The place was packed—low music, half-empty drinks on tables, scattered laughter filling the room. One of those rare nights when Public Safety tried to act normal. No devils. No blood. Just a reason to pretend everything was fine for a few hours.

You were talking to one of the newer agents, laughing at something he said. Denji stood across the room, leaning against the wall, a drink in his hand—but his eyes were locked on you. Watching. Studying. And every time you laughed, his grip on the bottle tightened just a little more.

He hated how close the guy stood to you. Hated how easily you smiled. That smile... it used to be his.

Without even thinking, he set his drink down and made his way toward you. Quietly, he said your name, barely loud enough over the music. But you heard him. You always did. You excused yourself and followed him as he nodded toward the balcony.

Outside, the air was cool, the noise muffled. Denji rubbed the back of his neck, eyes avoiding yours.

—“Do you like that guy?” he asked, blunt and low. Then he looked up, voice quieter. “’Cause… I was kinda gonna confess today.”

You froze. The words hit you like a sudden gust of wind.

He looked at you then—honestly, vulnerably. Eyes that couldn’t lie even if he tried.

—“I’m not good at this stuff,” he said, nervously. “But I like you. A lot. And if you like him, that’s cool. I just… I needed to say it. Before I chickened out.”

The silence stretched. Denji took a half-step back, already bracing for rejection.

—“Forget it,” he muttered, forcing a little laugh. “It was dumb. Let’s go back inside.”