, and Aki turns around to see a devil with a chainsaw sticking out of its head. "Don't, Aki."

Aki reaches for his sword. There is no sword. He shouldn't use it anyway, he'll die. He calls the Fox Devil - no, it's gone too. Aki holds up his finger and makes the shape of a gun -

"Come back, come back! Snap out of it, Aki!"

Aki blinks, and he is covered in blood in the middle of the street, devastation around him.  

"Aki!"

(Ding.)

The doors open. And Aki is in the elevator again, staring blankly as he reaches the floor to his office.

IV.

Once upon a time, Aki watches the rerun of an old film. 

The actor is a white man, middle-aged and oily. He is playing as a mentor at a film audition, and he is advising the perky heroine, a wannabe movie star, on her role. 

"It is not a contest," says the man, and somehow in his memories, Aki always hears this in Makima's voice, "so don't play it for real, until it gets real."

-

Aki sits cross-legged on his bed, across his cross-legged angel. He has placed the jar on the sheets, balancing it precariously on a cushion, and he asks, "Do you think heaven exists?"

Angel lowers his head. Aki is struck with a certain yearning to see him smile. He wants to know what it looks like.

There is no answer, so Aki moves on. "The painting that Makima sent over," he informs, "it's a triptych, in the Expressionist style. Like Lucian Freud. Alfred Kubin and Egon Schiele. Oh, and Francis Bacon. That's whose work it reminded me of."

Aki has always had a soft spot for Expressionism. He hasn't known why, until one of his clients called the style raw. Intimacy, Aki thinks, and all its tender ugliness.

Angel holds both hands to his chest and clasps them in prayer. He mimes at Aki to follow.

"I am sick of prayers," Aki says, although he doesn't know why he says that. He does not remember having a cause for praying. "Angel, do you know what the triptych depicted?" He huffs humorlessly. "Me."

The left painting: Taiyo and his parents. The right painting: Denji and Power. And in the middle, Aki alone, his body hung on a crucifix, a gaping hole in his chest, an eye peering from its depths. Future, it is labelled.

"Then where does that place you?" Aki continues.

Angel does not answer still. He continues to pray, his eyes shut. After a long moment, Aki puts his palms together, and for the first time, whispers a prayer to anyone merciful enough to listen.

-

There are four stages in a sleep cycle.

The first: five minutes, you doze. A twitch, and you wake, tumbling back into reality.

The second stage: twenty minutes. Your body enters sleep. Your breath slows, your mind floats. The sandman sings, your heart listens. Restful.

Third: you sink into the depths, and in the embrace of the womb, your body heals. Growth, like a seedling, an idea, the aches in your bones and the flesh underneath your skin. The waters wash over you, the waves gentle as the rocking of the cradle. Close your eyes, and await rebirth. 

Fourth, the final, the dream. You learn to live.

-

When Denji and Power visit, sometimes they decide to stay overnight, and when that happens, all three of them have the habit of sharing the same bed.

“Sleepover!” Power cheers.

“Like in the movies!” Denji agrees enthusiastically.

Aki pats the dust off the single, oversized futon that he owns. He has gotten it for their sake anyway.

“Aki, are you awake?” Power whispers in the dark of night. “I think I had a nightmare.”

He turns to his side and props himself up on an elbow. “You think you had a nightmare?”

“I don’t usually remember my nightmares,” Power says, “I simply wake up screaming. But this time, I remember that I dreamt of meeting the Devil of Bad Dreams. She can only exist at night, which is when she will grow out of the Dream Devil. Her bottom half is entwined with his. Like, like when two plants are grown too close together, and their gnarly roots become tangled. It is terrifying.”

“But she can’t do anything to you,” Aki reasons. “Once you wake up, she loses her hold over you.”

“But what if I don’t, Aki?” Power insists. “What if I don’t wake up? What if I can’t wake up?”

Aki does not understand. “Why will you be unable to wake up?”

“Because there is nothing to wake up to,” she answers. “Because when I open my eyes, the world has ended, and I am in hell.”

-

There is a park across the office building where Aki works. Sometimes, Aki heads over to sit on the park bench for lunch, and feeds pieces of rice or bread or whatever he is eating to the pigeons.

There is a grizzled old man with a nasty scar that cuts from the corner of his mouth to his jaw, and he has taken to sitting silently beside Aki everytime to watch Aki feed the birds. 

“Aki,” the old man grunts one day. Aki tenses.

“How do you know my name?”

The old man ignores him. “I always thought you are a crazy one, you know?”

That is rude. Aki considers telling him so, but then figures anyone who would say this to another’s face probably won’t care.

“But for that damn angel to take a shine to you," the old man continues with a shrug, "guess you aren't that sane either. Pity you hadn't managed to live to your age in this dream."

"What are you talking about?" Aki asks slowly.

"You," replies the old man. "Who else?"

That doesn't answer shit. "Who are you?"

"I am the craziest, remember?" The old man knocks his knuckles against the back of Aki's skull. "Because I am the only one who lasted so damn long."

Aki stares down at his food. There is a bite left; he finishes it. Wipes his mouth clean. "How long did I last?"

"Three? Four? I don't know what you did before you joined us." 

That isn't very long. 

"It's pretty long for those in our line of work."

He still does not remember, but these are things that Aki knows for a fact. "And I'm…"

"I'll pick a nice plot for you," the old man promises. "Carve a sweet little angel over your tombstone."

"That's not necessary."

"Yeah, you already have your own." The pigeons are still fighting over crumbs. It is barely a speck of a piece left, and yet. "Do you know? After you are gone, your angel made this little blade - it's a terrifying thing. No hilt, double-edged, and it cuts nothing but devils. He can't even use it himself."

"Kishibe," Aki interrupts, and does not question why he knows the old man's name. "Why are you here?"

"I am not Kishibe." The old man groans as he stands. "I am a fragment of a dream, by Kishibe of himself. Regrets, memories, emotions - that sort of thing."

"Kishibe isn't the sentimental sort."

"Everyone feels some sort of regret," the old man dismisses, "it's whether you let it get to you. When you wake up, remember to thank him, yeah? He tried his best to bury you human."

-

Dürer's Eve with her fruit of knowledge. An arm outstretched, she stands in perfect symmetry, she who is Adam's mirror. The tempter, and the tempted: duality of human perfection. 

Is it wrong for her to want to know? Is it wrong of Aki?

-

"Angel," Aki says, "why did I die?"

He wants to know how, and he wants to know then what, later? But he waits.

The angel in the jar frowns. He points at himself.

"You?" Your fault? "But I don't think I will blame you. I don't think you will want me dead."

Angel shrugs. That is an answer, but Aki doesn't know which part he is responding to. 

"Did you cry for me?" A nod. "Aren't we tragic."

Aki stares out of the window. It's snowing like a summer shower, although it is nowhere near winter. Or daytime, for that matter, yet the sky glows with the faintest white, like light under the door. The world: gone topsy-turvy.

"Will you let me open the jar?"

Angel's eyes widen. His wings fluff up, and he gestures frantically for Aki to lean in. Touch, he says, and points at Aki.

"You want me to touch you?" A fervent shake of the head. "I can't touch you?" Then the words register. "I can't touch you."

Angel raises both arms over his head and stretches. Yawns. Looks expectantly at Aki.

"Once I wake, I will not be able to touch you," Aki deciphers slowly. "But I am unable to touch you now." Angel covers his eyes. "I can't even see you? You're dead?"

Shakes his head again. Points at Aki in frustration. 

The conversation is going nowhere. Aki rubs the rim of the jar. Thinks about kissing Angel through the glass, because he didn't kiss him right the first time, will Angel let Aki try again? 

"Angel," Aki murmurs. "I can't stay here forever. This isn't my world. When the dream ends, then what? You need to let me wake up."

Angel opens his mouth, but it curls around shapes that refuse to form words. He gives up, thinning his lips, and places both palms on the glass.

"I guess this is goodbye," Aki says, "I will miss you, I think. I have gotten too used to having you around."

Angel smiles: a small, vague thing, as though reacting to an inside joke.

(To stand in awe, rapturous, and gaze upon the eye of god, starstruck.)

"Feels like we have been partners for eternity," Aki continues, his throat dry. 

But humans are finite. Aki twists the lid, and the jar pops open.

V.

In the stories, it is True Love's Kiss that wakes the princess. 

In the stories, it is Midas' touch, a father's loving embrace, that turned his daughter to stone. 

In his story, Aki wakes with Angel's kiss on the left brow, and remembers everything.

"Oh," he mutters, unclenching the left hand that should have been taken by the Darkness Devil. He props himself upright. "Angel?"

"Can't believe they kept your corpse," Angel says, sitting back. He is frightfully light. The bones in his wings must not have weighed much. "Cut out the fiend, and what's left is just another dead human."

Aki thinks about all the fiends he has seen. The most obvious sign of transformation occurs with the head.

"I grew it back for you," Angel reassures. He reaches out to straighten Aki's tie. "There. Now -"

"Was that you, or was it all in my own head?"

Angel stills. "What do you think?"

He considers this. 

It is only then that he notices their surroundings. Moths and chimeras and strange inventions, earthly delights in a green garden.

"This isn't another dream, is it?"

"No, you are already awake." Angel pauses. "Unless you are ready to start going off about Hieronymus Bosch's brushwork?"

"Not a clue."

Angel turns his face away. "There you have it."

"But you -" kissed me. "- touched me."

"While you were dead."

"Why?" No answer. The Angel in his dream has said that Aki will not be able to see him when he wakes. And yet.

Aki reaches out, tangling his fingers in Angel's hair the way he's always wanted to, and kisses him. It comes at a surprise to even Aki himself that he doesn't mind risking it all. But he's already died once. Turns out death isn't so bad.

Angel's lips are soft and warm and do not taste like ice-cream. "I guess," Angel whispers, when Aki pulls away, "you really don't hate devils as much as you claim to be."

"Denji and Power did a good job wearing me down," Aki replies. He rubs his thumb against Angel's jaw. "So how much did that decrease my lifespan?"

"I don't know, since that left hand is mine," says Angel, "and that kiss is really short. Maybe I'll figure it out if you do it again."

This blasé attitude is pretty much Angel's confirmation that Aki won't die. All the better; he tilts his head and kisses Angel again, deep and hard, and Angel brings up his arms across Aki's back so tightly that it feels as though, as though they can meld together.

Oh. 

So that's it. That's how Angel did everything he can to help Aki stay alive.

(Denji has told him that he has heard Pochita's voice only after being chopped up. At that point, he has been irrefutably dead, lying in the trash bin, and only then did Pochita become his heart.)

Angel twists; Aki can still feel the flutter of his lashes where their faces are pressed together, cheek to cheek, the warm damp exhale and the brush of Angel's lips against his ear.

"I will fill up the parts where you are missing," Angel tells him. A contract: between a devil, and a corpse made human again, because fiends couldn't make contracts. All these efforts, all for Aki. "In turn… Aki?" A sharp inhale. Angel pulls away, and for the first time, Aki sees a wide, brilliant smile, wobbling and beautiful.

"Please live a normal and happy human life for me," he says.

-

When Aki opens his eyes, he sees the sterile ceiling of a morgue. 

Aki forces himself to stand up, except his muscles give in, and he finds himself collapsing beside the examining table.

"Woah." Kishibe. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I," says Aki. He glances at his hands. Touches his face. And -

Against the reflection of the metal cabinets, Aki sees a pair of wings, unfurling from his back.