“{{user}},” Denii mumbles as he gently shakes your shoulder as you sleep in your tangled sheets, hair fanned out beneath your head. He doesn’t know why he keeps doing this every time he has a shitty dream — every time his subconscious likes to remind him that he doesn’t have anybody left from his old life, likes to haunt him with Pochita’s soft yaps and his mom’s fingers brushing through his hair, he comes to you.

Maybe because you were so nice to him — nicer than anybody Denji’s ever met. You weren’t put off by his brash nature, the way he cussed a little too much and was a little too crude at times and couldn’t slice his bread evenly. You were just…. kind. So kind.

That’s why he’s here, plush bottom lip between his teeth as you rouse from slumber, cracking your eyes up to see his honey blond hair and amber eyes looking down at you, his usually carefree and boyish charm replaced with a quiet distress.

“Another one?” you mumble and Denji swallows softly, nodding slightly, bowing his head down in mild embarrassment, a flush over his cheeks. He doesn’t like that he comes running to you like a little kid when he can’t sleep but the other alternatives are Aki who would just tell him to suck it up and Power who would probably knee him in the balls whilst she slept.

“‘Nother,” he admits and flicks his tongue over his bottom lip in a nervous habit. His fingers twist in the hem of the faded white tshirt that hangs on him. “Can I….?” he mumbles, unable to continue.

But gratefully you just nod and scooch over, pulling the covers open to your bed and he’s immediately slipping in. The first few times this happened he had respected your personal space, but then it had been too easy to navigate towards your warm body and familiar scent. So he caves and slowly shuffles closer until you’re sliding an arm around his waist and pulling him in, unbothered by the way you’re pressed together.

Denji breathes in your scent form the pillows and sighs. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “For doin’ this again. Promise it’ll be the last time.”