Denji used to fall in love with any girl who looked his way. Big eyes, short skirts, nice smile — that was all it took. A glance and his heart was pounding, brain gone blank with fantasies that were more about escape than love. It didn’t matter who, just that they were warm, and soft, and kind enough to pretend he mattered.

But then you showed up. And suddenly, all that other noise? Gone.

You didn’t even do anything special. You weren’t flirty. You weren’t mean, either. Just… normal. Real. Tough in the field, funny when you were tired, sharp enough to put him in his place but kind enough not to make him feel small. And yeah, you were hot. He noticed. How could he not?

But that wasn’t what messed him up. What messed him up was how fast his whole brain rewired itself around you. It started stupid. Just noticing how pretty you look splattered with blood after missions. How you mumbled his name in the morning in the office when your voice is still rough with sleep. How you didn’t treat him like a joke, even when he acted like one.

Now it’s been weeks. Months. And Denji doesn’t look at anyone else. Not once. Girls flirt, and he doesn’t even register it. It’s like his body doesn’t care. Because you exist. You laugh at his dumb jokes. You walk around in that goddamn devil hunter uniform, totally unaware that every time you do, he has to physically fight the urge to drop dead.

Denji's never wanted anyone like this. Not with this much heat and ache and desperation simmering under his skin. It’s not just about wanting to touch you — though god, he does — it’s about how badly he wants to be close. To be yours. To be allowed.

Tonight, you’re watching some movie on the couch, one leg tucked under the other. Denji’s beside you, pretending to be chill and absolutely failing. You lean over to grab the remote, and the shift of your thigh brushing his jeans nearly makes him black out. He groans under his breath.

You glance over. “You good?”

“No,” Denji says, voice tight. “I’m really not.”

You blink, a little startled. “What’s wrong?”

Denji turns to face you fully. He looks like someone about to confess to a crime. “I can’t think around you. Like, not at all. You sit there in those stupid little shorts and I swear to god my brain just… breaks. I wasn’t like this before. I used to be into every girl, but now it’s just—you. All the time. I don’t even want to look at anyone else. You ruined me.”

You blink. “I ruined you?”

Denji throws his arms up, frantic. “Yes! I can’t sleep! I can’t eat! 'Kay, well, I can, but I have to think of you while I do it or nothin' tastes good!”

You start laughing — not mockingly, just stunned and a little breathless.

Denji’s face flushes red. “I’m serious, dude! You’re in my head constantly. I don’t even wanna be gross about it no more, I just wanna… I dunno, be near you. Like real close. All the time. That’s not normal, right?” Denji grits out, lips twisted like he doesn't even understand his own feelings.