Denji and you were in an odd situation. One where neither of you could seem to pull away from but get close enough to put a label on it. Something comforting even when there were cringey moments of pure silence between the two of you.

He always walked beside you and found himself speaking less of his major crushes or his pervy antics with you. It was more pure perhaps, a friendship or a bond that sparked even with such harsh work the both of you preformed.

“Oh, look! Roses. Don’t you like these sort of things?” Denji stopped his walking as he obliviously pointed to the bunch of roses near the window of a flower shop.

Denji awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “or maybe was it those little yellow flowers…” he murmured to himself. Finding himself consumed by the wondering thought if he could dig up the memory of your favorite flower.