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h0neylevi · 2 days ago

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a temporary reprieve | aki hayakawa

"Promise me something." He squints, his mouth open just enough that you see the lick of his tongue behind his teeth as he tilts his head. "Promise what, exactly?" "Please don't be mad at me." He huffs a short laugh, scratching the back of his head. "Depends on what you're going to tell me."

a/n: dead dove, do not eat. major character death, unexpected pregnancy, mention of abortion, childbirth, vomiting/nausea, blood and injury, hurt/no comfort. repost.

Aki is angry when you tell him.

You knew he wouldn't be happy; to be frank, you weren't exactly thrilled. You'd been together long enough that it had certainly come up in conversations about your future, but it was never a discussion. You both agreed that it wasn't what you wanted out of life. Aki had his own reasons, you had yours, and that was that. There was never any need to revisit the matter because you'd made your choice together. It should have been cut and dry.

The universe apparently has other plans, however, and the longer you stare at those two little pink lines, the more you realize you are only delaying the inevitable. You have to tell him.

"You okay in there?" His voice is muffled from the other side of the bathroom door, but it still makes your head spin with panic. You turn on the water and flush the toilet, hands trembling.

"Fine!" you lie. "Be out in a sec."

Not tonight, you think. You need time to process it yourself. Maybe there are other options you could consider. Maybe it's a false positive. Maybe this is a bad, bad dream and you'd wake up in a few hours and nothing would be any different than it was before you went to bed. Maybe…

"Hey, we're gonna be late. Not trying to be a dick, but–"

You open the door and smile brightly at him– too brightly, you fear– and your boyfriend raises a brow in a look you know so well, the one that tells you he knows you're hiding something from him and he thinks you're stubborn for even trying. "Ready!" You say, clapping your hands and brushing past him to grab your shawl off the back of the couch. "Sorry for taking so long. I just wanted to look nice tonight."

Aki softens and leans forward to kiss your temple as you bend to strap on your shoes. "You always look nice." He's so sincere that it makes you feel bad for lying to him. You keep your head lowered a few seconds longer than you need, makkng sure the buckle is secure.

"Let's go," you say, threading your arm through his. "I'm sure everyone's waiting for us."

The restaurant is one of Makima's favorites: upscale, swanky, suit and tie required. Bone china, polished silver, crystal and linen as far as the eye can see. You feel Aki stiffen at your side when you enter and you squeeze his hand to quietly reassure him. His thin, strained smile says it all when he looks at you– let's make this quick. You nod in understanding just as Makima comes to greet you.

She's dressed to the nines in an outfit that must be worth a year of your salary, hair in a perfectly coiffed updo that accentuates her long neck and diamond teardrop earrings. Her smile is syrupy and almost too sweet when she bids you good evening and offers her hand to Aki. He hesitates, then lifts her knuckles to kiss them lightly.

"Good boy," she says, looking directly at you; for some reason, it makes your face feel hot and you duck your head. "Our table is in the back. Come with me, won't you?"

The entirety of Division Four is present. You hear Denji and Power before you see them, half expecting them to be throwing food across the table at each other. You feel like a proud aunt when you see them sitting next to each other, chatting excitedly about their latest kill. When they see you, Aki, and Makima, they straighten up in their chairs and smile. You can't help but wave and smile back.

A waiter comes to ask what you'd like to drink. Aki orders himself a whisky, then nudges you gently when he sees your nose buried in the menu.

"Hm?"

"What do you want to drink?"

"Oh– oh! Um, water's fine."

You lift the menu back up to your face and pretend to be deeply engrossed in the selections.

"Babe? You're sure you don't want something else?" Aki asks quietly. It's not like you to endure these outings without an alcoholic beverage.

You nod. "Mm-hm! Water's fine, thanks," you confirm, hoping that no one is watching too closely. You have a terrible poker face.

At your side, Aki shrugs and lifts his eyes to Makima, who sits directly across from him. She's been watching the entire exchange with scrutinizing eyes, but decides that now isn't the time to bring up your strange behavior. First, she'd like to have a pleasant dinner.

Division Four is smaller these days; devil hunters with balls and brains are hard to come by, and Makima seems to keep those who have stayed with her even closer now. Tonight is a celebration of a month of work without casualties. It's a bittersweet get-together, and almost everyone ends up eating their fill and probably drinking more than they should. You're uncharacteristically quiet; so much so that Aki keeps a reassuring hand on your thigh and gives you a squeeze now and then. He's worried about you, but he engages in conversation with others just the same.

Makima says your name, and you look her directly in the eye, your lips quivering into an uncertain smile. "Are you feeling alright?" she asks. To the naked eye and unwavering ear, it’s an innocent question. But the way she studies you creates a bubbling sense of unease in the pit of your stomach. You take a long sip of your water while maintaining uncomfortable eye contact with her, then use the linen napkin from your lap to wipe your mouth.

“Just fine,” you lie. You know she sees right through it. Makima isn’t someone you normally want to be dishonest with, but this is not the time nor the place to reveal what’s really going on.You swallow again and rub your cheek, the intensity of her gaze making you the one who looks away first. “A little tired tonight, that’s all.”

She rests her chin in her hand and narrows her eyes a little, her painted lips turning down into a deep frown. “Mmm. Maybe you and Aki should call it a night. I’d hate for you to feel worse if you stayed out too late.”

Aki hears his name and is suddenly a part of your conversation with Makima. “What’s that? I didn’t catch it.”

“It’s nothing, Aki, I–”

“I was just telling her that maybe you ought to leave a little early if she isn’t feeling well. You should take her home, Aki. She looks a little pale.” She looks smug, and you reach under the table to squeeze Aki’s hand that’s still resting on your leg.

If the situation gets any more awkward, you’ll crack and just blurt it out. You have a brief, lucid daydream where you stand up and shout I’M PREGNANT WITH AKI’S CHILD! And everyone in the entire restaurant turns to stare at you and you give birth right there on the expensive, white tablecloth. You shake your head to shatter the image and find Aki’s face close to yours, a crooked finger lifting your chin so that he can get a better look at you.

“Makima’s right. You okay? We can go, if you want.”

You look around the table to find that it's fallen silent, and everyone watches you with bated breath. Power has even paused mid-bite with her jaw open, waiting on your answer. So you nod and push your chair out, standing a little too quickly. Your fork chatters to the floor and shatters the deafening silence. "You're probably right," you concede. "Thank you for dinner, Makima. It's been a pleasure."

The drive home is just as awkward. You insist on driving, as Aki took advantage of the free drinks, and you spend most of the drive biting your tongue and contemplating the best way to tell him the news.

Aki isn't an idiot. Your silence speaks volumes; he lights a cigarette and rolls his window halfway down to ease the tension. The smell– which normally doesn't bother you– makes your nose itch and your stomach lurch. You roll your own window down to let the cool night air refresh you.

"What's going on?" he asks, his eyes trained on you under the glow of a stoplight. Fat drops of rain start to fall on the windshield of your car, distorting your view. You watch them streak across the glass instead of looking at Aki. "Did I do something to make you mad?"

He's holding back his anger, his confusion, but it spills over in the tone of his voice. There's a quiet strain, as if there are more words caught in his tongue and he doesn't quite know how to form them in a way that won't upset you further, if indeed you are angry at him. He's painstakingly combing over details of the last few days in his mind, trying to pinpoint the moment when you might have been offended, but he genuinely can't recall anything.

The light turns green and you make a turn toward home. "You didn't do anything, Aki. I swear."

He's quiet for a few seconds, dragging on the last of his cigarette. "Then what is it? Did something upset your stomach at dinner? Are you in pain?"

His concern brings tears to your eyes and you shake your head, focusing on your grip on the steering wheel. You shift in your seat and fidget with your seat belt. "I'm a little sick, yeah. Started before dinner though."

"Why didn't you say something then? We could have stayed home if I'd known." He sounds annoyed. "This wasn't a required thing, you know? Makima would understand–"

"No, Aki, I don't think she would have," you retort, snapping at him far more angrily than you meant to. Both of you know you're right, and you let it sink in for a few seconds. You snap your lips shut and turn them into a deep frown, the shame washing over you in a cold, uncomfortable wave. "Sorry- I didn't mean to snap at you."

When you arrive home, he reaches over to grab your hand just as you unfasten your seat belt. His grip is strong, but not forceful. "Please," he says in the darkness. "Please tell me what it is."

"Upstairs," you say, pulling your hand away. "I'll tell you upstairs."

The walk to your shared apartment is too short. Aki walks behind you, step by step, and your keys jingle in your hand. Your heels feel too tight, the pins you put in your hair pressing too hard against your scalp. When you reach the door, you take a deep breath and turn to face Aki, meeting his hardened gaze for the first time in at least a couple of hours.

"Promise me something."

He squints, his mouth open just enough that you see the lick of his tongue behind his teeth as he tilts his head. "Promise what, exactly?"

"Please don't be mad at me."

He huffs a short laugh, scratching the back of his head. "Depends on what you're going to tell me."

You start to protest, but decide that he's right. You have no business telling him how he's supposed to feel, so you open the door and immediately unbuckle your shoes upon entry. Aki sheds his jacket and follows you to the kitchen, where you brace yourself against the counter to gather courage. The clock above the sink ticks away the seconds, and Aki stands before you, an arm's length away, but doesn't touch you.

"It's not good news," you whisper.

Aki’s lip curls a little and he crosses his arms. "Yeah. I figured it wasn't."

"I, um." You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "I was late. And I took a test, and…uh…" You look at him with a mixture of hope and fear. You don't want to have to say the word– somehow it feels less scary if you don't.

Aki's eyes haven't left your face, but as he mulls over your clumsy confession, his breathing grows more labored and his cheeks flush bright pink. He steps back and lifts a trembling finger. "No…no no no no." His voice raises in volume and intensity. "We said that wasn't going to happen. You were supposed to be on the pill. We've been careful. You– I…" He shakes his head in disbelief and backs up further as if it will soften the blow.

You reach for him, but your hand falls lifeless to your side when he takes another step back. "Can we talk about it?"

He laughs, incredulous, pushing his hand through his bangs. "Talk about what? What's there to talk about? You wanna talk about how fucked up this is? About how we agreed to fucking be careful and prevent something like this from happening in the first place?" He opens the sliding glass door to the balcony and steps outside. You follow, tentative and quiet, watching as he lights another cigarette. "What the fuck are we going to do? This- this isn't…"

Now Aki is the one who won't look at you.

It pains you to even consider, but you know there are options. You lean against the open door, pushing away tears with the heel of your hand. "I mean, I don't have to…" You trail off, looking down at your toes. "I haven't been to the doctor yet, so I don't even know how far along I am, but I could find out, and we can talk about what to do then."

He doesn't say a word. You can feel the ire boiling, rolling off the stiffness of his shoulders and the way he exhales the smoke with impatient force. You don't prod him for a response. With Aki, you've learned that he likes to choose his words carefully and not speak from a place of impulsive emotion. Instead, you step back inside with a deep, wavering sigh.

By the time he comes back inside, you've changed into your pajamas, removed your makeup and jewelry, and crawled under the covers. You're lucid enough to sense when he comes into the bedroom and quietly shuts the door, but you don't make a sound. Instead, you lie still and pretend to be asleep as he goes to shower. When he finally climbs into bed with you, he lies awake for hours, staring at the ceiling.

When you wake up in the morning, he’s gone.

You don’t panic at first, though morning sickness hits you like a freight train as soon as you sit up. The room spins and you break out in a cold sweat, the wave of nausea washing over you and making your skin crawl. Thankfully it’s only a few steps to the bathroom, where you fall on your knees in front of the toilet and heave until there's nothing left but bile. You stand and brush your teeth, but gag on the bristles of your toothbrush on your tongue and end up vomiting again. It takes you several minutes to feel capable of standing without feeling too wobbly, but once you're okay, you go to the kitchen to heat up the kettle.

You're used to occasional mornings alone when Aki works. You try to tell yourself that he got called out on a mission, but this feels different. Usually, there's an air of expectation when he's at work and you know he'll be home, almost always by the time it gets dark. This morning, there's a finality to his departure. You don't recall if he kissed you goodbye like he usually does, or if he told you he loves you in the dark stillness of the early morning. He hasn't taken any additional belongings that you can see, and you try to reassure yourself that he'll be back this evening, but your gut tells you otherwise. Most of the day is spent dozing on the couch, nibbling on saltines and sipping peppermint tea to keep your nausea at bay. It's mundane and routine, but it comforts you to do a load of laundry, to sweep the rug, to add a little birdseed to the feeder on the balcony. The life you've built with Aki– despite the imminent danger he's in every time he goes to work– is, by contrast, quietly domestic. It's almost picturesque what you've built together.

Now, there's another life to consider.

Somehow you muster up the courage to call your doctor's office to schedule an appointment. They tell you at first that the only available time won't be for another three weeks, and you panic. If you're to consider termination, you need to find out exactly how far along you are now so that you can decide how to proceed. Without explicitly saying as much, you tell the receptionist that you've been having a terrible time with morning sickness (it's not a total bluff) and you'd like to have a sooner consultation. She sighs heavily and miraculously finds an appointment for you two days from now.

Two days. You hope Aki comes home to go with you. The thought of him leaving for good is one you just can't shake. It's so out of character for him, but considering the way he reacted when you told him the news last night, it’s not totally impossible to fathom.

It turns out your gut wasn’t wrong, after all. You don’t sleep a wink the first night.

You’re due at work the following morning, but you’re so nauseous and exhausted that you call in sick. Your boss is understanding and tells you to take it easy, but she doesn’t know the extent of what’s happening. Next, you try Aki’s cell. He usually only carries it for work, and since the charger is still plugged into the kitchen counter outlet, you don’t figure you’ll have any luck. When it goes straight to voicemail without even one ring, your fears are confirmed. Though Makima is the last person on earth you want to talk to right now, you know she’s also the first person who might be able to give you a clue as to Aki’s whereabouts.

“Public Safety, Makima speaking.” Her voice is crystal clear and cuts through your courage like a hot knife, splitting you in two. You stammer into the speaker, and her laugh lilts down the line. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to speak up. I can’t understand you.”

You take a deep breath and tell her who’s calling. “Have you seen Aki?” you ask– hopeful, tearful, palm clasped over your mouth to quiet your sobs.

“He’s out on a mission right now. May I leave him a message for you?” She’s cold and detached, just as you knew she’d be. You’ve never been able to crack her, and you’re not sure you even want to. There’s something about her that leaves you feeling unsettled and exposed every time you’re around her, as if she knows all of your secrets but won’t tell you which ones she’s thinking about the most.

“Do you know when he’ll be back? Like, even an estimate? Or where he is?”

“I’m sorry, that information is classified. As soon as he’s back in the office, I’ll have him call you.”

“Wait, Makima, I–!”

She sighs softly. “What is it?”

You hesitate, lowering your head in defeat. “It’s nothing. Thanks anyway.”

“Give him time,” she says.

“I’m sorry?”

The line goes dead before she responds, and you’re left to wonder if she knows. And if she does…is it because Aki told her, or because she figured it out at dinner the other night? Or perhaps she has another way of knowing, and that’s why you felt so uncomfortable in her presence that night.

When Aki doesn’t return home for the second night in a row, you worry more about his safety than what lies between you. If he was injured or killed on the job, surely someone would have reached out to you by now. Although you’re not married, you’re the closest thing to family that he has. It’s tempting to call the Public Safety office again, but you know who will answer and what she’ll say. So you shower, you dress in Aki’s pajamas, and you crawl to his side of the bed where you try to catch a little bit of sleep.

You've been sleeping so lightly that any small sound is apt to rouse you, so it's no surprise that you'd be keenly aware of the front door opening. The clock at your bedside indicates that it's past three in the morning, and you sit up just as Aki's shadow appears in the doorway to your bedroom.

You hold your breath, waiting to hear him say something– anything. But he's quiet and still, hands pushed into the pockets of his pants, shoulder leaning into the doorframe. Moments pass between you, and he sighs.

"Hi," you whisper, tentative and unsure.

It's his signal to move. He sits down on the edge of the bed and rests his hand on your knee, studying your face. He looks like he's falling apart. Angry, purple crescents beneath his eyes tell you he hasn't slept. He's dirty– old blood streaked across his cheek, under his fingernails. Now that he's closer, you smell the booze, the stale smoke, the acrid coppery scent of blood and sweat and struggle. Your stomach lurches and try to breathe through your mouth instead of your nose. You won't let it ruin this reunion.

"I'm sorry," he offers. "I got a call, and I had to go. There wasn't time to–" He chokes, inhaling sharply and pressing his hand to his mouth to hold back his sobs.

"Oh, Aki…" You sit up fully and wrap him in your arms, tucking your head between his neck and shoulder. He stiffens at first, confused and overwhelmed with your affection, but soon you feel the tension in his body melt away and he allows himself to be held.

He does lift his arms to fold them around you, eventually. There are a million and one things you could both say, but the silence speaks volumes. The fact that he's here with you, that he came back, that he hasn't made the decision to run is relief enough. You know him well enough to know that he wouldn't have the heart to abandon you, but the overwhelming fear of not knowing his whereabouts for the last two days had you thinking all sorts of horrible things. You know his past, you're living in his present right alongside him. But you can't read his mind.

There's a ritual when he comes home from missions, and though he doesn't expect you to help him this time, you do so anyway. You peel his jacket from his shoulders, you take out the knot in his tie and undo the buttons on his shirt, all while the shower runs and steam begins to waft toward the ceiling, creating a warm haze in the confines of your small bathroom. You carefully pull the elastic from his hair and run your fingers through the soft, black strands while he slips his thumbs into the waistband of your pants (his pants, he notes, and his heart swells with guilt) and helps you step out of them.

The water washes away his tension, but the resulting fatigue overwhelms both of you. He's not wounded this time apart from a few small scratches on his face and a larger one on his left shoulder, but the bruises you find tell you that this mission was no small struggle. Aki follows the path of your fingers with tired eyes as you gently circle each blemish on his tender skin.

"What's it like?" he asks, barely above a whisper.

You furrow your brow, wrinkling your nose to keep the tears at bay. "What's what like?" You think you know, but you ask anyway.

Aki places a trembling hand on your abdomen and looks at you meaningfully. "This."

Despite your best efforts, the tears fall anyway and mingle with the water that's misted over your cheeks. You cover his hand with yours. "I don't really know yet. I don't feel any different except for being sick to my stomach all the time."

He frowns a little, then trains his eyes down to where your hands meet. "Do you think the…" He pauses and swallows thickly. "The baby…will have my eyes?"

You shrug, trying to act nonchalant, but the hope that blooms warm in your chest is hard to deny. "Maybe. There's only one way to find out." You look at him expectantly. "I have an appointment today... Do you–"

"I'll come with you," he says. It's resolute and determined, and you know in your heart that he's already decided what the outcome will be.

Before you can say another word, he's kissing you. It tastes of melancholy, of longing, of long nights of missing you and worrying that you've already made up your mind. You wind your arms around his neck and he turns, pressing you against the shower wall with his body hard and slick against your own. His kisses take a desperate turn, and his hands knead and grab your flesh as if it's the first and last time he'll be able to touch you like this. You kiss him back with equal intensity, the taste of him mingling with the saltiness of tears– yours or his, you're not sure.

His kisses fall to your jaw, to your neck, tongue tracing over your skin as one hand falls between your legs. You grip him tight around the shoulders with one arm and brace yourself against the wall with your other as he works his fingers just inside, flicking them softly over your clit until your quiet moans fall on his ear.

"I'm sorry I disappeared," he says again, lips grazing the shell of your ear. You feel his hardness pressing just under your belly button and you widen your stance, eyes shut tight against the deluge of water and the desperate need for him to be inside you. You can't bring yourself to care much beyond this moment– past or future, it doesn't matter. He's here now, and he's all you need.

"It's okay," you say, earnestly, your voice climbing a few notes when he grips the back of your thighs to lift you. Back against the wall, arms still wrapped snug around his shoulders, your body welcomes him with practiced ease. Aki takes a moment to steady himself, to feel the warmth of your sex envelop him, before he begins rolling his hips up against yours. You gently scratch your nails through his hair and across the back of his neck and lick your way into his mouth in a deep and dirty kiss. He groans low and gritty, his breath hot and heavy on your tongue.

It isn't long before the intensity builds for both of you. Within minutes, he's moving at a near frantic pace, fucking into you as hard as he can manage without slipping from his position on the slick tub floor. Your legs are wrapped tight around him as he moves, each thrust making your back slide along the wall to create an angry sounding squeak of skin against vinyl. Neither of you are in any state to care or even notice. When Aki comes, he pushes hard up inside, staying there without moving to feel the way he pulses, the way your pussy flutters and spasms around him, accepting all that he's giving to you.

Panting, he helps you lower one leg as he slips out of you, then replaces his cock with gentle fingers. "Got carried away," he says with a quiet, breathless chuckle, kissing his way up from your collarbone to just under your jaw before capturing your mouth in a kiss again. He knows just where to touch and how to kiss you to bring you to the brink quickly, and you're soon falling apart around him, a quivering, wet mess at the hand of your very own devil hunter.

According to blood work and an ultrasound exam, you're seven weeks along. The doctor's report is positive, and you're given medicine to help with morning sickness, which they say should be manageable by the end of your first trimester. Aki listens carefully from the chair beside the examination table where you sit, absorbing all the information until his head spins. It's overwhelming for both of you, but there's no denying the little, flickering flame of excitement when it comes to imagining the future.

The months fly by. Your morning sickness is replaced by a voracious appetite for noodles and dumplings and almond tofu. Quiet moments are spent with Aki's hand on your swollen abdomen, your feet in his lap, and a tiny human who seems to enjoy practicing somersaults against the warmth of her father's palm. The quiet domesticity you've built together over the last couple of years has a new intensity to it now, and it's increasingly difficult for you to face the reality of Aki’s devil contracts. You don't want to think about it, because ultimately you know that he isn't going to see your child grow up.

Two years, the Curse Devil had proclaimed after Himeno had passed. You'd met him a few months prior, and at the time you were blissfully unaware of his occupation. He didn't want to have feelings for you, but the more he tried to deny them, the stronger they became. He was honest with you only when he realized how serious you were about pursuing a relationship with him, and he fully expected you to run.

You loved him, though. And you told him as much one evening after you'd drug him to your favorite hangout, drunk on cheap spirits and his warm hands under the hem of your shirt. And for the first time, Aki thought that maybe there was something in this world worth living for beyond revenge.

It wasn't until you told him you were pregnant that he even considered retiring from Devil hunting, though. Working for public safety had been what he thought was meant for him. Nothing else made sense. Though it could prove fatal for him to even consider abandoning his contracts, he did consider going private.

Makima's cold, hard gaze makes him feel small and insignificant, and he shifts uncomfortably from where he stands in front of her desk, hands clasped behind his back. His courage wanes the longer she stares, and he knows exactly what she's going to say before the words even leave her mouth.

"You can resign from Public Safety, Aki Hayakawa. But the devils you employ have nothing to do with your paycheck or your conscience."

He bows his head. "Yes, Miss Makima. I understand."

"Hm. Do you also understand that the life you've created will not have any bearing on the length of said contracts? That devils do not care for such trivial human matters?"

Aki grits his teeth, fingernails digging into the fat of his thumbs. "I do."

"And that doesn't change your mind about staying with Public Safety? Public or private, Aki Hayakawa, you'll still be required to call on them from time to time in order to keep fighting."

"I understand, ma'am. Respectfully, I'd like to think that going private might buy me a little more time."

She sits back in her chair and folds her arms across her chest, tilting her head. "Is that so?"

He nods. "If I can choose when I fight, and how much, I can preserve what's left of the time I still have."

"What about money? You won't be paid regularly, or fairly for that matter. Don't you want to be able to take care of this child responsibly in what little time you have remaining?"

"I've been saving. And I have an insurance policy. Even years after I'm gone, she'll be comfortable." There's a solid lump in his throat, and he swallows around it before he continues. "Ma'am, I appreciate your concern, but I've made my decision. I'd like to ask that you respect it, and accept my resignation, effective today."

Makima stands and walks from behind her desk, smooth fingertips trailing over the mahogany surface. She steps, inches away from Aki’s face, and turns her lips into a derisive grin. "Have it your way, then. Though it's sad to see you give up so easily on the one thing that's given you purpose for all these years."

Aki holds her gaze, determined and steadfast. "I'm not giving up. If anything? For the first time, I give a shit about something other than vengeance. There's someone who needs me for who I am, not what I can do for them. And it's restored a faith in humanity that I once thought was hopelessly lost. And if you can't understand that, then I'm not sure we ever understood each other at all, ma'am."

He knows that when he turns and leaves her office, it won't be the last time he sees her.

You go into labor on a late afternoon in March. The previous days you'd been filled with an inexplicable energy to organize the bedroom closet and get every bit of lint out of the dryer vent. Aki watched you with curious fascination, ready to chide you into resting when your breathing became labored and your face began to shine with sweat. The nurse at your doctor's office called it "nesting", and while the term seemed funny to you at first, you soon realized that it came with a primitive purpose.

You were preparing for the birth of your daughter.

Within hours upon your arrival at the hospital, your daughter makes her bloody, messy, screaming entrance into the world. Aki watches from your bedside– fascinated, disgusted, terrified, enchanted, enthralled– as you give life to her with firm coaching from the swarm of nurses and the doctor who guides her out of your womb and into your aching arms.

There's a flurry of activity around your bed, but you only see her. Still covered in blood and fluid, little patches of vernix behind her ears and on her shoulders, you think she's the most amazing person you've ever laid eyes on. Ten tiny fingers and ten little toes– you count them one by one while she curls against your chest and Aki kneels at your side with a trembling hand laid atop your head. You coo at her when she looks at you and swipe your finger across her cheek to wipe away the tear that had fallen from your chin.

She has his eyes.

"Mamma, mamma! Look at me!"

It's a sweltering summer afternoon in the middle of July. There's a playground near your house that's become one of your favorite spots. There's a slide that your daughter swears is as tall as the skyscrapers downtown, and she stands at the top now, waving her little arm in an attempt to garner your attention. You look up from your book and shield your eyes from the sun that burns hot over her shoulder and smile to acknowledge her bravery. No matter that she's done it twenty times this afternoon– each climb is worth celebrating to her.

"I see you, baby! Go ahead! Show me how fast you can go!"

Her giggle is infectious, and she sits down at the edge. "Three…two…one!" Her squeal on the way down makes you throw your head back and laugh, and she nails the landing with her arms thrown in the air.

"Ta-daa!"

You applaud her bravery and showmanship, and she runs over to reward you with a hug that knocks the wind out of you when she throws her tiny body against yours and climbs into your lap. You stroke her silky black hair and hold her tight, despite the oppressive heat of the humid summer air and try not to think about the fact that Aki’s been missing for the last three days. The last time you’d seen him, he kissed you and his daughter goodbye in the wee hours of the morning, and you felt the familiar– albeit bitter– sense of dread wash over you that you felt every time he left on a mission. He’d kept true to his promise and only went out on calls that were deemed low-risk, fighting only in the private sector.

Your daughter had just turned three years old that spring. You celebrated her birthday with a trip to the bowling alley and a cake far too big for the three of you, but it didn’t matter. It was cause for celebration for more than one reason, and you knew it as well as he.

There wasn’t much time left. But you hadn’t realized just how little until you see Denji approaching where you and your daughter embrace on the park bench. He lifts a hand in greeting, but he doesn’t smile. His eyes waver, unsure of where to focus, and he takes a deep breath in through his open mouth while slowing his step as he approaches.

“Been a long time,” he says, kicking at a pebble on the sidewalk; your vision blurred with tears, you watch as it lands in a soft patch of grass.

You cover your daughter’s ear with your hand and keep her head pressed against your chest. “Is he dead?” you whisper, searching Denji’s face for the answers you so desperately need.

Denji looks at you, and your head spins, your heart lurches into a frantic rhythm. You kiss your daughter and send her off to play; she happily obliges, and Denji sits beside you, scratching at the back of his neck. “She looks a lot like him, doesn’t she?”

“Identical,” you agree.

“I’m real sorry.”

“I knew it was coming.” It doesn’t soften the blow, however. You’d known that his time was short since before your daughter was born. But no amount of prior knowledge could have prepared you for the way you felt in this moment. The day is too beautiful. The sun is too bright, your daughter is too bubbly. It was supposed to happen on a rainy afternoon when you had nowhere else to be but home, inside and warm and comforted by the quiet stillness of your living room. It wasn’t supposed to be Denji who had to deliver the news. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t–

“Miss Makima said to give you this,” Denji says. It quiets your thoughts when he speaks, and he lays a small yellow envelope in your hand. You know immediately what it is, and though in reality it weighs mere grams, it feels like the weight of the world in the palm of your hand. Suddenly, the world stops spinning, and you don’t hear anything beyond the thrum of your pulse inside your ears, steady and insistent and frustratingly loud; it demands to be heard, to serve as indisputable evidence that you’re alive and Aki is dead, that you’ve outlived him just as you and he both knew you would. You lift the flap of the envelope and dump the contents into your hand.

The ring has been cleaned and polished. A simple circle of plain gold; you’re immediately thrown back to the day you married him under the canopy of trees, just beyond the very playground where your daughter runs with her friends. He’d asked you not long after she was born, and you’d happily agreed. You didn’t want to think about how much time you had as Mrs. Hayakawa, you only wanted to enjoy knowing that you were his and he was yours. That was enough for you. Your vows were simple, your honeymoon modest. You hadn’t told anyone of your decision– you married quietly and happily, despite it all.

“Denji,” you say, tears streaking endlessly down your cheeks as you turn the ring over and over between your fingers. “Were you there?” Was he alone?

“I was called in at the last minute. I–” He hesitates, drumming his fingers on his knees. “He was gone before I got there. But I killed that devil! I tore his ass up, man! For you, for Aki, for your baby, for all of us!”

You smile through your grief, despite your pain. Denji’s energy is exuberant and exactly what you’d expect from him– it’s exactly what you need, and as you wipe your tears with the heel of your hands, you thank him. You thank him for being the one to deliver the news. You thank him for being Denji, for being such a frustratingly perfect coworker for Aki. You thank him and hug him until he’s tomato red and folded in your arms, unsure of whether or not he should touch you.

“Aw, man. I don’t even know what to say!” he says.

“Uncle Denji!” Your daughter runs over and you tuck the ring into your pocket and dry your tears. “Uncle Denji, did ya see me on the slide? Wanna watch?”

“Watch?!” he says, turning to give you a conspiratorial wink. “You’re looking at the slide master, little lady! Come with me!” He lifts her onto his shoulders and runs through the grass, her laughter ringing clear and pure.

You pull Aki’s ring from your pocket and fit it down over your thumb. It’s loose, but it’s warm and it’s comforting and it’s a piece of him that you can carry with you throughout the rest of your life.

You’ll break the news to your daughter tonight. You’ll figure out the rest later.

It’s all temporary, anyway.

#to read #aki hayakawa #hayakawa aki

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