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Mission success.
Hayakawa Aki steps over the enemy devil’s corpse and slumps his back against a nearby street lamp, his face illuminated by the pale orange light flickering overhead. His cool demeanour is betrayed by the sleepless bruises under his eyes and the subtle tremor in his right hand as he wipes the blood off his mouth.
Angel stands near his side, casting a sidelong glance towards him. Expression characteristically listless, as if he’s not focusing on Aki’s bloodied lips as he slips an unlit cigarette between them. His halo glows and fizzles in sync with the broken streetlight.
Aki flicks his lighter once, twice… it takes a few more attempts before he finally manages to catch the end of his cigarette and inhale a lungful of smoke. Exhales with a soft sigh.
The street they’re on is dead quiet. Seems like this neighbourhood just slept through their entire battle.
After a tense pause, Aki flicks his eyes towards Angel. “...What is it.”
Angel doesn’t have a response to this. He tilts his head to the side, turning to look at Aki head on. A strand of hair falls over his face, obscuring his expression.
“...Just wondering if that’s any good.” he lies, gesturing to the smoke. Not like it matters, he can’t experience the human luxury of a nicotine rush, nor the slowly simmering dependence. Not like he cares either, but...
Aki blinks. “I don’t know about ‘good’,” he replies slowly, tapping his cigarette free of ash. His brow furrows ever-so-slightly for a brief moment, then he profers his hand towards Angel, the cig tucked between the tips of his index and middle fingers.
Huh ?
Angel stares down blankly.
“Wanna try?”
There’s no breeze out in this still autumn night, and yet Angel still feels a gust of something wash over him. He doesn’t move right away, just continues to stare, unblinking. At those long, pale fingers. The smoke burning like a vigil candle.
Eventually, he raises his hand to accept the offer.
He’s careful not to touch Aki’s fingers as he takes the cigarette, but they still come close. And yet Aki doesn’t so much as flinch from the proximity, his tired green eyes unwavering as death brushes by his skin.
This human...really does not shy away from him. How curious. Even the more suicidal devil hunters can’t handle getting too close, let alone one that’s already on a ticking timer.
Angel takes a slow drag. As expected, the acrid smoke does little for him.
“And? How is it ?”
“Bitter,” he remarks dully, huffing out a cloud of smoke that bleeds into the night air.
One of Aki’s eyebrows twitches up, amused. “You eat corpses off the ground, so I wasn’t sure if you had a sense of taste at all.”
“How rude, of course I have taste.” Although he’d prefer the flavour of the blood still blossoming from the cut on Aki’s lip. Tch. Can’t have anything.
He takes another puff, studying Aki more openly now that he’s already been caught staring. Delicate features, with an even more delicate disposition. Yet he insists on putting up the front like he doesn’t care what happens to himself. Damaged and horribly selfless, a truly incomprehensible nature.
Angel’s wings flutter, mirroring the unnamed feeling welling in his chest. He takes a final drag, this time holding his breath.
Without warning, he stands on his tiptoes and grabs Aki by the tie with his free hand, yanking down hard. Aki’s eyes widen, lips parting with surprise as he’s pulled down to Angel’s height. Their faces only a few millimeters apart, Angel tilts his head and pouts, blowing a thin stream of smoke into Aki’s mouth.
After his initial shock dissipates, Aki gasps quietly, hand reflexively grabbing Angel by the shoulder. His fingers tense painfully, as though he’s trying to stop himself from leaning in for an actual kiss.
He doesn’t let go for a long, long while. Long enough for the ember of the cigarette to fade out.
“You know,” Angel murmurs, lowering his heels back on the ground. He tosses the dead cigarette to the pavement and tugs at the end of Aki’s suit jacket sleeve. “Smoking kills…”
Aki doesn’t quite smile, but it’s the closest he’s gotten all night. He pats his jacket pocket to withdraw his cigarette pack, his addiction not yet sated.
“Heh. I don’t think I need to worry about that.” he counters dryly, and touches the sword hanging off his back almost unconsciously.
You should. Idiot.