So, I binge-read Chainsaw Man in one night, no regrets. I have a lot of feels about this complicated manga, all of them good.
Life means so little when you have only two years to live.
It isn't that Aki doesn't feel- he feels too much, probably- but those feelings mean nothing when you have no time to enjoy them.
He gave up a long time ago. Knows that there's nothing to be done. He's recklessly made contracts, recklessly fought devils, recklessly put his life in danger time and time again. He has a goal for revenge but he isn't stupid enough to think that he'll see it realized.
Because there're only two years left; two years of self-loathing, of self-pitying, and self-hatred when it comes down to the gist of things. 'Cause it's his fault he's alive and not his family, his fault that he'd been just a few steps far enough to escape the rampaging path of the Gun Devil.
Perhaps it's punishment, the way that he treats himself. Allowing only the monotony of the same day over and over again. The same foods, the same hobbies, the same blasted schedule. Wake up, eat, kill a devil or two, wonder why he's not dead, and then sleep. Rinse, repeat.
Always rinse, repeat. Whatever Makima says, whatever Makima bids him to do. He doesn't have much use except to do her bidding. Worst ways to spend the rest of his days, he supposes.
Then she saddles him with two annoyances, Power and Denji. A vulgar, obnoxious fiend who's more foe than not, and a disrespectful high schooler who's more likely to eat food off the floor than be polite.
Aki was exhausted by them at first glance. He's still exhausted by them now.
He doesn't have time to deal with them, every waking moment of his being is saddled instead by the thirst for revenge that'll never see the light of day. Still, it's something to do, a goal to work for.
He often wonders if there's even a point. But that is the point, that he's only as good as his current usefulness. Which is to say, perhaps not so useful; even the Fox Devil has dropped him merely out of annoyance. And the Future Devil murmurs in his head, tormenting him with visions that he'd rather not see.
Pathetic, thinks Aki. The kinds of thoughts that plague his mind now. So unhelpful. Maybe he should've quit like Himeno tried to get him to do over and over again.
Aki wakes and eats. Fights and sleeps. Wonders about his future. Thinks about his past. Months eke by and seasons come and go, and it's time for another set appointment in his life.
Hokkaido is cold and dreary. It makes his shoulder ache where his arm should be. Power and Denji came too, much to his annoyance. This isn't a time for loud-mouthed and foul language, or banter and bickering.
Aki's tries his best to pray, to give his respects to his slain family. His mind strays the others instead, wholly distracted by their yelling and distemper. But as the day wears on, Aki's demeanor eases. This is always the most painful trip for him, despite his insistence that he comes every year.
Later that night, after Power and Denji have fallen quiet, Aki sits by the window and watches the snow. The dull ache of his shoulder bites deep, and he rubs at the nub idly with his good hand.
This year… is easier. Standing before his family's grave, trying to keep their memory alive. The moment he dies they'll fade away too because there's no one else to come here and do the same in his place. It's a heavy burden, though, one that's always weighed as heavy as the devil contacts that Aki's made; sinks deep into his gut and settles there like bad food.
Never palatable, never really gets better.
Until this year.
Strange thing, having friends. Aki never really notices until it's too late and his fingers are itching to protect those around him. He cares too much, too deeply and that's a liability in this line of work. Himeno knew it. Tried to spare him. Nice guys don't good devil hunters make.
Aki insists because there's no other course of action now. In for a penny, in for a pound; he's made his choices and he's made his mistakes. Time to live with the consequences.
Still.
His home is nicer now with the squabbling and fighting. He comes home to dubiously made dinners that usually tastes foul. Aki sleeps with his pillow over his head because even into the night, the other two just won't shut up.
But it's peaceful and Aki wonders when he started preferring that to the solitude he's so used to.
He doesn't want to watch them die like the others, doesn't want to cry over their end. And it's inevitable. Always is for people like them, agents of the Public Safety Bureau, trained and raised to fight and be put down like dogs.
Aki loves Makima, like a young child who doesn't know any better. Doesn't even know why, just that he does. But he's no fool to think that Power and Denji have any use beyond their uniqueness.
The moment they become too much to handle or obsolete, they'll be put down too.
The Gun Devil hunt will be all their end. For Aki, it doesn't matter, he's all but accepted his fate. But the others-
Denji groans as he wakes, rolling over in the futon. Pulls himself from Power's tight grip around him. Then he sits up and blinks tiredly, rubbing at his eyes before he sees Aki by the window. Denji wraps himself in the blanket and shuffles over tiredly, dropping into the seat next to him.
"Can't see crap with all this snow," says Denji with humor. Aki doesn't smile, not feeling much amused. And Denji, despite all his denseness and one-sided goals- isn't stupid. He's very perceptive.
Denji frowns slightly, watching Aki in the quiet dark, and then eventually says, "What's up with you? All lost in the view?"
"Oh, shut," snaps Aki, his usual abrasive attitude on full display.
Denji doesn't take it at face value, of course. Never does with anything. Aki sips at a beer, unsure what to say next. They don't do this, have little heart-to-hearts. Aki's become unbearably fond of these two idiots, but that's something that he's kept tucked away deep in his heart.
The Bureau uses shit like that against you. Aki's only trying his best to protect them so he doesn't have to lose anyone else. He's so tired of it, tired of the swollen eyes and tears dripping down his cheeks.
"Every year, when I visit their grave, I remember nothing but bad things," says Aki. He can't stop himself from the sentimental moment. Blames it on the cold and snow, the late night, the fucking beer in his hand. Anything, really. "It's always been depressing. But this time, you guys were such pests that I didn't have the time to get lost in all that."
He expects Denji to reach out and smack him like he often does, or say something incredibly crude. But he doesn't. Denji sits there, tucked into the seat next to him, stock-still and quiet. Watches the snow fall outside the window and takes in the wonders of Hokkaido.
Then he thanks Aki, of all things. Like Aki's the one who's done the favor here. Ridiculous, he thinks.
But no more so than his newly considered, incredibly ill-conceived plan.
When they arrive home, Aki will request that Division Four be removed from the hunt. It's the least he can do, taking care of the people that've brought him a shadow of joy. The last few years of his life might not be so bad after all, if he's got someone to come home to that he genuinely cares for, a new kind of family that he can call his own.
How he's missed that feeling.
But, the future isn't what Aki needs to dwell on right now. Instead, he thinks about the buoyant feeling of being somewhat happy. He's almost forgotten what it's like, feeling as though there's a reason to live. Like you matter, or something trivial like that.
Aki drains the rest of his beer. Denji watches the snow. Power snores in the futon.
They stay like that until dawn.
