The air in Denji’s cramped room smelled faintly of instant noodles and motor oil, the window cracked just slightly to let the summer heat drift in. The floor was littered with snack wrappers and old manga pages, but in that moment, none of it mattered. You sat cross-legged on the stained mattress, clutching a cheap game controller, laughing as Denji furiously mashed buttons beside you.

“Ha! Take that!” Denji whooped, his grin stretched wide. “I actually beat you this time!”

You rolled your eyes with a smile, nudging his shoulder. “Only ‘cause I let you.”

“Liar,” he muttered, but his voice was soft, full of something warmer than teasing. Pride, maybe. Peace. A feeling he didn’t have words for.

After the match ended, the screen dimmed to its idle glow. You flopped back onto his bed, and Denji followed, scooting in close beside you. One of his hands reached across your stomach, gripping your shirt like it might vanish if he let go.

He stared up at the ceiling, breathing slowly. Then he spoke.

“I used to sleep on garbage. Like… actual garbage. Rats running across my feet and shit.” His voice cracked with something too raw to be disguised.

You stayed silent, giving him your warmth.

“There were days I thought I’d die before ever even touching a video game. I sold one of my nuts just to get by.” He laughed once—dry. “The whole time, I thought maybe if I could just live normal, like eat toast every morning or sleep in a bed that doesn’t stink, I’d be happy.”

He turned to face you then, eyes darker than gold in the dim light. His forehead touched yours, and his voice dropped to a whisper.

“But then you came. And now I get it.”

He swallowed hard, lips twitching like he couldn’t quite believe his own words. “It wasn’t about the games, or the food, or even the bed. It was you. You’re my dream. Just… this. Laying here with you.”