𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄? (𝗵. 𝗮𝗸𝗶) ✓

6

It had been a long day. Devil activity was phenomenally low at the moment, meaning Hanasaki wasn't currently required to be out and about. While fieldwork wasn't exactly the most fun of experiences, she was definitely starting to miss the thrill as she stared out the window of her office, into the bleak expanse of a grey afternoon.

Denji and Aki were taking an age to return, which was unusual, because there shouldn't logically have been anything to divert them. And, Aki was good at being brief with the rookies and showing them the ropes.

She instantly turned her head to the door as she heard it creaking open, but the sight that came stumbling into her office was most certainly not the one she was expecting.

First of all, Denji's head of sullied blond hair was the first to appear, and his face was flushed from exhaustion. Aki's arm was slung over his shoulder, and he looked to have been hauled all the way up the building, as well as for God knows how long through the city. Both of them were in a bad way; Denji, along with looking so tired he was ready to drop dead, had an ugly bruise that stretched across the underside of his jaw, and a crust of blood that had dried mid-flow from his nose.

And, Aki, well, she couldn't even tell whether he was conscious or not. His eyes were barely open, just a slit of black and rheumy white, glazed over like a doll's. There weren't any visible injuries to him, but the fact that he appeared completely out of it and she couldn't see why concerned her even more. However, before she could stress about that for too long, Denji gave her an answer:

"The big man's testicles were attacked by the Nut Devil, ma'am!" he announced with a mockingly pitiful air, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the comatose Aki. However, as soon as he overheard this explanation, his eyes fluttered open.

"That's a lie, he's lying," interrupted the now-not-so-comatose Aki, staring daggers at Denji before yanking his arm from his shoulder, as if he were poisonous. He didn't seem to be totally confident standing by himself yet, but it appeared he'd rather topple over than get anywhere near Denji.

Hanasaki said nothing for a while, merely glanced between the two blankly as if trying to figure out how to process all this. After half a minute of silent observation, Hanasaki let her shoulders sag with a heavy sigh, elbows digging into her desk as she held her head in her hands.

Her lips parted. "You two had one job," Her voice was so soft and hushed, yet something quite untraceable laced her tone, something that advised them both that they were in big trouble. "To get along."

Denji and Aki glanced at each other, still with mutual spite, but a sizable portion of that dislike had been replaced by apprehension.

"Denji, you will be joining Hayakawa's unit." Denji didn't have time to protest; even his stubborn indignation was cowed by the cold, unfeeling glance that Hanasaki shot at him as she lifted her gaze from her desk.

"I don't care if you two don't like each other. Please, just make it work, okay?"

It sounded more like a plea than a command. Her words had only gone down in volume, but that made them sound even more dangerous. Her statement was a trapdoor, and they'd have to tread carefully if they didn't want to drop down the pitfall underneath it.

She glowered at both of them with those storm-grey eyes of hers, her pupils like sinkholes. The look she gave the two was bitter enough to make milk curdle. Before either one of them plucked up the courage to answer her, she raised one elbow off of her desk, giving a lazy, dismissive wave of her hand.

"Go. Just go."

They didn't have to be told twice.

Denji practically sprinted out of the room; the way his feet barely seemed to touch the ground, you definitely couldn't call it speed-walking. Aki was more reluctant and as he reached the doorway, he turned his head round to spare Hanasaki one more apologetic glance. She, however, was having none of it. Another baleful death stare was enough to chase him off.

As soon as the door was shut, Hanasaki relaxed in her chair, letting herself flop limply against the backrest.

She felt hollow.

She guessed she had no one but herself to blame for that, what with the lack of food and sleep that had now become a part of her daily routine. Her absentminded gaze slid upwards to the ceiling, which was also a major habit of hers, and she let it rest there.

There was nothing for her to do. In fact, she could go home if she wanted to. But it didn't really feel like home, and she didn't really feel like moving her limbs at all. So she sat there, subdued, and let her thoughts drift away, carrying her with them.