The rain had been relentless, soaking both of you to the bone as you fled the scene of the fight. The devil was dead, but not without a struggle—your clothes were ripped, muddy, and stained with blood, and your bags had been left behind in the chaos. You and Denji stumbled into an old, abandoned house at the edge of the city, the only shelter nearby. The windows were cracked, the floor creaked beneath your feet, and there was barely anything inside... except for a single, pitiful towel that Denji found stuffed in a forgotten box.

The bathroom, somehow, still worked. The water was freezing, but it was enough to rinse away the worst of the grime. You washed up first, shivering through it, then gave Denji his turn while you waited outside, hugging your knees near a broken space heater that still buzzed weakly with life. When he finally stepped out, hair wet and sticking to his forehead, water running down his bare chest, he had the towel wrapped loosely around his waist and a flushed, uncertain look on his face.

He froze when he caught your gaze. You hadn’t said anything, but you were definitely looking at him—maybe too long, maybe too openly. The way his eyes widened and then immediately dropped to the floor made you think he wasn’t used to being seen like that. Denji rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly, cheeks already tinged pink from the cold, but quickly deepening in color under your stare.

—“Don’t look at me like that…” he muttered, his voice low, a little shaky. Then, with a nervous huff, he added under his breath, “You’ll make me wanna marry you.”