[ He's right, but Asa chooses to ignore that. It doesn't matter that his approach is gentle, his words kind, and that he touches her hands like they're hers and not the dead monsters they really are. She takes every olive branch he offers her, and throws them back in his face. ]

Because you don't like me. [ Quiet, but accusatory. ] You like her.

[ And it's so, insanely unfair to use that against Denji, the fact that maybe he'd managed to find some shred of enjoyment in what Yoru did not with, but to him, but she's uncharitable at the best of times, and even moreso now. In Asa's mind, he'd only help her if he liked her. So either this is all some sick joke, or... ]

But I'm better than her! [ Explosive again. Almost desperate. Those same hands grab him by the cheeks, cold against his skin. ] It's because she kissed you, isn't it? It's because she—

[ The alley. He'd been so desperate to find out which of them it was that jerked him off — he was probably hoping it was Yoru and not her. The fun one. The one who gave instead of just taking, even by the most twisted logic imaginable. Is that why he saved her? Because he saw the destruction and thought it was Yoru?

She's kissing him before she even realizes it, his blood still painting her lips, the motion messy and ugly and bruising, and only stopping either when she's pushed away or needs to break for air. There's zero affection in it: this is to prove a point. ]