Dear Makima - ChatMoon - Chainsaw Man (Manga) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter Text

Makima found that the more you made people wait, the more they wanted to see you, whether they'd admit it or not. How long she made them wait depended on how much she cared to meet with them; twenty minutes was the baseline, thirty for when she thought they needed a reminder of whose time they were on, and fifteen for when she actually cared to see them.

Aki signed into the Public Safety offices with Denji and Power in tow at approximately 4:30 in the afternoon and was buzzed into her office not ten minutes later.

Aki took his usual position; five strides short of her desk with shoulders squared and arms folded behind his back. Power stood slightly behind him on his left side, cowering but desperate to hide it. Nothing unusual there—the Blood Fiend had always been a jumble of insecurity buried under manic bravado. No, what was of note was the fact that Denji had taken a similar position as her on Aki’s right side. Normally he'd burst through the doors and have to be dragged by the back of his shirt by Aki into a professional distance. Now she could only make out the right side of his face and the dangling of his tie.

The discrepancy was… noticeable to her. To Aki as well it seemed, as he side-eyed Denji for a moment before he began speaking.

“Miss Makima, we are here to give our report on this morning's patrol, which was conducted from eight A.M. to approximately two P.M. along sectors four through six of the Tokyo prefectures.”

“Of course,” She placed her new pen down carefully atop the written reports she’d received from Division Five last night and had yet to work through. “And what did this patrol yield?”

“No devils were come into contact with during our patrol-”

Power gave an exaggerated yawn and began looking for a means to alleviate her boredom.

Aki glared at her from the corner of his eye. He had specifically told her to be on her best behavior during these meetings. He blinked, hard and slow, as if to crush his frustration in-between his eyelids before continuing. “However, upon questioning the locals we discovered the possibility of a devil presence in the nearby commercial district. A hotel, to be precise.”

Power eventually took notice of Denji standing next to her, having slowly crept more and more behind Aki to use his back as a shield and was now standing almost directly behind the older man. A light bulb went off in her mind and she popped her pointer finger in her mouth with a smile.

“I see,” Makima brought her hand to her chin and looked up to the ceiling, pretending to consider her options. Truthfully however, ignoring any devil presence would only serve to chafe at her contract with the prime minister and have him begin interfering with her work. She couldn’t have that; especially not now. “And did you happen to investigate these suspicions further before bringing them to me?” She already knew he didn’t.

When the birds and rats could be her eyes, she saw little reason to leave the possibility that one of her units was lying to her to chance—these reports served as little more than tests for them.

Leaving the reliability of those she commanded to a jury of fortune hasn’t been what’s gotten her this far.

“No ma’am, with the relative inexperience of the agents present, I thought it best to-”

“What the hell!?” Denji jumped out from behind Aki, a hand to his ear and an expression of disgust smeared across his face. “What was that for!?”

Power held her saliva slicked pointer finger out with a puffed-out chest and pride beaming in her eyes. “Merely what you deserved! Only a fool would let their guard down in the presence of a warrior of my caliber!”

Denji scowled and quickly shoved his finger in his mouth and began stomping his feet toward her but his revenge was thwarted by Aki’s hand around his wrist. “What the—hey let go dude!” He tried to tug his arm free but Aki’s grip was like a shackle, harsh and unyielding.

He glared at Power. “Can you two idiots not act like professionals for five minutes?” He jerked Denji’s arm repeatedly as the words shot from gritted teeth, as if emphasizing their importance.

Makima took in the spectacle as Denji began trying to redirect his wrathful digit at Aki before giving up and sulking like a child, muttering that it was Power who started it. She felt a thin wisp of amusem*nt pass through her despite herself.

“I don’t care about who started—I’m ending it.” Denji receded further in on himself and Power laughed at her triumph, drawing Aki’s ire. “And you, pull anything else and you’ll be splitting cat food with Meowy for a week.”

She balked and stuttered over a retort, but seeing the severity in his gaze, quickly switched to subservience. “Yes, sir.” His stare didn’t let up. “Sorry, sir.”

He sighed and let go of Denji's wrist before turning back to Makima, trying to sketch a persona of professionalism back around himself before he addressed her. “I’m sorry about that Miss Makima, they can wait outside if you’d prefer.”

Denji offered no resistance to the suggestion, she noticed. “That’s okay Hawakaya, besides, I'm sure they’ll behave from now on—isn't that right?” She tried to make eye contact with Denji, but his shoes seemed the most interesting thing in the world to him at that moment and he gave no reply to her words. She was almost driven to repeating herself before Power reluctantly took up the task of appeasing her.

“That’s r-right Miss Makima!” She blurted out. Nerves trickled down her face as she tried making eye contact but found herself unable to gather the courage to meet those golden orbs. Her eyes fell demurely to looking at the mahogany wood boards that made up her floor. “T-that is, lord Makima—”

“Thank you, Power,” Makima gave the slightest inclination of her head to let her know she should stop talking. Throughout the fiends' groveling she had kept her eyes trained on Denji—at least, as much as she could given that at this point the boy had taken to outright crouching behind Aki in his attempts to hide from her gaze. She gave a near imperceptible sigh before deciding to continue with the meeting.

Denji would need to have the futility of trying to escape her sight impressed upon him at a later date.

The rest of the meeting went without incident, and it was decided that, since no deaths had yet been attributed to the hotel devil, Makima would send a two-man squad to further investigate before any larger operation was put together.

There wasn’t much to discuss after that, and the meeting quickly drew to a close. Before they could take their leave, however, Makima smiled at Aki. “I have to say Hayakawa, I’m impressed with how you’ve been handling your new charges. You're settling into your new role even better than I’d hoped.”

He blushed and fought to keep a smile off his face. “I appreciate the confidence, Miss Makima. I hope to have more opportunities to prove to you my capability,” he said, thinking he understood what she meant. Denji flinched from behind Aki, and she stared in his direction with renewed intensity but nothing more came from him. Her gaze flitted back to Aki.

“I hope so as well. Thank you for your time.” She nodded for them to leave and went to pick up her pen, watching as Denji and Power seemed to race each other on who could get out the door fastest. “Actually Denji, could you stay behind?” Her lips were formed into a pastel smile.

A vaguely sick look crept onto the boy's face as she continued. “It’s just that I think we left some things unaddressed last time that should be cleared up to avoid further confusion.”

The sickness was clear on his face now as he fumbled for an excuse. “That sounds great Miss Makima but I, um, actually gotta meet with someone today-”

“Oh, really? Who?”

“It's...you know...”

“I'm afraid I don’t actually,” Patience and concern were painted across her features. “Are you feeling alright, Denji?”

“I’m,” he searched for a name to save him but his whole world stood in that room already, waiting for his answer. He sighed and looked back at the floor. “Yeah I’m fine, Miss Makima. I’m good to stay.”

“Are you sure the person you needed to meet with won’t mind?”

He cringed slightly. “Yep, totally. I’m sure they won’t mind.” He stepped away from the door that Power had already barreled through and back to where Aki still stood with a constipated expression.

“That’s good to hear,” she smiled and nodded at him before turning to Aki. “I’ll let you know if anything comes from the investigation. Have a nice day, Hayakawa.”

He looked as if there were a lot of questions he wanted to ask, but ultimately swallowed them and gave a slight bow before turning on his heels and following after Power, hoping to catch up to her before she found any opportunities to wreak havoc.

Denji heard the click of the door closing as a prisoner would hear their last rites.

--------------

‘This sucks,’ Denji thought as he stood in the middle of her office. A one-on-one meeting with Miss Makima—something that just a few days ago would have been the highlight of his day, now only left something miasmic settling in his gut. ‘This really sucks.’

After everyone else had left, Makima had gone back to reading the reports on her desk, occasionally humming at whatever was written and jotting quick little notes in the margins. She listened to the creak of the floorboard as Denji shifted his weight from one foot to another in an attempt to dispel some of his nervous energy. It didn't help very much.

Then, only when she felt he had been left in silence long enough to be willing to talk, did she set her pen down and look at him, folding her hands into a perch where she rested her head. “How have things been for you, Denji? Lately, I mean.”

He rubbed the side of his neck with his hand and stared off into the corner of her office. “Pretty good I guess.” His eyes closed in consideration for a moment before they opened again. “Yeah, things have been good. Real good.”

“I’m glad,” She smiled and closed her eyes, as if his words alone could bring peace to her mind. “With how quickly your life has been changing of late, I was worried that you had become overwhelmed.”

Denji didn't understand what was happening right now. If Makima didn’t like him, then why was she acting worried about him? Were you supposed to worry about people you didn’t like? Unless...

He took to trying to read the spines of the books that lined the shelves to her left, but they just looked like random symbols to him. They were organized by color and they stood no more than a millimeter from the edge of the shelf. “Nah I'm alright,” He turned to her and quickly flashed a nervous smile before turning back to the spines of books with titles he didn't understand. “I'm never not alright.” Sure, Aki could be a dick sometimes, but he was hardly the worst he has had to deal with. And Power... was Power.

The short of it was; he got three square meals a day, a bed to sleep on (sometimes), and was talking with a super-hot chick right now. He shouldn’t have anything to complain about. He shouldn’t, he knew that.

“I’m glad to hear that Denji, truly. Just know that if you have any concerns, I am always willing to hear them.” Emphasize his importance; show affection. These had become tried and true methods of ensuring his obedience.

Denji felt his lips stretch into a smile despite himself. Makima, concerned about him. Awesome.

She saw the joy on his face and knew that she had him right where she wanted him to be. “So, Denji, about what you said to me the other day...” He flinched at the sudden change in topic and didn’t speak. She left him in that moment for a bit, timing it with the ticks of the clock behind her and watching as he scrunched more and more in on himself. She enjoyed it, she found, how just a few words from her seemed to be the deciding factor in how he felt for the rest of the day. And in how he would be spending his nights.

Though even the best things had to come to an end eventually, and it was just as Denji looked like he was about to try sprinting away, did she decide that the moment had run its course. “It’s just that I’d like you to know that I felt the same way.”

“Huh?”

“You told me yesterday that you loved me.” His mouth opened and closed, opened and closed, as if chewing her words would make them go down easier. “I’m saying that I feel the same way.”

“Huh?”

She braced her elbow against her desk and cradled her head in her open hand, giving a bemused smile. “I like you, Denji.”

“You... like me?” He whipped his head behind him, wondering if there was some other Denji standing just behind him.

“I do Denji,” She leaned forward over her desk, pointing a finger and winking at him. “Do you feel the same way?”

Denji nearly tripped on his way to her, slamming both palms down on her desk and looking her in the eye with more joy on his face than she recalls ever seeing from him. She found it...

“f*ck yes I do!” He nodded his head frantically. “A million—no, a billion times yes!” The heart in his chest beat almost painfully against his ribs and that aching was enough to bring him down slightly from his euphoria and ask a new question that entered his mind. “But...” He mulled over how to say it, how not to risk angering her with his question. But the walk back to Aki’s place hurt a lot and he needed to know. “Why didn’t you tell me this yesterday?”

“Well,” She tilted her head and tapped her cheek. She would’ve liked to avoid this question if she could. “I admit I was surprised.” She looked down slightly, long lashes shrouding her eyes from him to give the impression of bashfulness, but no color came to her cheeks. The ache in his chest grew at the sight.

Denji thinks that Makima might’ve broken the cuteness scale for him. He could only hope it would never be repaired. “It’s all good Miss Makima!” He reassured her, leaning in closer.

“I’m glad that you're so understanding.” Inches from his face now, she could hear the rapid thud of his heart. Her smile showed teeth, now. “Can you tell me how you feel, Denji? I’d like to hear you say it again.”

He’d say it and nothing else for the rest of his life if that's what she wanted. If that's what made her love him. “I love you. I have since I first saw you and you bought me that corndog. And you let me sit in your car. And when you fed me some of that udon, I thought it was the best tasting thing ever!” He watched as Makima relaxed back into her chair, almost as if unfurling. Him saying those things made her do that. “I love you, Miss Makima.”

She rested her arms in her lap, enjoying how easily the things she wanted came with him. ‘Ask and you shall receive,’ she thought with dim humor. “That makes me happy.”

Denji took in the serenity of her expression, how when she sighed her breath blew gently with the wind and took his away with her. He did love her, totally and completely, of this he was certain. “It makes me happy too.”

She hummed, lips and eyes closed and relaxed into no expression in particular.

“So, like,” Denji started, tongue flexing against the back of his teeth for a moment. “Does this make me your boyfriend?”

She opened her eyes and looked at him, brow crinkled in amusem*nt. “I don't know, does that make me your girlfriend Denji?”

Makima, his girlfriend. Denji, her boyfriend. He wasn't sure if he had ever wanted anything more. He nodded his head; a slow, exaggerated movement that had his mop of hair flowing with the motion.

The total adoration he was showing her made her want to reward him. But give a dog too many treats, and you threaten to spoil them. And she has had her fill for now.

‘I think that will be enough for today.” She said as she reorganized the papers that had been disturbed when Denji slammed his hand down on the desk.

“Huh?” It was over? Just like that?

“Will you be needing a ride home Denji?” She looked up at him.

“Y-yeah, I will.” Maybe this was just how boyfriends and girlfriends were. It’s not like he would know.

She reached for the landline at the corner of her desk. “Alright then, I’ll give Hayakawa a call and-”

“Um, Miss Makima, I was actually wondering if you’d be cool with giving me a ride?” He figured since this meeting had gone so differently from what he had expected that maybe it could end differently as well.

Her hand hovered over the phone.. “Y-you know, if that's cool with you...”

Give a dog too many treats, and you threaten to spoil them. She knew this.

She watched in silence as he hunched further and further in on himself, trying to make himself smaller, if only subconsciously. She thinks he must have learned to do this during his time under the Yakuza.

“Would you like me to give you a ride home, Denji?” She rested her head in the heel of her palm, fingers covering her lips.

He nodded his head.

She was silent for another few moments. “Okay Denji,” He smiled, big and wide, and she winked. “I just need to finish up a few last things and I can take you home. You're alright with waiting a few minutes, right?”

Denji threw up a peace sign and nodded. “Hell yeah I can!”

---------------

A few minutes and a ‘last few things’ turned into two hours of Denji loafing around Makima’s office, waiting for her to finish her paperwork. At first he tried waiting patiently, figuring that's what she wanted. But he grew bored quickly and took to rifling through her bookcase, trying to make certain that he couldn't read any of the titles. It was only when he took a bunch out at one time and began putting them back randomly that Makima scolded him.

“No Denji, they go by color.”

He could have sworn she hadn't once looked up from her desk since he had begun, but regardless he made sure to do as she said and put them back in their proper place.

After that he stood in the center of the room and tried to get Makima’s attention without making it seem like he wanted to get her attention.

He stretched and gave a full-bodied yawn. She hummed and circled something on the form she had.

He smacked his lip and held his arms fully out before swinging them into a clap, once in front of him and once behind him.

Makima held a hand to her mouth and tapped her cheek, in thought.

He considered for a moment going back to the bookshelf, taking a bunch of books out then putting them back as wrong as he could since that seemed to get her attention last time. But Makima had already told him off once for that and she might get upset with him if he went and immediately did it again.

He started hopping in place, pushing himself into the air with the tips of his feet and landing on them flat, ensuring it was as noisy as possible. Makima clicked the tip of her pen, once, twice, and before she knew it, she was clicking it in time with Denji’s jumps.

‘Okay then.’

“Is there something you need, Denji?”

“Oh!” He hadn’t really expected that to work, and he was only just now realizing that he hadn't thought of what to do beyond getting her attention. His eyes flew across the room, thinking that there must be something in her office worth talking about. Instead, this only served to bring to his attention just how sparse the space was. He never really took in the environment beyond the desk and the one who toiled over it. But now that he was really looking...

“Wow Miss Makima, this place is kinda empty.” The entire right wall was immaculately clean but completely bare. No paintings of any kind hung from the walls, there were no plants. The only things in her office were her desk, a filing cabinet that stood to the wall directly behind it, and the bookshelves that lined the left wall. This was all illuminated by harsh fluorescents that gave an unpleasant buzz when no other sound was present. “It’s...” This was the place Makima spent every day of her life. Denji was pretty sure there were prison cells with more personality. “It’s kinda sad, isn’t it?” The word felt wrong when describing anything to do with Makima but what’s what he felt. The place just didn’t seem nearly cool enough to represent whom it belonged to.

Makima was silent for a moment, twirling her pen in her hand. Her face was blank of emotion and her eyes were hooded. Then a smile came, bleak and clinical. “I was unaware that you had found the time to become an interior decorator, Denji.”

Denji flinched at her tone, colder than it had been when they first met and she had told him that bad dogs get put down. She had said that he would die if he didn’t do what she wanted. He didn't like to remember that.

“Well, it’s just that,” he floundered. “You must be loaded right? I mean—what you do is super important isn't it? So like, maybe you could buy one of those big TVs they have and set it up in here and you can watch something while you work?” Her lips were flat at his words, but he pressed on. “Y’know I’ve been watching this one show while eating breakfast; it’s like where there are these four guys and two chicks who dress in these funny outfits and kick a monster's ass every episode.” The way she was looking at him made him feel small and stupid, and he hated himself for feeling that way. He looked down and his voice was weak as he continued. “And yeah, I-I just think it's pretty cool. I think Power does too, but she won't admit it,” a timid smile stretched his lips. “I can show what channel it's on sometime, if you want.”

Makima had folded her hands over her mouth at some point when he was talking. “A workspace is designed to have work done in it. Many meetings are held here. If I had a television blaring in the corner while I were debriefing those who served under me, it would undermine my authority. That simply cannot happen Denji, do you understand?”

He nodded and his cheeks were burning; the horrid shame from yesterday creeping back into him.

She sighed and decided that she’d had enough for tonight. She didn’t want to have to listen to what Denji thought her office should be and about what shows he thought she should watch. That isn’t why she had kept him here. “I think it's time we get you home, Denji. The sun is going down and I still have a lot of work to get done.”

Denji’s shoulders slumped more and more as she spoke, and he wasn't looking at her as he replied. He hadn’t thought that the way her office looked was maybe on purpose. “Okay, Miss Makima. If that’s what you want.”

She stood up from the desk for the first time in several hours. She did not stretch or yawn as she got up and Denji didn’t think anything of it. “I keep my car in a reserved spot on the first floor of the underground parking complex, so it shouldn't be too much of a walk.” She moved past him and opened the door, grabbing her jacket and gesturing for him to follow before walking ahead.

He started following behind her and at first hoped that she would ask him to walk beside her, but she never did, and he couldn’t gather the nerves to do it himself. ‘Maybe this is just how couples walked with each other,’ he thought as they made their way to the elevator that would take them underground. It’s not like he would know.

---------------

Denji opened the passenger side door of Makima’s car and noticed immediately that the interior was in the same vein as her place of work, though under no circ*mstances would he be bringing this up to her. Smooth brown leather stretched over the seats and the steering wheel and the ceiling; Denji taking two of his fingers and swiping along the roof to confirm this. Two cup holders that had never been used and a console with buttons and knobs he had a strange urge to fiddle with were what separated his and Makima’s seats. It was almost aggressively corporate and utilitarian.

Except for...

“Do you have a dog, Miss Makima?” In the back of the car on the floor lay a thick rope, knotted into segments and individual strands myriad in color. Split ends crusted with saliva and chew marks covered the toy like scars. Except the damage, it looked much like one he had tried to steal for Pochita back when he was eleven or so and had gotten chased out by the store owner.

“Hmm,” Makima was readjusting her rear-view mirror (The car was hers, but she was rarely the one to actually drive it.) and had to turn her head back to see what he was looking at. “Oh, I must have forgotten to bring that in when I took them to the dog park this morning.” Genuine surprise flashed in her eyes for a moment, forgetting things was not something she made a habit of. She had gotten back to the apartment at around midnight. Keeping the lights off for she did not need it to see, and walking into the living room and seeing all eight of her dogs laying on top of each other, oblivious to their master's return.

She had stood there, in the dark, watching them kick in their sleep and snort. She remembered having the thought that it wouldn't make any difference; her being here or not. They’d still be there, sleeping soundly regardless. She never had to come back here. She could make one of the other tenants come in each morning and night and have them fill their bowls for her and maybe open the door to the patio so they could step outside for a bit. It wouldn’t make a difference who did it.

She walked over to the light switch and flicked it on, watching as they stirred and groaned. She called for them to come and struggled to describe the sensation that overcame her as they all shot up and charged at her, a stampede of fur and wagging tails and tongues sticking out; all jumping up at her, loving her and each other. She asked them if they wanted to go for a walk and they got even noisier.

It was like a ball of sun, in her chest and in her head.

The dogs were ultimately a substitute for something much greater, something she’d been chasing for decades. They were a placeholder that, since she never spoke of and no one knew about, could ultimately be disposed of easily if the need arose. Until now. ‘And if a mere placeholder could bring me to such highs,’ she couldn’t imagine the sensation that would overcome her when she finally got the real thing.

“So, you do?” Was Makima a dog person? He wondered if he could talk to her about Pochita. Power was stupid and didn't get it when he talked about his buddy but maybe Makima would.

“Yes, eight to be exact,” She began, a hint of terseness in her tone. It grated on her, revealing something that hadn’t carefully planned ahead of time. She considered lying and thought he may go along with it, but it would form a crack in the persona she’d built of herself in his mind. She couldn’t have that.

She rolled out of her parking space and down towards the exit. Her expression is frank and she speaks without inflection, as if this were an official debriefing on the matter. But like a leaking ship at sea, the more she spoke the more slipped out; names came and the details would follow; the intricacies in the little life she had scraped together with those dogs, her whole world found in their antics. “Their names are Tiramisu—she’s the leader of them all. Creampuff and Custard, who are siblings and always roughhousing. Mousse, who is my newest and on a wet food only diet right now. Pistachio likes to think she’s the leader but has been put in her place too many times by Tiramisu for any of the others to buy it. Cocoa, Cookie, and Caramel are all from the same litter and refuse to go anywhere without each other.”

She came to a stop at the security booth that guarded the garage from the streets they needed to get onto and rolled down her window. The booth's window slid open and there stood a gray-haired man in its frame. Makima reached into the inner pocket of her overcoat and procured an identification badge, showing it to the man. He nodded without looking at it and pressed a button to bring up the black and yellow striped partitioner that blocked them and she pulled out onto the street.

During this entire transaction, she did not at any point pause in telling Denji about the dogs she kept. About the urinary tract infection Mousse had when Makima first got him. Or when Tiramisu and Pistachio fought to see who got to be the leader, Makima transcribing to him what they said to each other; barks and growls and yaps became a sophisticated discourse when coming from her lips.

And throughout all this, not once did Denji stop thinking that Makima was the cutest girl ever.

-----------------------

They pulled up to the curb of the road that lay beside Aki’s apartment. Makima continued to talk about her dogs as they drove, headlights from cars going the other way bathed her features in harsh fluorescence, framing the beauty he knew was there but had turned into only a suggestion by the darkness surrounding them into moments of almost painful clarity. Denji didn't have the courage to try and butt in about Pochita and so simply listened and watched her instead, noting that she was just as careful a driver as Aki was.

It was nearing nine in the evening as Denji pushed open the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

“Thanks for the lift, Miss Makima.” He held the passenger door open and leaned slightly inside, his hair brushing against the leather ceiling.

“Of course, Denji,” She kept her hands on the wheel and checked out her side view mirror for incoming cars. “I wouldn’t be a very good girlfriend, leaving you stranded, would I?” Though her gaze seemed idle, in her mind ran every word exchanged between the two, every gesture and expression shown, trying to find out where she went wrong. Give a dog too many treats, and you threaten to spoil them. She knew that.

She felt like a fool. Like Denji was making one of her.

He shivered at that, the reality present in those words caressed his cheek and made him smile, almost child-like in its glee. “I liked hearing you talk about your dogs. It’d be cool if I could meet them someday.” Makima didn’t respond, eyes far off into the darkness falling around them and he noticed her knuckles suddenly white around the steering wheel. Was she upset about something? The idea that anything could truly bother the enigmatic woman was a foreign one.

He found he didn’t like it.

He slowly closed the door before walking around the car to her sides’ window. He knocked on it lightly and waited for Makima to roll it down. Insects were buzzing and the smell of exhaust reached his nostrils, making him cringe. Was he really about to do this?

Makima’s eyes showed confusion as she leaned her head out of the now open window. “Is there something else you needed Denji? I really do need to get back to work, you know.” She hadn’t yet caught up with last night’s work and would have to stay an extra hour or two to catch up, and the pile would only grow the longer she spent humoring him. The dogs needed to be fed.

Her thoughts were cut short when Denji leaned in through the window and wrapped her in a hug, or as much of a hug as he could give, only having access to her head and shoulders. She went deathly still. His arms folded around her head and his cheek grazed the crimson locks of hair atop her head. The position pulled at something painful in his neck, but he held the position.

“You know, Miss Makima,” he began, feeling her breathing through her nose and into his forearm. He loosened his hold slightly, scared of hurting her and wanting to give her room to get out of his hold, if she wanted. “Remember when I told you about Pochita and you said that he was still alive inside me?” She gave no response and he continued. “Well, before then, I thought he had died. I thought we both did, but then I got to live because he became my heart.” Would Pochita be happy, if they could talk right now? Would he be satisfied with the life he was living? He buried himself in Makima’s hair and took a deep breath, the warm-sweet smell he cannot name washing over him. “I thought he had died, and it was the worst day of my life.”

Makima sat there, unblinking behind Denji’s arm which covered her eyes. She bit back the urge to correct him on Chainsaw Man’s name just as she had the other few times he had brought her idol up.

‘He’s warm,’ she thought, ‘and he smells like dog.’ She did not give him permission to touch her like this. She could easily rip both his arms off if she wanted, grab them at their sockets and pull. She may not have access to her chains with him but all she had to do was point her finger and say one little word and this could all be over; she could blast him into pieces so small they could never be put back together again. She could do this whenever she felt like it. It would be easy to frame someone like Power for his death, she held enough violent tendencies for most to not look deeper. She still had control.

But if she did do that, who else was going to hold her like this? Chainsaw Man was her heaven, but heaven was the distance, not the place; and for as long as Denji held her like this, that distance stood both near yet unfathomable in reach.

When she was much younger and less aware of her position in the world, she would sometimes command people to put their arms around her, to try and capture the warmth she saw in the eyes of children wrapped up in the arms of their parents. But it never worked out like she wanted. She’d tell them to wrap her in their arms and that's exactly what they did, but it was stiff, and rigid. She would bury her head in their chest or shoulder to try and escape it but eventually she would look up and see the nothing in their eyes. That glassy, faraway look that came to everyone whom she dominated until their minds were cleaned out entirely, stripped of all but what she wanted to see there.

She relaxed against his hold, and he tightened it slightly before continuing. “Even after I killed all those yakuza assholes and that devil they made a contract with, it didn’t really make me feel better. I mean, Pochita was still gone, and I had no idea what I was supposed to do next. But then you showed up. You were the first person to ever hug me. You held me like I’d sometimes hold Pochita when I couldn’t stop coughing up blood or when I screwed up killing a devil and got hurt.” Makima felt him smile against her forehead, nose burrowed in her hair. He breathed through his nose and it tickled her scalp, making her eyebrows twitch at the unfamiliar sensation.

“But then you showed up. You took the crap sandwich I’d been eating my entire life out of my hands and bought me a corndog instead.” Denji’s heart thumped against the back of her skull, deep and calm. “Because of you, I get to live the life that me an’ Pochita could only dream of.” An immense heat reached his cheeks and his stomach felt like it was rolling itself into the tightest ball it could. He found it felt surprisingly good. “I love you, Makima.”

She stiffened into stone at that, and Denji reluctantly pulled away from her in confusion and concern.

Makima. Not Miss Makima; just Makima. It had been decades since anyone had tried to break past the shield of cordiality that title gave, the polite distance found within it had been invaluable in establishing her authority and maintaining it. She wasn’t going to let him take this from her too.

“You shouldn’t call me that. Call me Miss Makima.” Her smile was like bleach spreading across her face, lips slowly stretching more and more, trying to find the right place to stop it.

Denji stepped back at the sharpness of her tone, at the subtle wrongness in her smile. He did not understand what he did wrong and even less so how to fix it. “W-why not?”

“It may give people the wrong impression of us if they heard you say my name with no title attached.”

Wrong impression? “Do boyfriends not call their girlfriends by their names?” He felt a sudden flush of embarrassment at how much he was screwing this up. ‘And things had been going so well...’

“Not when they don't want them to.”

“Oh,” his shoulders dropped and he hunched in on himself, looking like a beggar in the darkness surrounding them. “My bad Miss Makima, I guess I’m not too good at this thing yet.”

She hummed and her almost-grin shrunk to a pleasant curve of her lips. She felt all was right in the world again; in her. “That’s okay Denji, there's still time for you to learn.” She winked, as if confiding a secret to him. Emphasize his importance; show affection.

He looked down at his feet. “Yep, there sure is.” He just wished he’d learned it before making the mistake with Makima of all people.

“I’m glad you agree. Denji.” She was almost through with him but had one more shackle she wanted to see him clasped with. “Oh, and one more thing before I go.”

“What is it?”

“We shouldn’t let anybody know about what we’re doing.”

“...Is this another thing boyfriends do for their girlfriends?”

She nodded her head at him. “You're a quick learner, that's good.”

She watched him standing there, trying to look smaller than she had ever seen him try to before. It didn’t feel as good as she had hoped. She thrust a hand out of her window and beckoned him closer.

He took short, shuffling steps back up to her.

Before he could ask her what she needed, she took that same hand and caressed his cheek. “I’m really glad we could spend this time together, Denji.” She stroked his temple with her thumb and he leaned into the touch, shivering. “Have a good night.” She patted his cheek before pulling away.

And with that, he stepped away from the car and she put it into drive, giving him no further acknowledgement as she drove away. He stood there, unable to move until the roar of the engine was no longer heard. Then, he placed a hand on the same cheek she had, trying to recreate the feeling of it. But his hand was rough and calloused while hers was soft and warm and beautiful. He would do anything to feel it again.

-------------------

Denji sought out a comfortable position amongst bath towels and ratty blankets, a task that grew harder every passing night that Power spent on the pile and she would kick at the walls in her sleep, bits of plaster mixing in with fabrics and scratching at his skin as he tried to adjust himself. He was half tempted to pick a fight with Power and make her sleep in the mess she made, but she was already snoring, and a Power awoken before she was ready was someone Denji never wanted to have to deal with again if he could help it.

The events of that day tore through him again and again. Makima said she liked him. Makima drove him home. He had hugged Makima. Makima touched his cheek; she had done so before but this time felt different, though he couldn't place why. He was Makima’s boyfriend now. That last one gave him pause.

He was Makima’s boyfriend now, but what does that really mean? Were they going to have sex? Boyfriends had sex with their girlfriends, right? The thought of him and Makima together like that was hardly a new one, but it felt realer somehow—no longer the product of late-night fantasy and all too suddenly his new reality—and it had him burying his head into old blankets, seeking to smother the sensations building up inside him before he exploded.

Boyfriends did things for their girlfriends; not just have sex with them—he didn’t need Makima to tell him that. There was a word in the back of his mind, once dim and blurry, but beginning to clear as the night wore on.

A date. Boyfriends took their girlfriends out on dates to do the things they enjoyed. That's what he had been missing. That may have even been why she didn’t want anyone to know about them! Who would want people knowing they were with someone who never took them out on dates? But therein lay a problem. What did Makima really like?

He knew she liked dogs, but she already had eight of them so he wasn’t sure giving her a ninth would have much of an impact. He wanted it to be special. He just had to find out what she really liked.

With a plan forming in his mind, Denji finally drifted off to sleep, flakes of drywall salting his hair as he dreamed, deep and peaceful.

Outside, perched on the powerline running along the building opposite theirs, a crow sat watching.