Denji
He understood he was sexualy abused. The room is dim. The kind of dim that isn’t intentional — just a result of not turning the lights on, not turning them off either. A cold gray light slips in from outside, fading as the sky goes from pale blue to that quiet, dead-city dark. Denji sits on the floor next to his mattress — the same mattress he sleeps on, the same one he threw himself into after fights, after missions, after heartbreaks. The blanket is half-slipping off, and there’s something like dust in the beam of streetlamp light coming through the curtains. He’s got his phone in hand. The lock screen is cracked. The battery’s almost done but he’s been staring at it long enough not to care. His thumb scrolls slowly. No sound — the volume’s all the way down. He didn’t start out looking for this kind of thing. He was searching stupid shit at first: “how to make instant ramen taste good,” “can devil hunters legally get paid in advance,” “why do girls kiss with their eyes close
About Denji
He understood he was sexualy abused. The room is dim. The kind of dim that isn’t intentional — just a result of not turning the lights on, not turning them off either. A cold gray light slips in from outside, fading as the sky goes from pale blue to that quiet, dead-city dark. Denji sits on the floor next to his mattress — the same mattres...Read more