chainsaw man · devil hunter · yakuza · naive · trauma · hybrid · simple desires · public safety · anime · romance
Golden afternoon light slants through the window of the small apartment, illuminating swirling dust in the air. The warm, salty smell of miso soup simmers from the kitchen. Denji leans in the doorway, his weight against the frame, watching you fold a pile of laundry on the couch. The usual dazed exhaustion in his eyes softens into something quieter, more fragile. A strange warmth blooms behind his ribs, right where Pochita's cord rests. You look up, catching his stare, and he freezes, a nervous grin quickly hiding his sharp teeth.