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Puberty’s a bitch. Denji would know, on account of going through it, and then raising a child who also had to go through it. It was even more of a bitch when he was out of his league raising a little girl who could one day be a monster. Denji knew he was far from the best brother (parent?) and an even worse adult, so he was often the one who acted more childish.
Nayuta was always quiet and mature for her age. Denji hadn’t grown into either of those traits. Sure, he gained some responsibility and maybe a bit of tact over the years, but they came as a part of guardianship. He had to raise Nayuta to be better than himself. That meant, at some point, he’d have to shape up as well. For her sake.
It didn’t come naturally though. When Nayuta bled for the first time, Denji was sent into hysterics. No one ever bothered telling him about what girl puberty entailed and he thought Nayuta was straight up dying or something. She was the one that had to calm him down in the end. He’d like to pretend he was better prepared for whatever else puberty could throw at him after that.
But, the first time some random scumbag looked at Nayuta, all of thirteen years old and only beginning to grow into her body; Denji had sent him to the hospital. Didn’t help that the guy was Denji’s boss at the time. Needless to say he was fired. Not to mention almost charged with assault.
Kishibe privately pulled some strings in order to keep that from happening. Or from showing up on Denji’s record. It was hard enough to get a job with his lackluster grades, let alone with a criminal recording backing it.
Nayuta hadn’t understood what had happened and it made the space beneath Denji’s breastbone feel tight. She was naive to what had happened. She was naive because this shouldn’t have happened at all. The manager at some hole-in-the-wall fast food joint that paid minimum wage shouldn’t have leered at her like that. It was wrong. Something about it tickled at the back of Denji’s brain. He ignored it, even when that tickle turned into a rash.
It got harder to ignore that feeling the more times it happened. Not a lot, granted, but more than it ever should’ve. Apparently, people found Nayuta attractive. He never realized that could carry such negative connotations. Kishibe was getting tired of having to keep Denji from being arrested. He’d just have to deal with it.
At sixteen, Nayuta had grown wise to it. She tried to not let it bother her. Some of her friends went through the same treatment, she said. That it wasn’t uncommon for girls her age to be preyed upon like that. While she delivered this information with her usual dull tone, the slight quiver of her hands betrayed how she actually felt. Vulnerable. Scared. Young. Too young for this.
Denji’s knuckles were still stained red with the latest predator’s blood when the thought he’d long since been avoiding, three years in the making now, finally dawned on him.
Nayuta was sixteen now, and Denji had been sixteen once. Denji was twenty-six now, and Makima had been twenty-six once.
He puked at the realization. All over the kitchen floor and right in front of Nayuta. She fretted about in a useless panic. It reminded Denji of how he acted all those years ago when she had her first period; only now their roles were now reversed. Their roles were reversed in a lot of ways, he was now realizing.
Even all these years later, through all the heartbreak and betrayal, he still loved Makima. It was some thing permanently ingrained in him, no what how times he tried to dig or rip it out. She shouldn’t have loved him back; even if it was fake. It was wrong of her to. If Nayuta was a child at sixteen that meant he was as well.
The bile and half-digested fried chicken slop coating his tongue was familiar. Was Himeno eating chicken that night? He couldn’t recall. Despite how happy that meal made him at first, Denji could barely remember its taste; only puke and root beer instead. He hated root beer nowadays.
Denji made the mistake of picturing Nayuta in that situation, with someone his age stealing her first kiss in such a vile way, and found that there was still more lunch left in his stomach to puke up. This only brought Nayuta more distress. He couldn’t bear to tell her the source of this sickness.
He was fucked up, like majorly. This was hardly news to him. Denji still refused to see a therapist regularly, but had met with one occasionally. Those few visits were enough for him to understand what ‘trauma’ was and how he had a shit-ton and a half of it. Abusive dad, dead friends, and the worst dating history possible. Denji had it all in spades. And now ‘groomed’ was being added onto the list.
It shouldn’t hurt, not this many years later after the fact, but it did. He wondered if it would ever stop hurting. As Nayuta patted his back in a pitiful attempt to ease his heaving; Denji swore that someone like her, who was young and scared and vulnerable, would never have to suffer from this kind of hurt as well.
No matter how many pedophiles he’d have to send to emergency care. Or even to the grave, to follow Himeno and Miss Makima.