Chapter Text
“Order for Mikaru?” Akira called out, holding out the large to-go cup of coffee and scanning the small crowd. The woman in question shuffled up and took the drink from him, offering him a shy smile. Akira only had time to smile back for a second before he was pulled away to assist a new employee with a pour over.
He’d taken a job at a chain cafe, hoping it would be a worthy substitution for Leblanc, but the atmosphere couldn’t be more different. For one, it was busy, swimming with unfamiliar faces and disgruntled employees. The coffee was cheap, perfectly “good enough”. Akira didn’t drink it himself –– Sojiro had refined his palette in ways that couldn’t be reversed –– but the fast-paced rhythm of the work was good for him. He had to pay his way through college somehow, even if he wished he could be getting the paychecks from a job he really loved. Sojiro and Futaba were family, and he knew that if he wanted, he could easily get a permanent position at Leblanc back in Tokyo. But, aside from a few visits with friends who lived in the city, he hadn’t been back. There were wounds there that he didn’t want reopened.
Akira carefully finished the pour over, making sure to take it slow so the new hire, Touka, could see how she ought to do it. Then when it was finished, he walked it over to the waiting customer.
“You’re really good at that, Kurusu-san,” Touka said, following him and shaking her head a little. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get to your level.”
“I’m sure you will,” Akira said easily. He spared a glance at the door and saw that the line at the register had finally disappeared after a steady stream of customers had been going for two hours straight. He sighed and rolled his shoulders, enjoying the moment of peace while he could.
“Hey, you’re off in 15 minutes, right?” Touka asked. Akira nodded. “I’m off pretty soon too. What are you doing after your shift?”
“Nothing planned,” Akira said, already dreading where the conversation was likely heading.
“Would you like to spend some time with me once I’m off?” Touka asked. “We could take a walk in the park or maybe get some lunch.”
Another date invitation. Ever since Akira had left Tokyo after his year of probation, he’d somehow become eye candy for everyone he came across. Ann said that it was because he ditched his fake glasses and began experimenting with makeup. Makoto claimed that being Joker had given him confidence that had simply spilled into his everyday life, and that many people found confidence attractive. Futaba claimed it was because he’d “max-leveled his charisma”.
Whatever the reason, being asked out on a semi-frequent basis should have been flattering. But, no matter who it was, Akira could never bring himself to say yes. Because Akira was an idiot.
“I’m sorry,” Akira said to Touka. “You’re… asking me on a date, right?”
She nodded.
“I have to decline,” he said. “I’m not interested in dating anyone at the moment. I hope you don’t hold it against me.”
Touka’s smile dropped into a frown, but she merely nodded in acceptance and excused herself. Akira’s stomach soured as he busied himself with cleaning up the counters with a rag.
“Didn’t anyone tell you?” a coworker was whispering from the open door of the break room. “Kurusu turns down everyone. It’s not just you. You should see how many numbers he’s gotten from customers that he’s just thrown out.”
Akira scrubbed the counter harder. He only had fifteen minutes of his shift left, and then he could head back to his apartment and be alone for a bit. Akira passively heard the cashier beginning to help a new customer, so he tucked away the rag and got ready to prepare the order. It was just a simple black coffee. Couldn’t be easier. Akira walked over to the pot and poured the drink while his coworkers chatted, all clearly grateful that the store traffic had largely subsided. Akira secured the lid on the to-go cup and held out a hand. The cashier placed the receipt in his outstretched hand and Akira turned it over to read the name he was meant to call out.
“Large black coffee for Goro,” Akira said, setting down the cup with a hand that only shook a bit. The man in question rose from the seat he’d been waiting in and approached Akira. The customer’s hair was tied back, but Akira could see that it was a beautiful light brown color. Akira once again had to fight a wave of sickness. “Here you go,” Akira said.
“Thank you,” the man said, his voice slightly muffled from behind his flu mask.
“Goro… that’s a nice name,” Akira said quietly, largely against his will. “Well. Enjoy.”
The man took the cup, but didn’t leave the counter. Akira tried to recall what was on the receipt, wondering if he’d missed anything, but as far as he could remember, it was just the one drink.
“Did you need anything else, sir?” Akira asked. The man stared back at him, and he was silent for several seconds.
“No,” he finally said. “That’s all.” Then he turned and sat down again, staring down at his coffee cup like it offended him. Akira couldn’t help but watch him, a little intrigued. He wasn’t drinking the coffee he’d ordered. He was just… sitting there. It wasn’t Akira’s business, he supposed. That’s when he spotted it. A small piece of paper, no bigger than a business card, folded neatly in half. It’s placement looked purposeful. Akira knew what it likely was, though he couldn’t say he wasn’t surprised. Usually when people left him their numbers, they talked with him first, at the very least.
He picked up the paper, intending to throw it right in the trash. He’d entertained the idea of finding someone interesting to make a partner of in the past, but he’d never caved before. He definitely wasn’t going to cave for someone who shared a name with the reason he’d been a broken man for three years.
Still, there was some resemblance there. Depending on what the guy wanted, there was a possibility Akira could at least get some good sex out of it. Grasp that golden brown hair and imagine it was someone else beneath him who’d been gone since Akira asked him to perform a miracle. Akira opened the paper up against his better judgment.
There was no number written there like Akira had expected. Instead, just a short phrase.
I accept.
It was such a strange thing to write that Akira couldn’t do more than just stare at it for several seconds, entirely stumped. He let his eyes flicker up to the customer again, who was staring blankly out the cafe window, his posture incredibly stiff. On the table in front of him, his fingers danced lightly.
Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap.
The man had removed his flu mask, so Akira could see him better. He had a slim face that was framed by long bangs. His lips were a soft pinkish shade, and his nose had a little wrinkle in it.
I accept. I accept. I accept.
Akira’s hands went limp and the paper fluttered to the ground. He yanked his apron over his head and weaved his way out from behind the counter, ignoring the protests of his coworkers. He made a beeline for where the man was sitting and slid into the seat opposite him without permission. The man… Goro … stared at him warily.
“You accept?” Akira said, not yet daring to hope that what he wanted so desperately to be true was an unmistakable reality right in front of him. “What do you mean?”
“I’m asking if you’d do me the pleasure of going on a… date with me,” Goro said. Akira still couldn’t help but stare right through him. It couldn’t be him. He was dead. Dead men couldn't keep their promises, no matter how badly they wished to. After a minute, Goro’s eyes narrowed at him.
“Really?” he said, his voice like a sharpened knife. “I go through all this trouble to come back and track you to goddamn Kyoto and you won’t even give me a response?”
Something spilled over inside Akira, like warm honey flowing through his veins and creeping up his throat to make him choke on his own joy.
“There you are,” Akira said, the overwhelming fondness in his voice surprising him. Goro’s eyes grew a little wider and his cheeks took on a bit of sudden color. Akira's head swam, seeing him react so freely. The person in front of him was once the boy he fell in love with. Now, he was like a stranger that Akira might have known in a different life.
“I’d like that,” Akira whispered. Goro’s surly expression softened into a contented smile, though the embarrassment painted on his features remained. He carefully brought a hand up onto the table and inched it over to Akira’s. Goro tentatively brushed their thumbs against one another. The gentle kiss of Goro’s skin was featherlight, but nevertheless stole all of Akira’s attention. Akira let out a single laugh, not finding anything in particular amusing, but merely needing an outlet for all the emotion building up like a bright balloon in his stomach. For the first time in far too long, he thought of the future.
“I’d really like that,” Akira repeated. “I can’t wait to get to know you, Goro Akechi.”