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1. sight
Nayuta is always watching.
Perhaps thanks to the echoes of her past life, her eyes are able to pick up on the subtlest of details. The circles in her irises aren’t just the warning of her undying devil core, but a reminder that whatever she lays her eyes on could instantly become a target.
And because, ultimately, life is but a cycle.
Everyone around her is very tall and serious. They speak chaotically. Her eyes flicker through dark fabric and erratic steps. She’s always dragged around by her wrists. She hates it.
She ends up pointing at whoever pisses her off, and it doesn’t turn out well.
People become afraid of her.
Men wearing black suits are usually mean to her. But there’s this one—older than the rest, with a long scar on his face and who smells dreadfully stale and barely talks to her—that acts differently. When he orders her to follow him, he doesn’t yank her wrist at all.
He’s still dressed in black, but he gives her the tastiest food of her short life, so she doesn’t mind. Black isn’t that bad of a colour anyway.
His apartment is small and plain. There are no toys, everything looks grey, and it smells rancid. Nayuta wonders if it’s possible to live in this kind of place.
“Who are you?”
“Not that you need to know. But name’s Kishibe.”
He doesn’t sound like he’s keen to talk. Nayuta isn’t, either, so that’s reassuring.
A knock on the door alerts both of them. Kishibe walks with languid steps and peeks a glance through the gap.
He groans, and it swings open.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
“But I wanted to meet her. And you owed me one.”
“Yeah, I already thanked you. Don’t let it get to your head, kid.”
Someone slowly comes in—Another man wearing a black suit.
Nayuta knits her brows and stays wary. Despite being tall and dressed like the men she loathes, this one’s appearance seems way too young compared to the rest. His face is pristine—no wrinkles, no scars, no signs of exhaustion.
He actually embodies what an older brother should look like, even to Nayuta, since he’s got raven hair as well.
He notices her beyond the entrance and stares for long seconds. The subtle smile doesn’t leave his face.
“Cute mole you got under your eye, Nayuta-chan.”
He points under his mouth, where he’s also got a mole.
Nayuta isn’t sure whether she likes him addressing her like that.
“Didn’t know you were fond of kids.”
“I love kids.”
Kishibe snorts.
“Anyway, Denji will take care of her. And you’ll take care of Denji in turn, as we discussed.”
Nayuta doesn’t know who ‘Denji’ is or what ‘take care of’ implies, but it must be something positive by the way this boy’s face brightens.
“And you?”
“I’ve got more interesting things to take care of than a bunch of brats like you all.”
It sounds like Denji is also a kid. Since Nayuta is a kid and this tall boy is a kid too, but Kishibe is an old man, it makes sense he won’t be in charge. Most old men she’s met are boring, too bossy and smell musty.
She won’t miss them.
Nayuta meets Denji the following day.
First thing she catches sight of is that he looks as if he’s about to fall asleep at any time. His mouth droops, his head is ducked, and his gaze—utterly lost. But he’s not wearing a black suit, and on top of that, he’s brought a pack of big dogs with him. Nayuta immediately likes him.
She observes him talking with Kishibe, both sitting down on a bench. Other kids at the park have approached them and are petting the dogs around.
“Woof woof!”
They bark and smile with their long mouths and eyes.
Nayuta loves them.
“Woof woof.”
It seems like her genuine attempt at barking works out because some of the dogs turn around and wag their tails cheerfully, getting closer. Nayuta takes the opportunity to stroke the back of one—its fur is very soft and she adores the smooth contact against her palms. They all stink, but she doesn’t mind.
“Hey kid, we’re havin’ a top-secret conversation here. Beat it!”
Denji has called her out and is waving her away.
She steps forward and bites his finger on instinct.
Now Denji belongs to her.
2. smell
Nayuta has learned to tell apart what Denji is cooking simply by smell.
After months of living together, she’s internalized all of Denji’s habits—how he always groans loudly when he wakes up, to immediately after scratch his head and rub his eyes. He gets dressed, splashes his face with freezing water, brushes his sharp teeth with meticulous attention.
And then, he makes breakfast while Nayuta is still cuddling the dogs.
Today, the aroma is warm and salty—miso soup with tuna riceballs and some stir-fried vegetables. They can’t aspire for more since better ingredients are far more expensive, and Denji told her that they can only treat themselves once a month.
After putting the food in the bowls and plates, he reserves some along with gyozas and eggs to put it into bentos for school.
Nayuta peeks over the countertop and notices something amiss—there’s actually only one bento.
“You’re not making yourself a bento?”
“No.”
“Won’t you starve?”
Nayuta knows Denji eats a lot, just like she does, for devils are ravenous creatures above all.
“I’ll grab something at school.”
“With what money?”
Kishibe gives them some money every month, a sort of allowance according to Denji, but he still complained that it wasn’t enough, so he still needs to take some day jobs or do street stuff he rarely tells Nayuta about. It’s true they don’t have to pay rent, but everything else is up to their own expenses.
“There’s—uhm, someone, at school,” Denji puts Nayuta’s bento in her schoolbag, averting her curious gaze, “who treats me sometimes.”
“A girl?”
Nayuta hasn’t tried anyone else’s food, but she’s sure Denji’s cooking is the best out there, so of course other girls would want to try it and give him something in turn. Judging by Denji’s endless interest in them, that would benefit both parties.
“Uh—no, no, it’s just a-- guy who follows me around.” Denji places their breakfast on the low table and sits down. Nayuta sits in front of him. “But doesn’t seem dangerous. I think he’s just lonely, like me.”
Nayuta scans his face, but he’s already started to eat, hiding behind the bowl of soup as well as displaying his hunger throug eager bites at the riceballs.
“He gives me food f’ free, so. . .” he shrugs, “wha’ever.”
Denji, in the end, is that gullible.
When Nayuta comes back home, Denji hasn’t arrived yet. Nayuta was quite punctual because she was excited to show off how she aced her Maths exam, but was only welcomed by the impatient barks of the dogs.
She takes them out for a long walk, hoping Denji will have returned by the time they’re done.
He still isn’t home by 18:30.
Nayuta lazes around, not on the mood for homework—without Denji it’s too much of a chore.
After nearly half an hour, he finally gets back.
Nayuta rushes toward the door and glares at him, questioningly. He never leaves her alone for so long.
Denji notices her irritation right away.
“Uh--Sorry, club stuff. . .” he mumbles, taking his shoes off. “I had to lend a hand around, and then I ran some errands downtown to get some cash.”
Nayuta listens, arms crossed and eyes fixed on his slightly ashamed face.
“But look,” he pulls a bill out of his pocket. “10,000 yen! We can have a feast with this money at the weekend!”
His adorable, proud grin doesn’t impress Nayuta; less helps to ease her discontent. She’s absolutely certain he’s hiding something.
“You went somewhere else without me.”
“What? No.”
That’s how he replies when he’s not being totally honest—Instant answer, no hesitation, definite negation.
Obviously, Denji isn’t good at pretending; at least not in her presence. She holds too much influence over him whether she does it consciously or not. Besides, it’s not like Nayuta doesn’t know Denji like the palm of her hand by now.
“Don’t lie,” she steps forward and scrunches her nose at his close proximity. “You smell different. You smell like. . .”
Her memory may falter but her senses never lie—It’s a faded scent from a past time. Nayuta isn’t sure if it’s from this life or a previous one, but what she can confirm is that it is not new. She believes she can hear the sound of it as well—powerful when triggered and soothing when undisturbed; a splash of water and fizz amidst a breeze that usually flies free but this time instead it chooses to linger.
Her wary eyes narrow at Denji’s ludicrous attempt to maintain his poker face. Dilated pupils, soft rosy cheeks, loud heartbeat.
And glued to his clothes, a distinct fresh briny scent he’s never exuded before.
“. . .Sea salt. You smell like sea salt.”
Did he go to the beach? Does the marine breeze stick to your clothes that seamlessly?
Denji raises his brows—a look of genuine surprise at Nayuta’s accusation. He tugs his neckline up to his nose and sniffs. His expression changes but not into one of disgust, rather into one of self-realization.
“Uhm—I think I might have sweat a bit. . . I’ll go wash.”
Denji walks past Nayuta in hurried steps while she seems to bore a hole in the back of his skull as he crosses the room.
Once he shuts the bathroom door, her face inevitably falls.
“Your sweat doesn’t smell like that. . .”
3. taste
Nayuta can’t live without the delicious taste of freshly-baked pizza.
It’s a pity they can’t afford them very often, especially the huge ones Denji brought once. How the tomato sauce melts on her tongue along the mozzarella in the right temperature, and the combination of ingredients with different textures. . . She’s never tasted a meal like that, and it’s tough to accept the fact that she can’t eat it whenever she pleases.
Well, in theory, she could. . . Humans are that easy to control after all. But she promised Denji she wouldn’t use her power for petty gluttony like that.
She would hate to see Denji being disappointed in her.
This Saturday, thanks to Denji’s recent earnings, they can treat themselves their favourite pizzas.
He told Nayuta he’d be out for a couple hours for another quick job, but what he didn’t tell her is that he would come back home with company.
Nayuta idles watching TV when she hears muffled talk on the other side of the front door. Immediately after, the lock opens and Denji steps in with someone else standing behind him.
“Hey, I’m back,” he greets; his voice is strangely softer than usual; appeasing, even. “So, uhm—I told Yoshida we were gonna have pizza for dinner and. . .”
Nayuta looks up past Denji and he sees a tall boy wearing his same black uniform.
She recognizes his raven hair, his mole, the unforgettable grin on his pale face. And along his appearance, the fresh scent of the sea.
Yoshida waves gently at her.
“Do you remember me, Nayuta-chan?”
Denji will take care of her and you will take care of Denji.
At times like this, Nayuta would kick the old man’s shin for entrusting Yoshida to such task.
“You!” she exclaims, pointing her finger right at him as the memory sinks in.
Denji frowns and turns around, stunned. “You two know each other?”
“Long story. We met at captain Kishibe’s when she brought her.”
Denji’s mouth hangs open, as if holding back more questions. He shakes his head and turns to Nayuta again.
“He offered to pay as long as I let him tag along,” he explains, back to this unnerving conciliatory tone. “So--yeah, that means we can go for it again next week!”
Behind him, Yoshida lifts his arm and shows he’s carrying a plastic bag full of what looks like pizza boxes.
“I wasn’t sure which one you’d like today, so Yoshida picked two for you.”
Nayuta might be impressed, but she tries her best not to reveal it. She keeps glaring at Yoshida as he takes off his shoes and crosses the room, leaving the pizzas on their table.
While Denji sets the drinks and napkins, Nayuta wastes no time in opening the boxes.
“Yours are the bottom two,” Yoshida points out. “But you can have mine if you want.”
Nayuta darts a quick glance at the pizzas. The ones Yoshida picked for her were actually her favourites.
She purses her lips instead. “I don’t like these.”
“Hey, Nayuta! That’s rude,” Denji swiftly reprimands her.
It’s not like she’s the only one who’s taken the habit of lying, apparently.
“Ha ha,” Yoshida chuckles, thoroughly impressed by Nayuta’s unfiltered honesty. “Kishibe was right when he said she would grow up to be a fussy eater.”
She ends up eating every single one of her slices.
Nayuta doesn’t like it when Yoshida shows up unannounced.
Not only does he come home with Denji again the following week, but also drops by a couple afternoons earlier to give her himself some treats like a meronpan, taiyaki, or even chocolates.
Which means he’s always heading back home with Denji.
Nayuta isn’t feeling jealous, just a bit. . . overprotective. Not because she minds Denji having a new friend—the reason is that Denji starts to ignore her and he gets that silly grin on his face that prior to meeting Yoshida he never showed anyone else. Now his eyes make this weird crease and his teeth flashes too often and his laugh is louder.
Nayuta can’t deny she only likes Yoshida—well, tolerates— because he’s always doting on her. He’s even brought her some candies, though she’s actively dislikes the plastic-feeling ones you have to keep chewing for minutes.
This evening, Yoshida even helped her with her History homework, something Denji struggles with even at middle-school level. After that, they have their second pizza meal together.
Denji is starving today, and gobbles up his slices in a matter of minutes. He eats so eagerly that the skin around his mouth ends up covered in tomato sauce.
Every time Nayuta’s gaze falls on Yoshida, he’s always looking at Denji with a smile on his face.
When Denji finishes up his last slice, he traces his lips with the tip of his tongue to lick off the food remains, but he still leaves a red stain on his chin.
Yoshida, still staring, leans forward and wipes the sauce off Denji’s skin, and then licks it off his finger, savouring it in his mouth with great satisfaction.
The gesture looks kind of familiar under Nayuta’s eyes.
“Hey! That’s what Nyako does when we don’t give her food.”
Denji goes stiff for a second, staring back at Yoshida, but then his shoulders relax and his gaze drifts.
“Ugh, no please—No space left for any more pets in this house.”
4. touch
Nayuta’s days always start and end with her hugging Denji.
Denji embraces her tightly, and his warmth always soothes her to sleep. His soft, steady breathing reminds her of his humanity despite bearing a devil inside. He’s more human than she’ll ever be, and still, in the dim quietness of their old shabby room, she sees him as an equal. There are more similarities than differences between her and Denji, and that somehow makes her feel like she could belong.
For months, it’s been only Nayuta, Denji, and the pets. That’s all their odd family—if anyone would even attempt to call it as such—turned out to be.
But for the past weeks, Yoshida has become a seamless addition. A new member of it, if you will. He comes over too often, almost every day; even stays till the sun sets and the moon takes over. He helps her and Denji with their homework, accompanies them for a walk with the dogs and dutifully carries their groceries.
In all those mundane moments, Nayuta keeps watching. Denji and Yoshida usually walk side by side, and they tend to walk more slowly so Nayuta is the one that usually leads the way. But when one of the dogs comes to a halt and she’s dragged alongside, they don’t pay enough attention and carry on walking forward. It’s then when her gaze flickers and lingers as she catches the faintest of touches—Yoshida brushing Denji’s arm with his, their hands barely an inch apart. She’s not sure if her vision betrays her when Yoshida’s fingers seem to entwine with Denji’s for a fleeting second.
She also notices that Denji doesn’t display his grumpy side anymore; he keeps grinning most of the time, faintly at first when nobody sees him, only to grow wider till he flashes too much teeth and it’s impossible to conceal.
For a while now, Nayuta has found it hard to imagine Denji strolling around without Yoshida by his side.
“Why is he always around you?”
Denji stops peeling the potato in his hand and looks her way.
“He?”
“You know who I’m talking about.”
He resumes his task, ducking his head.
“I told you. He’s--lonely. He doesn’t have a family. Or friends.”
Like you, Nayuta thinks. But you have me now.
Perhaps that’s why Yoshida took to Denji so easily.
Just like she did.
It’s true—Nayuta has grown quite overprotective of Denji.
Neither of them like solitude; they only have each other, and anyone else daring to shake their bond is nothing but a threat to her eyes.
Denji became somewhat intimate with a girl some time ago—Nayuta saw them kiss. She got so mad she wiped her memory about the scene, and she didn’t act further only because Denji begged her not to. He’s just that malleable by women.
But now, there’s a guy—that guy being Yoshida. There’s no threat of him taking Denji away; in fact, he might serve as a perfect lure for other girls. He is handsome because girls always turn around when they walk past him in the streets; Nayuta isn’t blind. If Yoshida keeps hanging out with Denji, all girls will only look at him, therefore never at Denji.
She assumes that out of all the possible outcomes his constant presence influences their lives, this could be the best she gets out of it.
This evening, Yoshida is actually helping Denji prepare dinner.
Nayuta’s not a fan of cooking at all, so she lets them be in charge so she can lie down in front of the TV while watching her favourite cartoons. Humans sometimes have the silliest yet most hilarious ideas to share on screen.
Behind her in the kitchen area, the sizzling hot oil and boiling water permeates through the sounds coming out of the TV speakers. Nayuta also hears them talking, but all the noises muffle their conversation.
There’s chopping on wood, stirring liquid, even some clanking metal. It becomes robotic to a point, yet pleasantly calming.
Except when after some minutes, there’s a stifled gasp followed by a wet sound, a bump onto a flat surface, a loud smack, and then the sound of a piece of cutlery falling into the sink.
Nayuta’s too immersed in the screen she doesn’t care of whatever mess they’re making.
“I’ll fucking kill you,” Denji seems to whisper.
5. hearing
Nayuta’s favourite sounds are the ones that she hears daily.
Birds singing in the early morning, rustling of leaves when it’s windy, dogs barking as she gets back home, Denji snoring softly in her hold.
She’s incorporated those sounds as an intrinsic part of her humane life. She didn’t pay much attention to them at first, but routine has made it inevitable to think of them as heartening.
She’s also learned to differentiate voices even when they’re very low or hushed. Human voices are quite distinct from a devil’s, not only regarding timbre but purpose as well. There are instances where they modulate its volume and tone to express emotions she’s vastly unaware of.
She’s mostly seen it on TV, so she wonders how much of it is an act and how much it is genuine.
It’s early evening, and after a long session of Japanese Language homework, Nayuta, Denji, and Yoshida go out for a walk with the dogs.
Nayuta can’t quite catch their conversation as they walk too slowly and the dogs are too energetic in comparison. Pulling the leash of a pack of seven huskies is quite the load for a kid her age.
Even while strolling several metres ahead of them, she still manages to grasp some hushed bits.
“. . . Idiot, not here--”
Nayuta turns but they’re nowhere to be seen. They must have fallen behind that house wall where Tiramisu nearly peed under the lamppost.
“Nobody’s around,”
“She’s—. . . right ahead--”
“. . . Shh, just a quick one,”
Two of the dogs bark because a woman with a beagle passes by. Nayuta shushes them.
“Look at your face. . . silently begging for it,”
“. . . Shut up—”
“I’m trying . . .”
Nayuta wonders what’s taking them so long. She’s gonna end up heading home without them, otherwise she’ll miss her evening cartoons.
Cream puff and Tiramisu find a snail on one side of the road and stop to ogle at it with wide eyes and drooling mouths. Nayuta crouches besides them, oddly mesmerised by the excruciating slowness of the animal.
They spend over a minute staring at it, until some faint sounds in the distance make it to her ears.
Nayuta turns on her back and sees Denji and Yoshida appearing by the corner. Denji’s face looks quite flustered, with red cheeks and swollen mouth. Nayuta remembers that at school students were warned about the upcoming blooming season, and that this week especially pollen was going to be too much of a nuisance to people suffering from allergy.
If so, Denji should wear a facemask outdoors and perhaps take some pills.
Nayuta will make sure to remind him next time.
Stretched out on the floor, about to sleep, Denji scoots close and hugs her. The dogs are already deep in slumber, and even Nyako has joined them tonight.
Denji’s T-shirt creases at the collar as he wraps his arms around her petite body, and his neckline remains visible. Nayuta spots a few dark marks scattered around the base of his neck.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
“What?”
She points at his neck. “You’ve got bruises.”
Denji’s eyes go blank for a moment, and then he swiftly pulls his T-shirt up.
“It’s not--It’s nothing—Mosquito bites.” Nayuta recalls her last Science class where the teacher told them mosquitos aren’t expected till hot summer season. “Come on, sleep. There’s still school tomorrow.”
He shifts closer and tucks her into his chest like he does every night.
Minutes of silence, but Nayuta remains restless. Something inside her, a feeling she can’t put a name to, chooses to sting.
“Are you gonna leave me?”
Denji leans back, looks her way below.
“Where does that come from? Why would I?”
“You spend too much time with that guy lately.”
“Wha--” he stutters. “You mean—Yoshida?”
Nayuta nods.
“He’s—he’s just--” he struggles to articulate a coherent, full sentence. “He’s a friend—We go to school together,” he casts a long look at her, expecting some sort of complicity. “And, uhm—you know he treats us sometimes. And he helps you with homework too. You like him, right?”
Nayuta isn’t convinced by his line of reasoning, but she has to silently agree.
“And when you get a girlfriend?” she insists. “You’re constantly musing in your sleep. . . that you wanna have sex all the time.”
Denji’s face goes red and his pupils dilate. He makes a funny face, Nayuta must admit.
“Haah—You should sleep—” he blurts out, looking away. “And stop listening to grown-up conversations.”
“You’re not a grown-up. And you were talking to yourself anyway. . .”
“Yeah right, so—don’t overhear that either.”
Nayuta pouts. She doesn’t like it when Denji tells her off when he’s definitely not in the right.
“Only if. . . if you won’t ever leave me.”
Denji inhales deeply.
“Nayuta,” he says, tone firm and determined. “You’re the most important to me.”
His embrace tightens and he leans to fit the curve of his neck over her head.
Deep inside, Nayuta knows Denji’s words are sincere.
His soft snores travel to her ears like a gentle, warm lullaby, accompanied by the steady breathing and occasional muffled growls from the dogs.
It becomes that easy to fall asleep then.
5+1. control
Nayuta always thought she would have everything under control, but even for a powerful devil like her, there are fated moments that will eventually escape her.
She hardly ever dreams, but the lack of warmth on her body pulls her out of her rather uncomfortable sleep. She opens her eyes drowsily, realizes she’s got her back arched against one of the dogs’ belly. All dogs are sleeping, but Denji is not here with them.
Their bedroom door is slightly ajar—she sees the dim flicking light coming from the living room. There are muffled noises in the background too.
Yoshida must have stayed for a movie after dinner, when Nayuta felt so full she dozed off at once. They’ve all been to the cinema a few times —tickets always paid by Yoshida— and Denji felt guilty as usual so he sometimes invited him to watch one at home at a later time.
There’s a strange blend of sounds, as if they came from two difference sources. One is more tinny, and the other is more clear, closer. Nayuta rubs her runny eye, and heads to the doorframe. Sneaking a glance, she sees Yoshida on top of Denji.
He’s hovering him while Denji’s arms are wrapped around his back, fingers digging into the arch of his spine, grasping his shirt so hard he’s left creases. His legs, bent on both sides of Yoshida, twitch and fold and unfold feebly as Yoshida moves back and forth in a rhythmic, waving motion. The TV flashes behind them—the lights and hues from a forgotten movie reflecting on the empty walls.
There are clicking sounds, like the ones you make when chewing gum. Nayuta isn’t fond of chewing gum—they stick to your teeth and once the flavour’s gone it feels like rubbing your tongue on plastic.
“Denji--”
Nayuta assumes that must be Yoshida whispering, because it’s not common to hear the name Denji in a movie. His voice is low and raspy, more akin to a shallow breath.
“I love you, Denji. . .”
Denji wraps his legs around Yoshida’s waist, forming an X. He doesn’t respond, or at least Nayuta can’t hear him in the spiral of sounds, but he does release a long, warm hum that accompanies their matching movements.
Nayuta gives the door a gentle push and goes back to bed.
All dogs are still peacefully sleeping, but one raises its head and ears as Nayuta kneels down.
“It’s only me tonight, Tiramisu.”
Tiramisu howls softly and low.
Nayuta curls up beside the dog, arms laced around its soft fur.
“Mm-mh, yeah. . .” she mumbles, eyes shut and mind effortlessly embracing slumber again. “Denji found someone else to hug.”
But it’s okay, because she’s still Denji’s favourite girl.
If it’s with Yoshida, Nayuta can share.
* * *
it’s 2:45, just a casual night
glancing eyes, more tension
a subtle distance, a hidden sign
this unfamiliar emotion that shakes me
what am I supposed to do?
(let’s hope the walls don’t talk)
* * *