#akiraxreader

a prologue to a much bigger work that i'm writing for you in mind, hence the analogies to coffee riddles in there. i hope you enjoy, and part one will be here soon! sending good vibes your way.

-rose

----

he always manages to smell like coffee.

it's never too potent to the point where it's worth noting in a conversation, but it's always there. lingering just below the surface. it's almost as if it has managed to cling onto his clothes like a stain on a school uniform no matter how many times it's thrown into a washing machine. it's a constant. 

you didn't realize how much the scent calmed you. 

stability was where you excelled, sticking to schedules and time tables as if it was the only thing keeping you sane. you were convinced it was, and your therapist would back you up on that statement if she could hear it pass your lips as your voice shook. she was a constant, a (now distant) reminder of all the things that you have experienced. 

he however, was not. 

he came and went as he pleased, stopping through your barely open window as if it were the entrance to a school. he had an aura around him, one that you had yet to unravel completely. you had it written down in a leather bound notebook that sat in your bedside drawer most nights, another constant. 

(you started to thrive on constants when you moved, but no one knew that but you)

"what's in that pretty little head of yours, treasure?" 

his voice made you stiffen and whip your head towards the window that he himself opened that one night, onyx eyes and lips curled into a smirk. he was watching your reactions like he always does, trying to pull your secrets out as inconspicuously as possible.

"i could ask the same to you," was the beginning of the response that spilled pass your lips with no regrets, "after all, this could be considered a two way street." 

a sharp laugh left his lips as onyx eyes shone with a little more light, it making your heart flutter ever so slightly. 

"you never fail to amaze me." he murmured as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, suddenly in front of you and your bed that you were sitting on. the touch was intoxicating, and the coffee smell that erupted from him managed to slightly calm your nerves that were always frazzled by this time of night. you resisted the urge to sink and plead for him to go further, and pull you into arms that were clad in a leather jacket and hold you until sunrise. 

"what do you want to know?" 

the question startled you, you pulling away from his touch with wide eyes, almost silently asking him if he was kidding, or this was some sort of elaborate joke. you had worked so hard for as long as you could recall scaling over the walls that held various parts of him, and you almost couldn't believe the statement that just went past his lips. 

"what's your name?" your voice was a whisper, his lips inches to yours. you don't know how you got to this position, your head was spinning more than you would admit to anyone who saw the scene in front of you. 

"hm, good choice," his breath was minty as he chuckled. the noise intoxicated you, drew you in to hear more, "call me Akira, treasure."

and, before you could even comprehend what was happening, he closed the gap between the two of you, lips clashing in a battle that he was winning. he was gone in the next second you could think clearly, halfway out your window with his eyes locking onto yours. 

"use it wisely, darling, just like my heart."

“Why do you keep saying that?” AkiraKurusu asks.

It’s a Sunday. The weather forecast this morning claims there’slow chance of rain, so she doesn’t pack an umbrella. She regrets the decisionnow, considering how quickly the pale pool of grey in the sky darkens to anominous black while she makes her way to Leblanc, and she realises that if itdoesn’t let up soon, she’ll have to go home drenched. Still, at least she has aroof over her head, and Leblanc’s not a bad place to get stuck in the middle ofa rainstorm; there’s something inherently calming about sitting with a hot cupof coffee while the pitter of raindrops trails paths of water along the window.

When Akira greets her, he keeps a polite level of distance.She’s not surprised. It fits the kind of half-friend, half-lover routinethat they’re at right now, barely close enough to really invite to each other’shomes. He looks happy to see her, but she thinks it’s probably just herimagination.

“Sorry for barging in on you like this,” is what she says, whenshe first comes in. Akira’s soft smile hardens into something a little lesspleasant – something more confused.

“I was the one who invited you,” he says. “It’s really notrouble at all.”

She nods at that, but the implication feels too foreign and rawfor her to really understand it. She takes a seat, and everything about hermovements feels overly polite: her legs are neatly together, and she’s takingup as little space as possible on the edge of a seat, even when the entire caféis empty.

“You can sit at front, you know.”

He watches her back straighten in genuine surprise, until hershock melts away to something a little sadder - a little more subdued.

“You haven’t had enough of me lately?” She asks, and laughs,even though she’s getting up to sit at the front table like he’s asked her to.Wordlessly, he begins preparing coffee, but there’s a certain slowness to theway he does things that shows he’s thinking about something else entirely.

“Not really,” he says, eventually.

She nods again.

The rain outside gets worse, turns into something a half-waybetween a drizzle and a shower. It’s a good thing too, because giving thesilence free reign in this situation would be awkward at best.

“Thanks for the coffee,” she says, when he hands her a mug. Ittakes him a little too long to pour his own afterwards, because the place wheretheir hands touch makes his fingers feel all funny and tingly, like he’s losingcontrol on his own skin.

“Ah, sorry,” she says.

“It’s alright.”

There’s thunder, and then rain again. Even though it’s far toohot, she takes the first sip, and through the burning in her tongue she feels alittle calmer.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

There’s a wistfulness to the way she says it, but Akira choosesto pick up on the genuine way her eyes crinkle instead.  His smile issubdued, but it’s still undoubtedly there, and honestly, he’s a bit embarrassed that’s all it takes tomake him feel smug.

“Me too.”

There’s that surprise again, making her way through her face andpulling her features together defensively. Her face scrunches, like she’sunhappy with something.

“You don’t have say stuff like that to be nice, you know.” Shelaughs as she says it, but he doesn’t really find it funny; his face falls, andhis expression crumbles away into something that shares the gaping feeling ofsadness in this chest with disappointment. “I’m sure you can probably think ofsome more interesting things to do.”

“I’m being honest,” he states firmly, but all it does is makeher face scrunch up a little more. He takes a sip of his own coffee, and ittoo, is hot against his tongue. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

He can tell he’s hit the target right on when she flinches. Whenshe puts the mug to her lips, it’s more to delay the inevitability of having torespond to his question than it is to taste the coffee.

“Well, wouldn’t you rather hang out with someone else? Ann wasasking about you today.”

He, on the other hand, doesn’t do anything to delay hisresponse.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Her grip on the mug tightens; she’s rubbing small circles intothe side of it, trying to figure out what she should do with her hands that itstill looks natural, because this conversation is still normal, right?

“Ann’s a lot more fun to talk to though.” And then a little quieter, she adds, “She’s really pretty, aswell.”

The sadness ebbs through his chest again, fills his lungs withgenuine pity. Because here he is, barely convincing himself she can’t hear hisheart thrum through his chest with how much he feels his pulse everywhere on his body,all because of her, and she doesn’t even think she’s worth his time.

“I like talking to you more.” It feels a little on the suddenside when he pushes it out. He wants tomake her feel good; there’s something inside of him that tells him she need toknow more of what he feels towards her. “Besides, I think you’repretty too.”

It’s hard to maintain eye contact with her when she looks up, severalshades of doubt messing with the serenity on her face. When she looks away, hehas to release the tension through a long, drawn out breath.

“Should have gone to Specsavers,” she laughs. He doesn’t laughwith her, and this time she can’t even ignore it, because the rain has eased for a few brief seconds and left space for silence that’s louder than anything else Akira can say.

They stew in it for a little while.

“Why do you keep saying that?” He asks, although it’s more of astatement than it is a question. From the way he says it, she can tell it’sbeen on his mind for a while, and she can almost feel it shoot straight throughthe centre of her body.

“It’s funny?”

It’s more of a question than it is a statement.

(Because really, it’s not funny. Never was, and dancing aroundit is getting tiring.)

“Sorry,” she says, instead of expecting Akira to believe her.“It’s probably getting annoying, huh?”

There’s more thunder. As the rain comes back threefold, Akira can’t help but think it’s kind offitting. It’s not a pitter anymore – and it’snot a shower, either; it’s a full storm. A flash oflightning colours the edges of his vision white.

“I just…” She continues. There’s a lump in her throat. Hedoesn’t want to cut her off, so even if his first instinct is to deny herinsecurity, he stays silent. “I don’t know why you’re so kind to me.” Herfingers are still around the mug of coffee, but she hasn’t drank from it for a while.

“If I told you, it would probably scare you away,” he says. It feels like he’s made his intentions clear with just that sentence,but he knows for fact there’s no way she’ll read in-between the lines.

“Please, I want to know.”

Maybe it’s not really fitting for the relationship they’ve got going on right now. Not when Akira has barely recovered from when he kind of confessed to her three days ago, with vague words that might have worked had she had enough confidence to pick up on their actual meanings.

‘Love’ is a strong word to describe what he’s feeling. It’s a little on the intense side for a half-half relationship that’s lasted barely two weeks. But well, he’s running out of other ones. He’s already said ‘I want to protect you;’ he’s already said, ‘I don’t want anyone else to have you;’ and he’s said ‘I like you’ more times than he can remember. He wants her to understand it this time around.

“I love you,” he says.

OOC:Hello and good morning, Summer. I’m always pleased as punch to seean ask/an order from you. I hope you’re well, and that today’sbeen a good day/evening for you so far.

Ooh! My, my. I like this order. I like it a lot!What an intriguing scenario indeed.

Certainly! That’s not a problem! One order of thepumpkin spice king coming right up. Do enjoy, dear, and please comeagain soon. ☕

There’s a certain word to describe getting ready for the day, or relaxing at home in the evenings, especially when it concerns your husband, Akira Kurusu. Actually, there are several words.

Flirtatious. Sultry. Sensual, but rarely sexual. Unless it was a day off, then…

On days off he was more likely to ignore your protests of, “Akira, the bacon’s burning!” or “The smoke detector’s going to go off!”

“Mm. But there’s something else I’d much prefer to eat right now, Treasure.”

It was such a treat to see that adorable blush highlighting your cheeks, to see that familiar doe-eyed sheen in your eyes as you stared up at him, and he watched as you gently bit on your lower lip.

“The food can wait, darling. I, however… I cannot.”

So it was no surprise that by the time you and Akira were done fooling around for a bit, what would normally be breakfast or dinner was charred, scorched, and downright inedible.

If it took place in the morning, you settled for a quick on-the-go breakfast instead. Usually, you settled for a breakfast bar and a small thermos of your favourite hot drink, and Akira was always, always quick to kiss you goodbye before you both left for work. Several times.

If you two got down and a bit dirty in the evening, Akira would settle for calling a local take-out joint, or treating you to some coffee and curry, courtesy of his employer.

However…

There came a point that despite your love for your husband, you disliked the fact that he always, always managed to one-up you. It annoyed you that he could reduce you to a sweating, blushing, panting and hot mess.

It was more vexing that he acted as though nothing had happened, cooing, “What a delicious treat you are,” in your ear, pausing to nibble on the lobe before he simpered playfully, “Now shall we get started on dinner? I’m looking forward to dessert, my dear.”

To polish off everything off, he’d lean back, looking you dead in the eyes as there was a flash of pink, his tongue darting out to lick at his lips as he pivoted on his heels.

Usually, he’d pause to throw you a smug, holier-than-thou glance over his shoulder, smirk curling his lips as he took in the sight of your glassy-eyed, disheveled self.

It was irksome. It thoroughly annoyed you how easily he could wind you up—only to leave you hanging at the worst possible moment.

It drove you absolute bonkers, and you knew that he knew it.

Clearly, Akira needed to be taught that he wasn’t the only one who could tease the soul out of his dearest.

As much of an ass as he could be at times, he was a hell of a teacher when it came to matters behind closed doors.

For once, you wanted to be the one to leave him hanging.

Once, just once, you’d give almost anything to see him looking desperate, pleading you with his eyes to continue.

You wanted to gloat for just a bit, and you swore you would.

So, you laid in wait, waiting for the perfect moment—and the perfect place—to enact your revenge.

It wasn’t until when Akira returned 30 minutes early from work one night that the opportunity was presented to you.

“Darling, I’m home~!”

Akira’s teasing call came from the foyer as he stepped inside, shutting and locking the door as he kicked off his shoes, setting them aside. It took everything you had to stop yourself from chuckling, from smiling as the sound of approaching footsteps gave Akira’s advance away.

Soon, you felt a pair of arms wrapping around your waist, tugging you closer as you felt noir hair tickling the bare skin on your neck as a chin rested on your shoulder.

“Good evening, my Treasure,” he cooed in your ear, pausing to breathe in your scent.

“Welcome home, Akira,” you replied, earning a soft “hm” as the demon wasted little time in pressing several kisses to your neck, your shoulder.

The noiret’s hands skimmed up and down your body, slowly but carefully mapping out the various curves and bumps of your form, kissing the juncture where your shoulder and neck met, polishing it off with a soft nibble.

You knew where he’d take this; it was where he always took things when he came home from work, when he woke up in the morning.

You played along, breathing a sigh through your lips, feigning mild irritation.

The fact that he had no idea what you were scheming only served to remind you that, yes, your idea of revenge would be oh so sweet in the end.

“Akira, could you stop, please? Dinner will burn-”

Three things stopped you from whatever it was you planned to say to him.

The first was Akira’s hands gripping your clothed hips.

The second was him lifting you off of the kitchen floor, carrying you over to the counter top behind the stove, adjacent to the sink, and set you down upon it.

The third was a pair of lips finding yours, gently but lovingly taking tender lip-locks from you. You obliged, but halfheartedly, raising a hand to remove his glasses as he leaned away, his lips disconnecting with a soft wet pop.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he murmured, watching as you folded the black-framed specs.

“I’m feeling a bit wound up tonight. You’ll help me relax, won’t you?”

Ordinarily, you would have said “yes.”

If it was any other time, you would have said anything, done anything to let Akira rub his knowledge of your personal weak spots into your face. You would have gladly let Akira gloat, to smirk in satisfaction.

However…

Tonight would be different.

You swore it would be, and you would see to it that your desire was realized on this evening.

So, instead of speaking, you allowed your mouth and hands to do the talking for you.

Your lips were quick to find Akira’s, and your hands were raised, your fingers carding through his frizzy black hair as he breathed a near-silent gasp of surprise into your mouth.

His taken aback state didn’t last as he soon voiced a soft hum of approval, raising his hands to let his hands rest on your clothed hip, your shoulder, bringing you closer as you both kissed like high school teenagers behind the bleachers.

Mouths meshed together, and very quickly, tongues were introduced into the equation. For 10 minutes that was where you remained—sitting on the counter top, gently kept in place by your husband’s hands.

“Someone’s being a naughty little tease tonight,” he hissed into your mouth, licking your tongue one last time before leaning away.

Oh, you’re not getting off that easily, my dear Akira. Not tonight, you crooned mentally, your silent voice edged with a soft little purr.

“And yet you love it, darling,” you simpered, batting your eyelashes as you smiled at him, daring to bare a teasing glimpse of pearly whites.

“What’s gotten into you?” Akira asked, blinking owlishly as you fiddled with the fake black-framed glasses he always wore.

“What? I can’t welcome my doting husband home after a long, tiring day at work? I can’t kiss him like he kisses me?”

Akira opened his mouth to speak, but he was quickly cut off by the soft warmth of your lips pressing against his.

His eyes widened, uttering a groan of surprise into your lips. For a moment, and only a moment, you caught a glimpse of astonishment as it spread across his face. You saw the glint of curiosity, of amazement as it passed through his warm onyx irises, breathing a soft moan of approval as his hands reached for you, pulling you in closer.

Still, you waited; you promised that you’d be patient. You allowed Akira to kiss you, to skim his hands up and down your body, to press himself closer to you as one of his hands found the small knot that kept your apron tied around your waist, its straps looped over your shoulders.

The apron that, ironically enough, bore the words ‘Kiss the Cook’ in white letters, strangely complimented the black apron.

His fall coat had long since been discarded, shrugging it off of him 5 minutes into the heated kissing session. You remembered the shuffle of fabric as it slipped down from his shoulders, sliding down his back and hitting the floor with a noticeable rustle.

By the time you felt Akira’s fingers toying with the knot of your apron, when you felt his hips slowly, carefully rocking into yours, you couldn’t help but smile as Akira’s tongue licked yours.

“Well,” you muttered, giving Akira’s tongue one last stroke with yours, pressing one last kiss to his lips before leaning away.

“I should get started on making dinner.”

“Wait, what? Treasure, we’re in the middle of-”

“Dinner. You can wait this time, Akira.”

His expression was priceless.

He looked the way a child would look as his or her favourite toy was taken away; wide owlish eyes, mouth hanging agape, looking as confused and let down as he sounded.

“But-”

“Nope, sorry.”

The soft thump as your feet hit the kitchen floor was obvious, and you flashed him a brief smile as you gently, oh so gently, nudged him aside. You stopped to stoop down and collect his fall coat, pressing the black glasses into his hands as you walked past him.

You were halfway to the kitchen threshold when Akira’s voice made you stop, and despite your best efforts, a chill danced up and down your spine as a shudder shook your shoulders.

His voice was low, suggestive, and promised retaliation.

“I’ll make sure to return your devious favour two-fold later, sweetheart.”

You swallowed a gulp, but you mustered up what little courage you had left, turning around and leaving him with a parting statement.

OOC: Good morning, Selene. I hope you’re well, and that today’s been a good day for you so far.

My, what a prompt order. I like that, and your manners are a nice touch as well. You certainly may have an order featuring the pumpkin spice king: Akira Kurusu. Enjoy, and come back again.

Honestly, I feel kind of… okay about this. I did my best, but I could’ve done a bit better. Probably.

For everyone else: Sit back, relax with your favourite drink, and indulge yourselves in a sweet treat. ☕

“I heard something outside. Can you go check again?”

A head was turned, and a face framed with frizzy black hair snuck a glance at where you lay. Right beside him on the couch you and he shared on your evenings off, your fingers clutching onto the sleeve of the black shirt he wore, and your legs were intertwined with his, the cotton leggings of your lounge wear rubbing against his.

He felt the muscles in your legs tightening as your body stiffened, the barely stifled gasp that left your lips was easily heard. Even with his keen hearing, even with the various sounds—creaking doors, groaning floorboards, slow and shaky breaths, and other noises related to a B-rated horror movie—that came from the flickering television screen, there was no mistaking the hitched breath you took in.

The flickering television screen was all that penetrated the darkness of the living room, casting its dim light across random surfaces, including the couch where you and Akira laid. However, the dim light coming from the television screen only served to make your on-edge expression more obvious. 

There was a strange mixture of intrigue and on-edge anticipation written all over your face, swallowing a gulp that felt like it was the size of a baseball. You felt it slide down your esophagus, to settle in the pit of your stomach that was doing queasy flip-flops in anxious apprehension.

A shudder shook you as a chill danced up and down your spine, drawing in a slow, shaky breath as the earlier noises—the groaning creak of floorboards, the flashlight being shone around the dark room, and the small, frightened breaths of the woman—increased two-fold as an eerie, unnaturally still silence plagued the scene.

The quiet was broken only by the groaning creak of the floorboards, the slow and quivering breaths of the woman, and the careful shuffle of footsteps as the pair inched closer and closer to the door.

Your wide, shivering irises caught the way the beam of the flashlight cast its dim luminescence on the door’s glass pane, a light that seemed unnecessarily bright in the dark foyer as the man reached for the doorknob.

They’re going to die.

It was gripped and slowly, carefully turned. The door hinges wailed softly in protest as the door was opened, and the pair stepped out into the chilly night. The cabin’s front porch creaked and groaned, and a brief gust of icy wind whispered past the couple.

The woman’s dark hair was tussled as the cold early fall air gently nipped at any exposed skin she had, shivering as she brought the collar of her fall coat closer to her neck.  

They’re going to die.

“Don’t worry, babe. See? Nothing’s outside.”

The man’s nonchalant assurance didn’t put the woman at ease. It was evident in how she scowled, the way she smacked his shoulder. Her irked glare and the light smack to his shoulder only made him chuckle, going so far as to raise the flashlight, placing it under his chin.

The luminescence cast a play of light and shadow across his grinning visage, and the woman rolled her eyes, breathing a sigh as she cast one last look around out of sheer nervousness.

They’re going to die!

“Let’s go inside already. It’s too-”

The woman was cut off by a wet gurgle from the man, and the woman simply looked back at him, a look of pure annoyance plastered across her face.

“Whatever you’re doing, it’s not funny, okay? Now let’s-”

Again, she was cut off, but by the sight of blood pouring from his mouth, spilling down his chin as he uttered a weak cry for help. The machete that protruded from his chest was stained with the man’s blood, the red-stained blade glinting in the cold glare of moonlight.

The woman remained where she was, as though rooted in place, her mouth hanging agape as the flashlight left the man’s limp grasp. The flashlight hit the ground with a clatter, rolling down the cabin steps and onto the patch of gravel that made up the driveway.

A pair of eyes stared at the woman blankly through slits in the hockey mask that covered the killer’s face, a gloved hand twisting the machete, still deep within the man’s chest, causing further damage before the masked man finally removed the decidedly deadly weapon.

The man slumped to the ground, quite obviously deceased, and the camera zoomed in on the woman’s face. The action served only to make her frightened expression all the more palpable, and you watched as cold perspiration began to form on her face, dripping down her face as terror shone in her eyes.

She voiced a scream just as the machete-bearing man reached for her—and you couldn’t bear to see what happened next.

So, you buried your face into Akira’s shoulder, voicing a mousy squeak as your ears caught the final moments of the woman’s life.

You heard her pleas for mercy that fell on deaf ears.

You heard the all too noticeable sounds of the machete hacking away at her.

You heard her pained cries, voicing a death rattle as her life was brought to a violent end.

Strangely, you heard nothing else.

When you decided that it was safe enough to look, you turned your head oh so slightly, pointing a nervous glare on the glowing TV screen—and you saw the telltale Netflix logo staring back at you. Below the movie you had foolishly selected earlier, there were the “recommended for you,” “new releases,” “popular TV shows,” and other suggestions staring back at you.

“…I told you we should’ve watched something else, love.”

Quickly, your head shot up from the crook of Akira’s neck, pointing a stern look on the smirking young man.

“S-Shut up! I told you I could handle it, Akira!”

“Really? Hiding in my neck counts as ‘handling it’, does it? I’m not complaining, of course, but-”

“Shush!”

You reached for one of the pillows, wielding it like it was a threatening weapon and not, in fact, a harmless object. Akira laughed as you swatted him with the lumpy pillow, his warm onyx irises shining with amusement as you scowled.

“Ass,” you grumbled, scowling as the frizzy-haired demon snickered.

However, movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention, causing you to stiffen as your gaze eyeballed the adjacent window.

Akira’s eyes followed to where you were staring, narrowing slightly.

“I think I saw something move outside the window… Is someone watching us?”

Try as you might, there was no way to hide the quivering edge that laced your voice as you talked, unconsciously hugging the pillow to your chest. Your stare refused to move away from the window, and it was only when Akira spoke that your eyes left the window.

“Treasure, I checked before we started the movie. There’s nothing out there.”

“I saw something move outside, Akira!”

“Are you sure it’s not the movie having an effect on you?”

“N-No!”

You pursed your lips as, again, Akira chuckled at the light, but clear stutter to the single word you voiced, huffing as your hand smacked his shoulder.

“Check again!”

“Alright, alright,” Akira said, sighing as he moved.

The noiret uncurled his legs, the bare soles of his feet touching the floor as he paused, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek before he sat up. The couch creaked as it was relieved of his weight, and you watched as he walked over to the window, hands stuffed in the pockets of his lounge wear.

The obsidian-eyed man raised a hand, brushing the curtain aside, peering out into the darkness outside. The dim orange glow from streetlights shone down on the sidewalk, on a patch of grass here and there, and cast their faint lights on a parked vehicle, but there was nothing to be seen.

“See? I told you there was nothing out there, darling.”

A smile curled Akira’s lips, and you breathed a sigh of relief—only to jump in place, voicing a quiet gasp as the doorbell suddenly rang.

You paused, waiting, your fingers hugging the pillow to your chest. It was only when Akira was on the move that you dared to so much as budge an inch, shifting to wiggle your feet into the slippers placed on the floor.

The couch wailed softly as you sat up, still hugging the pillow to your chest as you followed Akira out of the dark living room, shuffling down the short hallway that led to the front door. You lingered behind Akira, watching as he spared you a brief glance before looking back at the front door, his fingers reaching for the deadbolt.

You sucked in a soft breath, your eyes never straying from the doorknob, watching as it wiggled experimentally before, finally—

“Akira! You and your girl still up? C’mon, man, open up! I’m freezin’ my nuts off out here!”

You breathed a sigh, relaxing at the familiar voice of one of Akira’s friends: Ryuji Sakamoto.

“As always, you have no aesthetics.” Yusuke Kitagawa.

“Like you’re one to talk. Stupid art-obsessed Inari.” Futaba Sakura.

“You could try to keep your voice down. You’re loud enough to wake the dead sometimes.” Ann Takamaki.

“It is cold, but Ann’s right. Please be a bit more considerate. We are in a neighbourhood at a late hour, after all.” Makoto Niijima.

“Um… Nobody’s answering. Maybe they’ve gone to bed? We shouldn’t disturb them if they are asleep.” Haru Okumura.

“The kitchen lights are on, though, and I saw the TV flickerin’ when I peeked in through the window.”

Ryuji’s muffled voice was clear, sounding a bit vexed as the doorbell chimed again, followed by the blond pounding on the door.

“Heeeey! Akira! You there? C’mon, open up already!”

Finally, Akira’s fingers gripped the deadbolt, turning it.It was unfastened with a quiet click, a noise that resonated a bit too loudly throughout the first floor of the two-storey house as the doorknob was gripped in the incubus’s hand, and smoothly turned, pulling the door open.

Soon, you and your husband stared into six familiar faces, all bearing various looks that were either annoyed, relieved, calm but pleasant, or bearing a smile.

“See? I told you guys they were still up,” Ryuji said, grinning as he spoke.

“Still, you should remember to be a bit more courteous next time,” Makoto replied, sparing the energetic blond a lukewarm askance.

“Niijima is right. We are guests, after all,” Yusuke added, more or less agreeing with the brunette, red-eyed young woman.

“Thank you for inviting us over for a movie night. I’m sure that it was on short notice,” Haru said, smiling warmly at you.

“It’s no trouble at all. You’re always welcomed here, all of you,” you said, stepping aside to give Akira’s friends to move inside.

Akira carefully moved past his friends, shutting and locking the door.

Their lighthearted chatter broke the dimly lit darkness of your home, removing their footwear and setting them aside, shrugging off their fall coats and hanging them on the coat rack bolted into the wall adjacent to the door.

“Alright, let’s get this spooky party started! I’ve brought loads of goodies!” Futaba said, voicing a laugh that was warm and mischievous, clutching two grocery bags of various snacks and drinks.

“What’re we watchin’, anyway?” Ryuji asked, eyeballing the flickering TV screen as everyone shuffled into the living room.

“Ooh, ooh! I heard there’s a Halloween marathon on tonight! Let’s watch that!”

Futaba’s suggestion caused your blood to run cold, swallowing a gulp as a low chuckle was heard from behind you.

Akira’s snicker was obvious, and as he walked past you, he tossed you the smallest of smirks as his warm onyx eyes danced with quiet laughter.

“I think that will be just fine, Futaba.”

It was official.

OOC: A cup of hot cocoa and half a pack of thin Oreos inspired this little musing. That, and a certain someone planted the seed for this musing in my head, so here’s a special shout-out to @lonely--rolling--star!

I love you and your spontaneous comments, Star! Much thanks for inspiring me, even when I’m juggling two other orders at the moment, haha.

To everyone else: Please sit back, relax with your favourite beverage, and enjoy this tasty indulgence of Dr. Akira Kurusu! ☕

The flu.

That was what had driven you to make the worst possible decision you could ever make in your life: booking a doctor’s appointment.

On the phone, you explained your situation to a secretary, sniffles and coughs lacing your words as you gave the woman any necessary information.

The secretary, Makoto Niijima, was calm, polite, and to-the-point, various clicks and clacks could be heard on the receiving end as she punched in the information. For a moment, and only a moment, you visualized the secretary staring at the glowing computer screen in front of her, but it left as quickly as it had come, shivering as a chill shot through your body, resulting in a shudder.

“When is a conveninent time for your appointment, miss?”

Makoto’s address made you flinch, despite how groggy, sore, and sick you felt. You weren’t mad at her for addressing you in the manner she had, no; you just hated being addressed so formally.

You breathed a weary sigh, dismissing the polite title; it was expected of a secretary to be calm and mild-mannered to a client. Honestly, you’d been called far worse by other, less likeable secretaries.

However, your mild irritation vanished as soon as it had come to you, sniffling as you just barely managed to wheeze out a reply.

“As soon as possible, please.”

“Is tomorrow morning at 10 o’clock suitable?”

You were surprised that this particular doctor had the time to see you so soon.

Perhaps he doesn’t have a lot of clients? you mused quietly, blinking sluggishly.

You’d never heard of this man. Dr. Akira Kurusu. The name didn’t sound familiar to you; it didn’t ring any bells as you quietly uttered the doctor’s name in your head. Your family’s regular doctor had retired a few months earlier, and this Akira Kurusu had apparently taken his place.

How can a new doctor be able to see patients on the fly like that?

Is he a shady quack or something? This sounds almost too good to be true...

Come to think of it... Did the old secretary retire too? Is she on maternal leave? I’ve never heard of a secretary by the name of Makoto Niijima, either.

Well, whatever. It’s probably better not to worry about it right now.

Dismissing your silent thoughts, you mulled over it for a few seconds.

Your boss had given you the green light to be off work until you were better, and with paid sick leave. Your mother and father visited you whenever they could find the time to, always making sure you ate well. Or rather they made sure that you ate as well as you could, given that you got by primarily thanks to their homemade chicken noodle soup, butter rolls, and hot beverages. Your friends stopped by after work, to check up on you, and promising to celebrate your recovery when you got better.

Most of the time you were sick was spent curled up under layers of thick quilts, sneezing, and shivering, despite the heat being set to a level of comfort. Silently, you thanked your lucky stars that it was early fall, and not winter, when the flu had decided to wrap its large, thick, sickly hand around you.

Finally, a reply left your dry lips in a croaky whisper.

“10 o’clock tomorrow morning is fine.”

You could almost picture her smiling to herself, the quick, rhythmic clicks and clacks told of her punching in the appointment’s time.

You listened as she gave you friendly advice, going over the various do’s and don’t-do’s of taking care of yourself, pausing only to breathe a soft “ah” in the midst of her spiel.

“One last thing. You will be overseen by Dr. Akira Kurusu tomorrow morning. Second floor, the third door on your left when you reach the landing, okay?”

“Second floor, third door on the left. Understood, Makoto, and thank you very much.”

“It’s no trouble. Please get plenty of rest, and make sure to stay hydrated. Have a nice day.”

“Thanks again, and goodbye. Have a nice day as well, Makoto.”

The telltale click of the receiver, followed by the familiar be-be-beep, told you that she’d hung up. You clicked on the end call button, setting the cordless phone back on its cradle. There was a soft beep as it began charging.

You stood up from the chair you sat in, pausing only to pick up the pen right in front of you. You ignored the quiet protest as your body silently screamed, your aching muscles begging you to curl up in the layers of blankets.

However, you ignored the voiceless shrieks of your body telling you, ordering you to follow Makoto’s advice and rest, shuffling over to the calendar pinned up on the kitchen wall by a thumbtack. You picked up a pen, scratching the time and name of the man who’d be overseeing you tomorrow.

Soon, the words “Appointment with Dr. Akira Kurusu at 10 a.m.” stared back at you in slightly messy blue ink. The pen was set back on the kitchen table with a clatter, breathing a sigh as a yawn pulled your lips apart.

The day passed by in a mindless blur to you. When you weren’t hunched over the porcelain toilet, heaving up your guts, wishing the terrible ordeal you were going through would just end, you stayed curled up in bed, and hiding from the cold draft underneath layers of blankets.

For a few hours that seemed to stretch on forever, you simply laid underneath the thick quilts, shivering despite feeling perspiration forming, rolling down your feverish body in moist beads. You stared up at the ceiling, your eyes feeling heavy as they fluttered. You struggled to stay awake, breathing a sigh that was equal parts frustrated and tired.

The quilts that covered you shifted as you rolled over, the book you read amidst the dim light of your lamp slipped from your fingers. The novel hit the floor with a heavy thump, but you were too tired to waste the energy required to move, to get out of bed and put the book somewhere safe.

Somewhere out of the way of your clumsy feet; your coordination in the morning was terrible, to say the least.

You muttered to yourself as your eyes slid shut, allowing the encroaching darkness of unconsciousness to consume you.

“...Dr. Akira Kurusu... I wonder what sort of man he is?”

The shrill beeping of your alarm clock woke you up the next morning, silencing it with a weak smack of your hand. You thanked the foresight you had to set the alarm for eight o’clock, rather than running the risk being late. A tired grumble left you as you slowly sat up, shrugging the thick covers off of you. A cold shudder possessed you almost immediately, shivering despite the warm temperature as the heater remained on throughout the night.

Your feet touched the bare floor of your bedroom, a hiss of, “Dammit!” leaving your lips as you slipped on the book you dropped as you fell asleep last night. You picked up the book, your lips pursed as you stood up, setting the book on the vanity adjacent to your room door.

Seeing as how it was a doctor’s appointment, you wanted to look somewhat presentable. You didn’t want to go out looking as sickly as you felt, but you still shuffled about like a zombie as you staggered into the bathroom, flipping on the light and shutting the door behind you as you entered. You disrobed and slowly, carefully stepped into the shower, drawing the curtains, stooping down to stopper the bathtub’s drain.

The faucets were tugged, adjusting the temperature to your liking as the shower mechanism was turned on. The pipes groaned and creaked as a spray of hot water hit your bare form, and you breathed a content sigh, feeling your strained muscles instinctively relaxing as you rode a calming wave of relief.

You soaked in the shower for twenty minutes, washing and rinsing yourself from head to toe. The pipes groaned as the shower mechanism was turned off, the spray reduced to a weak trickle, dripping from the faucet as you pried the stopper from the drain.

The water gurgled as it was sucked down the bathtub’s drain, the plastic rings that kept the shower curtain looped on the rod clattered as, slowly, you pried it open wide enough to stick out a hand. Your fingers wrapped around the body towel, yanking it away from the towel rack as your hand was drawn back behind the shower curtain.

You dried your shoulders, arms, upper and lower torso, and your legs before the body towel was wrapped around you. The shower curtain was drawn back as you stepped out, the moist soles of your feet touching the bathroom floor as you reached for another, smaller towel to wrap your wet hair in. Condensation fogged up the mirror, and a brief gust of warm air wafted over you as the bathroom door was opened, stepping out into the short hallway and entering your room.

The twenty minutes you spent getting ready passed by you in a blur as you selected whatever you decided was comfortable, yet appropriate for the fall, heading downstairs to make a small but quick breakfast to eat. According to the boring voice of a weather forecast on the radio, a light drizzle of rain wouldn’t start until the afternoon, early evening at the latest.

You would be home long before the rain would pelt the ground, resulting in you walking home from the doctor’s office in the rain that would be a faint drizzle at best, and if you were really unfortunate, a drizzle that would become a downpour within minutes.

The sound of the bagel popping from the toaster jolted you from your musings, and the telltale click of the kettle signalled of the water it contained being piping hot, ready to be poured into a mug at a moment’s notice. It took you five minutes to enjoy a toasted bagel with cream cheese spread, and washing it down with your favourite hot beverage. Ten minutes later your face was washed, your teeth were brushed, your mouth was rinsed out with mint-flavoured mouthwash, and your damp hair was brushed.

You took a quick glance in the mirror hung up in the foyer where you stood, shoving your feet into your fall footwear, shrugging your fall coat on and zippering it up. You hummed before nodding, satisfied at your appearance. Your cheeks still had a hint of paleness, and your eyes hinted of your groggy state, despite the alert light they held, but otherwise, you felt better than you ever did for the past two days.

You didn’t feel fully recovered, but you were able to keep breakfast down, which was a small achievement in itself.

You stepped out of your small apartment room, pausing to shut the door and lock it. You lingered behind long enough to check and double-check that it was locked. Satisfied, you nodded and slipped your apartment room key into an inside pocket of your coat, zippering it up as you descended the flight of stairs that led up to the floor of the apartment building you lived in.

The walk from your apartment building to the walk-in clinic didn’t take you long, but for one of the brave souls who walked on the sidewalk, it felt like it took an hour, thanks to the wind as it whistled by you. The brisk air may as well have been cold knives, nipping into the exposed skin of your face, tussling your bangs, and whipping your hair about as you walked, hands stuffed into the pockets of your coat.

Finally, twenty minutes later, you stood in front of the walk-in clinic, pointing a stare up at the bland words that made up for the name of the clinic: Shibuya Walk-In Clinic. The hours of availability, upcoming holidays they’d be closed, and the available doctors were listed on a small billboard sign just outside.

However, there was only one name that stood out to you: Dr. Akira Kurusu.

Slowly, you took in a breath, releasing it in a whoosh of an exhale. A hand left the darkness of your coat pocket, reaching for the latch of the front door. You pulled the door open and stepped inside, glancing around as the door slid shut with a soft click.

It was to be expected of a walk-in clinic’s lobby. The receptionist’s desk was a few feet in front of you. Its granite service counter complimented the smooth wooden base. The wooden floor shone to a mirror-like polish, complimented by the black carpet that led up to the receptionist’s desk. A plasma screen TV was bolted into the wall adjacent to the entrance, showcasing a news report that prattled on about the latest political scandal. Apparently, a politician’s son--married, according to the reporters--was suspected of having an affair with a popular television show hostess.

There were a few cushioned chairs to the right of where you stood, as well as a few other, less comfy-looking chairs. A colourful table was set in the middle of an adjacent room, filled with scattered toy blocks, colouring books, crayons, and a doll or a toy soldier. You suspected it was a waiting room for adults with children, watching as a blonde, blue-eyed woman stooped down to collect the toys.

You looked towards the receptionist’s desk, feeling yourself moving. Your heels clicked as you walked, approaching the service counter as a brunette woman glanced up. Her red eyes peered into your (e/c) irises, blinking before speaking.

“Yes? What business do you have at the Shibuya Walk-In Clinic today, miss...?”

You gave her your name, pausing to spare a glance at the name plaque in front of her: Makoto Niijima.

This is the woman I was talking to on the phone yesterday.

You waited as she clicked on the keyboard, bringing up your file.

“Ah, yes. You scheduled an appointment yesterday.”

“Yes,” you said, polishing off your statement with a nod.

“Go down the right hallway, first door as you turn the corner will you lead you to the second floor.”

“Understood. Thank you, Makoto.”

You paused to bow before turning on your heels, walking away from the receptionist’s desk.

You stuck to the directions you’d been given, walking down the right-hand corridor, and opening the first door you saw as you turned a corner.

As she said, it was the staircase. You began to ascend the small, winding staircase, hearing the door sliding shut with a click as you were halfway to your destination. You opened the door to the second floor, recalling the directions Makoto had given you the other day.

“Second floor, third door on the left,” you muttered, blinking as your eyes fell on the door in question.

You approached the door, pausing to take in the name of the doctor who headed this office: Dr. Akira Kurusu.

Seems legit, you mused quietly, taking in a breath as your hand took possession of the cold doorknob.

With a flick of your wrist, the knob was turned and you pushed the door open. It was a bit more spacious than you imagined it to be.

A few magazine racks were directly adjacent to the office’s entrance, a colourful table was set amidst the cluster of chairs and cushioned seat. Going by the appearance of scattered colouring books, boxes of crayons, toy blocks, and dinky cars, it was a small play area for children while their parents waited to be called on.

Surprisingly, there was nobody but you present in the doctor’s office. You had expected there to be at least some people waiting when you arrived, but evidently not.

“You waitin’ to be called?”

You glanced at the owner of the gruff voice, a male’s voice.

His messy blond hair stood out, and he scowled for a few moments as his brown eyes fell on you, brows furrowing as he breathed a sigh.

“Um, yeah,” you began, suddenly feeling a bit shy.

“Are you Dr. Kurusu?”

He sighed at your question, raising a hand to scratch the back of his head.

“Is that who I look like? Nah, he ain’t here. He’s in his office, seein’ someone.”

“Oh, um... I’ll wait here, I guess.”

The telltale sound of a door opening made you two glance down the hallway, watching as a young woman around your age left the office. A giggle left the woman’s glossed lips, and you wondered who she was. She was very eye-catching.

Dark brown hair fell over her clothed shoulders, dark eyelashes fluttering as she eyed him with longing. Crystalline blue eyes stared into a pair of warm gray eyes framed with black spectacles, and he chuckled as he ran his fingers through frizzy black hair.

“Thank you for the examination, doctor.”

You frowned at the clear implications the woman’s voice carried, willing back the sudden urge to roll your eyes heavenward.

Meanwhile, the noiret breathed a laugh as he replied, “It was my pleasure. Please come again.”

You moved to give the woman enough room to walk by you, opening and closing the door as she left.

“Good morning, miss. Do you have an appointment as well?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but the brown-eyed young man standing besides you answered in your place.

“Yeah. Niijima already sent me the deets. She scheduled yesterday mornin’.”

“Oh?”

You stared at the doctor, giving him a quick once-over as you quietly judged him by his initial appearance. A hand was raised, gloved fingers toying with a frizzy fringe of black hair as he stared at you, impeccably calm. It befitted someone of his stature, someone with a physician as a chosen career. He was dressed in a standard doctor’s uniform. A white overcoat was over a clean and ironed black suit. There was a crisp white buttoned-up shirt beneath the overcoat and suit, a black tie, black gloves and black dress shoes completed his appearance.

He looked so young.

How can a medical professional look so young? you silently questioned, perplexed at who the man staring at you was.

Finally, the glasses-wearing doctor smiled.

“I’m Dr. Akira Kurusu. It’s wonderful to meet you, miss...?”

Again, your mouth opened to reply. Again, you were cut off by the blond speaking in your place.

“Name’s (Y/n) (L/n).”

“...(Y/n) (L/n), hm?”

“Y-Yes,” you stuttered, feeling a familiar tingle of shyness shooting throughout your body.

“This way, please.”

Dr. Kurusu gestured you to follow him with a gentle wave, and like a puppy obeying its owner’s request, you did so.

You shadowed the frizzy-haired physician down a short hallway, turning into the open doorway of a room. You stopped as the door was closed behind you, sliding shut with a quiet click.

“So... You are Miss (Y/n) (L/n), correct?”

You were sick, but even in your less-than-favourable state, it didn’t stop you from noticing how there was a soft, noticeable enunciation as the onyx-eyed doctor spoke your name. He let it roll off of his tongue, allowing to whisper past his smiling lips.

“Y-Yes. As that man said...”

He breathed a laugh at the waver in your voice.

“Ah, yes. Ryuji does possess a certain.. charm when speaking. Well, Miss (L/n)...”

You mentally flinched at the noticeable stutter that laced your voice, but Dr. Kurusu smiled as he stuck out a hand, waiting patiently for you to take it.

Slowly, you raised a hand, gingerly taking possession of the noiret’s gloved palm and fingers, giving it an awkward, but slightly strong shake. It was for a moment, and only a moment, but you could almost sense a hidden strength in the young physician’s grip.

The way he held your hand in his was gentle, careful, holding your hand as though it was a frail glass figurine that could break if he let go. He did release your hand after a moment’s pause, nodding as he smiled warmly.

Try as you might, there was no way to will back the feeling of heat crawling from your neck to shamelessly burn your cheek.

“Sit down, please.”

Your eyes followed Akira’s glove-covered hand, staring at an empty chair set across from his behind the desk. You swallowed and nodded, dutifully obeying the doctor’s instructions.

You took the few precious moments you had before the frizzy-haired man sat down to get a better look at his office.

As with the lobby it was to be expected of a young, talented doctor.

The padded examination table reeked of stale disinfectant, a smell that was prominent in any treatment center, reminding you of the times you went for yearly check-ups as a child. A wash area was directly across from the examination table, complete with cupboards on top and on the bottom, stocked with medical necessities.

A weighing station was adjacent to the wash area, and directly above the weighing station was where the sphygmomanometer hung, ready to be used at a moment’s notice.

Strangely, there were no pictures of his family, biological or extended members. His mother, father, no aunts, uncles, cousins, or grandparents. There were a few photos of him and a small handful of people, all smiling, laughing, or striking silly and dramatic poses, beaming wildly for the camera.

In the display case to your left, there were a few medals of excellence, a handful of awards honouring Dr. Kurusu for outstanding health promotion, and an honourary membership award here and there. A few more award plaques and scholarships were hung up on the wall behind Dr. Kurusu’s desk, the golden awards symbolizing of his evident success as a physician.

He’s young, but he’s no doubt talented, you mused, glancing away from the tapestry.

The telltale squeak from across your seat told you that the doctor in question had settled down. The bespectacled doctor reached for a clipboard and pen, clicking the pen’s top and resting its ballpoint tip on the paper.

“What seems to be the problem, Miss (L/n)?”

Straightforward and to-the-point.

You took in a breath, feeling your clothed shoulders rising and falling as you inhaled. For a few moments, you silently riding a wave of calm. You paused to exhale, opening your mouth to reply to the doctor’s incoming volley of questions.

“I have the flu.”

“How long have you had it?”

“Two days.”

“Did you have it at the beginning of this year? How about a summer cold?”

“No and no.”

“Do you have a chill? How much sleep have you been getting? Are you able to keep anything down?”

“I have chills. I average about 8 to 12 hours of sleep per day, though sometimes, I end up getting 15 hours. I can keep some stuff down usually, but not always.”

“Coughing?”

“Frequently. Sometimes, my throat will feel scratchy if the fit’s bad enough.”

“Have you taken any medications recently?”

“Over-the-counter medicine. Other than those, nothing else.”

“What’s your travel history?”

“I’m planning on studying abroad for school in a few years. Nothing other than that.”

“Any recent surgeries?”

“No.”

“Past medical history?”

“I developed pneumonia when I was twelve. Nothing besides that.”

“Do you drink or smoke?”

“No.”

“How often do you exercise per day?”

“I make sure to get at least half an hour of exercise a day. Mostly taking long walks.”

“How about your family’s history? Any terminal cases?”

“Stomach cancer and ulcers on my father’s side. Leukemia on my mother’s side.”

“Frequency or burning of urine?”

You faltered, hitching in a breath. You felt a hint of renewed heat lighting your cheeks at the blunt medical-related inquiry, but then you silently reminded yourself that it was all part of the examination. Doctors were required to ask their patients questions like that, after all.

“No. I don’t go more than I normally do, and no burning when I do.”

“What of your sexual history? Are you sexually active?”

Again, you blushed at the to-the-point questions, but a bit more deeply this time. You were sure the colour of your cheeks would resemble the hue of a cherry. You inhaled as Dr. Kurusu’s stare seemed to pierce through you, gouging deep into flesh, blood, bone and making his way to your very soul.

You cleared your throat, swallowing a wad of saliva that felt the size of a tennis ball. You felt it slithering down your esophagus, settling down into your stomach, where it squirmed in anxiety, and... And... Strangely enough...

Excitement.

You weren’t a fool; you recognized this feeling for what it was. Arousal.

I shouldn’t be feeling this way. He’s a doctor; I’m a patient.

Dr. Kurusu sat and waited, though for the briefest of moments, you could have sworn the corner of his lips quirked, displaying the smallest of smirks. Behind the glinting frames of his glasses, his obsidian eyes seemed to greedily drink in the sight of you, watching as you nervously shifted in your seat.

He’s smirking. Why is he smirking?

I shouldn’t be feeling this way! He’s... He’s a doctor, and I’m a patient!

That was what you silently told yourself. The larger, more logical part of you chastised you for feeling sexual excitement at such an inappropriate time, and with someone who was probably in a relationship.

There was a tiny, very tiny part of you that felt relieved that there was no wedding band glinting from his ring finger, but even if he wasn’t engaged or married, he could have a girlfriend at the very least.

Again, the logical part of your inner self scolded you for thinking such things about a doctor.

“...Miss (L/n)? Are you alright? Do you need to lie down?”

His voice shook you free of your stupor, causing you to betray an audible gulp.

“No, thank you, Dr. Kurusu.”

It took all of your willpower to force your voice to remain steady, to stay normal, and not to betray no stutters, no wavering undertones as you spoke ten words.

“I have no sexual history. Thus, I’m not sexually active.”

“Hm. Is that so?”

You could have sworn up and down that there was a small, crooning purr that laced his voice. A noise that a wild animal might make when it cornered unsuspecting prey, prey that it found worthy to devour.

The noiret sitting across from you breathed a laugh, as though your embarrassed visage was something to chuckle at.

“...So... What’s the diagnosis? What will you prescribe me?”

“First, let’s do a few more routine things.”

Confused, you watched as the glasses-wearing doctor got up, gesturing for you to follow him. You did after a moment’s hesitation.

As it turned out, the “routine things” involved the mundane things that were expected of a medical examination. Weighing you. Measuring your blood pressure. Gauging your temperature. Opening up and saying “ah” at his request. He took notes of your pale skin, the light bags underneath your eyes, and the rate of your breathing.

You’d occasionally catch a mutter here and there as he examined you.

“Temperature is 102.9 degrees.”

“Breathing is normal.”

“No abnormalities in the patient’s mouth, teeth, or gums.”

“Blood pressure is within the acceptable range of a young woman.”

“Under eye baggage... Possibly acute insomnia...”

“...Excuse me, but is the examination almost done, doctor?”

Your voice caused him to glance at you, fully in the face. He blinked owlishly before he nodded.

“Hm? Oh, yes. Just one last thing before I prescribe you medication.”

You quirked a brow as he gestured for you to sit back down, producing a stethoscope from the breast pocket of the white overcoat. He quirked a brow at you, betraying the smallest of smiles, the tiniest of smirks again.

“I’ll have to ask you to remove your coat, Miss (L/n).”

“Yes, doctor. I’m sorry.”

You felt like a puppet connected to strings you couldn’t cut, your arms were raised almost mechanically, obediently following Dr. Kurusu’s request to the letter. Your fingers gripped onto the small zipper, tugging it down, followed by shrugging your coat off of your arms and draping it on the chair you sat in.

Without so much as a word, the stethoscope’s buds were inserted into his ears, and the cold circular end was pressed to your chest.

“Breathe in.”

You complied.

“Breathe out.”

You did.

“My, my... Miss (L/n)... I apologize for saying this, but...”

You hitched in a breath, already fearing the worst. Cold sweat began to form on your crown, dripping down your face in tiny beads.

“That flushed hue does wonders for your pale complexion.”

You narrowed your eyes, your teeth biting on the inside of your cheek. You kept a snarky retort at bay. Instead, you settled for breathing a huff.

“Diagnosis, doctor?”

Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t hold the irritated edge to your voice. However, the frizzy-haired young man simply breathed a chuckle into your blushing visage.

“My apologies, and it is nothing to fret over. You’re suffering from an acute strain of the flu; it should clear up in three or four more days. I will prescribe some antiviral medication to you. Excuse me.”

You watched as the onyx-eyed young man leaned back in the chair, putting pen to paper as he scribbled a quick note on the clipboard, ripping it off and handing it to you.

“Present this to the pharmacy nearest to you. You’ll be given pills...”

He stopped, taking note of your mildly irked stare. You had a hard time swallowing pills.

“Please be sure to take them twice a day. They will shorten the duration of your illness by a day, as well as reducing the severity of your symptoms.”

You nodded, taking the prescription note from Akira’s gloved fingertips. The note was folded and tucked into your breast pocket.

“Thank you very much for your time, Dr. Kurusu.”

That was what you said as you got to your feet, eyeing the frizzy-haired doctor as he looked up at you, watching as you began shrugging on your coat. Again, that small, infuriating smirk touched the corner of his lips as he nodded.

“It was my pleasure, Miss (L/n).”

You nodded as you zipped up your coat, smiling slightly.

“Well, I’ll be going now. Thanks again.”

A chuckle was heard from behind you, flicking a stare over your shoulder.

You watched as Akira walked towards you, smiling slightly as his glasses glinted.

“Oh, one last thing, Miss (Y/n)...”

You took a moment to mentally note how he used your first name, not your surname.

“Yes?”

“It may be old-fashioned, but I do make house calls when it suits my patients.”

You almost didn’t notice the sultry undertone his voice took on, all but purring the words “house calls.”

Almost.

“...I’ll consider it, Dr. Kurusu.”

A soft laugh was your response, a breathy snicker that caused a tingle to shoot through you, but not an unpleasant one.

OOC: So, I seem to be in the mood to put you through the mill this afternoon, dear reader. My apologies for that in advance.

I hope to be especially busy today, so I hope this will tide you folks over until I post other things. Anyway... I’ve talked enough, I think.

Let us start the game together, shall we? Please indulge yourself, my dear customer. Enjoy. ☕

Part 2 is here. https://thehuggamugcafe.tumblr.com/post/174898453922/the-charlatan-transfer-student-ii

No sooner had the barely-there smile touched his lips, it was gone, replaced by a frown as his brows pinched the slant of his gray eyes.

“Have you been told? A customer of mine and your parents know each other, and—”

Sojiro stopped in the midst of his spiel, breathing a sigh. Quietly, going by the irritated look in his eyes, the annoyed scowl that pinched his lightly aged face, he seemed to view it as too much of a hassle to explain himself to you.

You couldn’t help but silently wonder why he was so distant with others, but you knew better than to push your luck by voicing your curiosity. Sojiro Sakura was your caretaker for the next year, and if you so much as toed the invisible line, or worse crossed it, he would throw you out and you knew where you’d end up. A cell in juvie hall.

“Well, not that that matters. Follow me.”

You waited until his back was turned and he began walking until, finally, you decided that following his example was a good idea. Halfway up the stairs to a somewhat spacious attic, a question rolled off of your tongue and past your lips before you could stop yourself.

“Um, excuse me... There were a lot of police officers on my way here. Did something happen? Was there an accident, maybe?”

“Huh?”

Sojiro stopped on the staircase, eyeing you critically for a few moments before he breathed an all too familiar sigh, one of mild frustration.

“Police officers...? Accident...? It’s not my business, and it’s not yours either, kid.”

It was as though answering you wasn’t worth his time, and again, you couldn’t help but be reminded of how distant, how cold his attitude was. Your first impression of him wasn’t helped by the fact that he called you a kid, either.

When you ascended the final step, your (e/c) gaze quietly took in the sight of the attic as Sojiro proclaimed, “This is your room.”

A dusty wooden shelf was on your left, right next to the staircase landing, filled with bags of what you assumed to be old belongings. You made a mental note to try to avoid from tripping over it in the morning from now on. Bulky trash bags, a ladder, a potted plant, a small heater, a few empty plastic containers, cardboard boxes that were taped shut, a fan covered in cobwebs, and a shelf littered with musty old books cluttered the left-hand side of the room. An old work bench sat in one corner of the room, directly across from an old mattress with a (f/c) sleeping bag, clustered with old books and covered by a plastic sheet.

Next to the workstation, there was an old couch, and next to the couch were more old books on top of and underneath the rickety-looking table. You spotted more cardboard boxes that were taped shut, two laundry baskets, raggedy-looking cloths that hung from the lines that dangled from the attic beams, and a dim yellow white fluorescent glow shone from a few lit light bulbs. Lastly, your eyes landed on a box set in the middle of the attic room, your room for the next year, and you knew it was your belongings from home.

You glanced back at Sojiro as he addressed you with a stern-sounding “hey,” and a look to match.

“Are you listening?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He paused to raise a hand, rubbing the back of his neck as he sighed. “I’ll at least give you sheets for your bed.”

The lukewarm stare he gave you caused a chill to dance up and down your spine. You felt very much like a child expecting to be scolded by his or her parent, and you felt like you were walking on egg shells. It was looking more and more like the next year would be... difficult with Sojiro Sakura, to say the least.

“Hm? You look like you want to say something.”

“...It’s big,” you muttered, casting one last glance around the attic.

“It’s on you to clean up the rest. I’ll leave after locking up each day. You’ll be alone at night, but don’t do anything stupid. I’ll throw you out if you cause any trouble.”

You opened your mouth to thank him, but his voice—and the no-nonsense stare he had—stopped you from speaking so much as a word.

“Now then... I got the gist of your situation: You protected some woman from a man forcing himself on her, he got injured, then sued you. Right? That’s what you get for sticking your nose in a matter between two adults. You did injure him, yeah?”

Sojiro paused, breathing a sigh through pursed lips as he stared at you, long and hard. “I guess appearances aren’t everything.”

You swallowed a gulp, a mound of saliva that felt like it was the size of a tennis ball. Instinctively, you felt a hand curling to a fist, a fist that shook, trembled with irritation as your eyes hardened.

“W-Wait a minute, that was all just a... I... I mean that I—”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Sojiro abruptly cut you off with both a stare that cut through you like a hot knife through butter, and sharp words that rolled off of his tongue.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to anyone. I am in the restaurant business, you know. Anyway,” he paused, withdrawing a cigarette package from one of the pockets of his barista apron.

The flap was opened, and a faint hint of raisin made itself known to you as a tobacco-stuffed cigarette was removed. The middle-aged man put it between his lips as he took out a lighter, and with a flick of his thumb, a small reddish orange flame danced on the windscreen. The small flame touched the end of the cigarette, and soon, a huff of gray smoke was breathed into your face.

“And now that you’ve got a criminal record, you were expelled from your high school. The courts ordered you to transfer and move out here, which your parents also approved. In other words,” he paused, his lips curling as he smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant smile, “they got rid of you for being a pain in the ass.”

He breathed a second huff of smoke, watching your expression as the gray white smog filtered by you, around you, and wafted throughout the dusty attic.

“Behave yourself for the year. If nothing happens, your probation will be lifted.”

“...A whole year,” you muttered, more to yourself than to your caretaker.

“Your sentence lasts until next spring, right? That’s why you’re gonna be here for the coming year. Cause any problems, and you’ll be sent straight to juvie.”

The middle-aged barista crushed the smouldering butt of his cigarette into the edge of the shelf on the left of where you both stood.

“We’ll be going to Shujin tomorrow.”

“...Shujin?” you asked, blinking owlishly.

“Shujin Academy—the school you’ll be attending. We’ll introduce ourselves properly to the staff there. There’s rarely a place that will accept someone like you, you know.”

By someone like me, he means someone with a criminal record, even if it is a false charge!

You said nothing, deciding it was wise to bite the inside of your cheek for the time being.

“...Yes, sir,” you replied, your soft words earning a quiet, long winded sigh from Sojiro.

“What a waste of my Sunday... Your luggage arrived earlier; I left it over there.”

Your eyes fell on the cardboard box that was just behind him, nodding once.

“...I’ll leave it to you then, kid. Oh, and you heard what I said, didn’t you? Cause me any grief, and I’ll toss you out onto the streets like the troublemaker you are. Got it?”

“...Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Good. Make sure to go to bed early. I won’t be the one looking after you if you get sick because you stayed up too late.”

“...Yes, sir. Good night.”

You watched as Sojiro turned on his heels, the soles of his white shoes clicking as he descended the attic stairs. Your eyes did a slow, thorough sweep of the attic, breathing a sigh as you set your schoolbag on a table on the right-hand side of the attic stairs.

“This is gonna take me a while...”

It took some time, but finally, you collapsed on what was to be your bed for the next year, your hands resting on your interlocked palms, fingers linked together. The lumpy mattress shifted, quietly groaning in protest as your weight was added to it. By the time you had finished cleaning the attic that probably hadn’t seen a feather duster in years, it was early evening. The distant caws of a crow reached you through the rickety window that blew a cool, crisp spring breeze into the room through a crack in the opening, whispering across your face as you breathed a sigh.

Your (e/c) gaze stared up into the ceiling, lazily eyeing the support beams as thoughts rushed through your mind.

Arrest... Trial... Criminal record...

The inebriated voice of that man hissed its way into your head, like a snake winding its way through grass. It was as prevalent as it always was when you thought back to that night. You could still remember the way he glared at you, eyes bloodshot and cheeks flushed with intoxication, pressing a hand to his head injury as he spat angrily at you.

“You little bitch... I’ll sue!”

Back then... On that evening... I wasn’t in the wrong. I know I did the right thing.

That was what you told yourself over and over again, but it was a sobering comfort, albeit a bittersweet one. You helped a woman who was in clear need of aid, and what had you gotten in return as thanks?

A slap to the face and angry words, courtesy of your mother.

The sneering lips and haughty stare of your older sister.

The wide, watery eyes and worried glances of your little brother.

The quiet, concerned stare of your father, softly whispering assurances that everything would be okay in the end.

Your friends abandoning you.

Your classmates and the faculty staff eyeing you critically, as though you weren’t the person they once knew anymore.

Your high school expulsion.

Your false criminal record.

Being labelled as a delinquent, a no-good problem child, and on top of everything else, you would be stuck in Tokyo for a whole year.

Still, I couldn’t just let that go.

You remembered you had to go home early on that day. Your father had called, saying your grandfather had been hospitalized for a sudden heart attack, and your cram school teacher had given you the green light to leave early.

“Just get in the car!”

You remembered stopping, flicking a glance down a separate street, pursing your lips as you paused, listening.

“Stop it!”

“How dare you cross me...!”

You moved instinctively, but not away from the sound of quarrelling voices, no.

You moved to where they were coming from.

“Stop it! Let me go!”

The closer you approached, the more clear their voices were. It was a man and a woman, the latter being grappled by the former as the man snarled intoxicated words at the woman, his words slurring noticeably.

“No!”

You remembered the way the woman struggling, doing her best to get away from the man, but for every inch she tried to get away from him, the closer he yanked her back to him with a large, masculine hand wrapped around her forearm.

“Don’t give me that shit...”

“Ow! P-Please, stop!”

She’s in danger. I have to save her!

You remembered how your heels clicked over the asphalt, your schoolbag bumping against your clothed back as you jogged closer. The driver-side door of a car was left open, a car which you assumed was the man’s vehicle, ready to shove the helpless woman inside at any moment.

“Tch... What a waste of time. You think you’re worth causing me trouble? Huh?”

“I-I’ll call the police!”

“Heh, call them if you want! The police are my bitches. They’re not gonna take you seriously.”

“No... Stop...”

The distant wailing of police sirens made you look up the street, and so did the drunken man. He clicked his tongue in clear annoyance.

“Someone called the cops, huh? Get in the car! Incompetent fools like you just need to shut your mouths and follow where I steer this country!”

Suddenly, the hairs raised on the back of your neck as the woman’s eyes fell on you, and the man followed to where she was staring, honing his gaze on you.

“What’re you looking at? Get outta my face!”

You didn’t move. You couldn’t move. You watched as the man took a few steps, his balance was questionable as his eyes leered at you through the orange-coloured lenses of the glasses that sat upon his nose.

“This ain’t a show! Get lost, missy!”

Turning back to glare at the woman over his shoulder, his voice spoke volumes of the irritation he felt.

“See? This is all because you’re so damn slow! Get in the car!”

In the here-and-now, you felt a hand curling to a tight, white-knuckled fist. Your jaw became set as your lips pursed, your brows pinched the slant of your eyes as you stared—no, glared—up at the ceiling.

You breathed a huff and a sour mutter of, “That scumbag,” feeling your eyes sliding shut. You were in the throes of dozing off—that is, until the be-be-beep of your phone pulled you free from the attempt of falling asleep.

You hummed as you withdrew your cellphone from the pocket of your cotton pyjama pants, blinking as your eyes fell on a familiar red and black icon that took the shape of an eye.

It’s that weird app again. Your eyes focused on it, sensing a dizzying spell of feeling lightheaded gripping a hold of you, washing over you. It was slow, gentle, but potent simultaneously, lulling you into a sense of security, of warmth.

“That’s... weird. I deleted it this afternoon. It’s so creepy,” you mumbled, blinking your heavy eyes.

You tried, you honestly and truly tried to resist, but your eyes slid shut, and you fell into the welcoming abyss of unconsciousness.

The clanking of shackles yanked you to full alertness, breathing a shallow gasp as your eyes shot open. Groggy, your eyes watched as a chain lazily swung back and forth, the chilling sound of metal hitting a padded wall resulted in a powerful chill to worm up and down your spine, a shudder that shook your shoulders. The soft but steady noise of water dripping into a toilet was heard directly across from you, echoing all around wherever it was that you resided now.

Wherever this place was, you knew one thing for certain.

This isn’t Leblanc’s attic.

The feeling of cold metal surrounding your wrists, the telltale sound of chains clinking together made you look down, and a similar sensation of icy steel circling your calves earned a second, more thorough glance at yourself. Your quiet suspicions were confirmed; your hands and ankles sported thick metal shackles. Moreover, you wore a white and black striped prisoner’s uniform, clothing that was strangely complimented by the simple pair of raggedy sneakers you wore.

The lumpy mattress you sat on shifted as you tossed your feet on the floor, the worn footwear scuffing over the floor as the soles made contact. You drew in a breath as he sat, back curved as you pressed a hand to your head, trying to assess the situation.

Where am I? How did I get here? Is this a dream?

A soft snicker caught your attention, and you blinked, your head pointing an askance on the cell door. A smirk curled the lips of the noiret, standing at around 5’11’’, the warm onyx iris of his right eye observing you. He wore a standard warden’s uniform. A crisp blue shirt and a black tie, black dress pants covered his legs, and black dress shoes shone with a mirror polish. Finally, a warden’s cap sat atop his head, bearing a golden V, and the black eyepatch that covered his right eye also bore a golden V as he breathed a second chuckle. It was a noise that was surprisingly pleasant to hear, but...

You watched as he shifted, making way for a carbon copy of himself. This young man appeared to be just like him. The same frizzy black hair, the same onyx iris that coolly eyed you, the same clothing, the same eyepatch covered his left eye, but unlike his look-a-like, he seemed to be more stand-offish, more level-headed.  The two noiret, obsidian-eyed wardens shifted, turning sideways as your gaze fell on a rather... odd-looking man.

The first thing you took notice of was his abnormally long nose, and how his wide, bloodshot eyes ogled you in silence. He was dressed in a way that reminded you of a butler, or perhaps a servant of a higher being. A crisp black tailcoat, a white shirt, a black tie, black leggings, and black dress shoes. A grin eternally pulled at his lips as he raised a hand covered by a white glove, appearing to greet you.

For a moment, and only a moment, silence prevailed where you lingered, but finally, the man spoke.

“I am so in love with you that I want you to sign a contract that will make it harder for you to dump me.”

To say that you were taken aback one evening when your live-in boyfriend, Akira, murmured those words into your ear would be an understatement.

The same could be said for the way how he sounded so... different. There was a noticeable edge in his voice, as the words rolled off of his tongue and left his smirking lips.

It was faint, almost indistinguishable from his normal speech pattern, but there was definitely a subtle change in how he addressed you.

Of course, that didn’t stop him from chuckling as his arms wrapped around your waist, bringing you closer as he rested his face in the crook of your neck.

He breathed a content hum as he inhaled your scent, his glasses glinting as he eyeballed the full-body mirror you and he stood in front of. More specifically, he stared at your stationary reflection. It was for a moment, and only a moment, but behind the shimmering frames of the black glasses that were perched on his nose... There was a flash of carmine.

It was your first year anniversary, so he had decided to surprise you by taking you out to dinner as a special celebration. Apparently, he had booked a reservation for you and him four weeks in advance, and when you had gasped in surprise and thrown your arms around his neck, he couldn’t help himself from smiling at seeing your eyes sparkling.

To him, the way your irises shone with joy reminded him of... a certain something.

He mused how your gaze would look, shining with tears and happiness.

He couldn’t wait to see your reaction when he got down on one knee, and popped the question to end all questions.

He wondered how your face would look when your gaze fell upon--

However, in the present, he was pulled from his quiet musings as a small laugh left your smiling lips.

“You’re so cheesy, Akira.”

Surprisingly, the reply you earned wasn’t what you usually received. Oftentimes, he’d whine that “cheesy is the new normal,” or he’d pout and politely remind you that, “I’m your boyfriend; I’m allowed to be corny.” But, no, that wasn’t the reaction your words pulled from him.

You had to strain your ears to hear it, but you just barely caught him whispering, “I’m serious, love.”

“...Are you feeling alright?” you asked, turning around so that you faced him.

His arms were still looped around your waist, still hugging you to his still form, shifting as you moved and turned to face him.

You raised a hand, resting your cool palm on his forehead. “...No fever.” You ignored the soft sigh the onyx-eyed male breathed, adding, “You’re acting weird... Weirder than normal.”

“Hey,” he protested lightly, sounding--and feigning--hurt at your light jab.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you teased, grinning thinly. “Are you ready?”

“For you, darling, I’m ready for anything.”

His smile is as dashing as always, you thought, your cheeks blushing with a soft pink hue.

The restaurant was as you expected it to be. Middle-class and upper middle-class patrons were carefully segregated in either the smoking or non-smoking area. Men gave you a quick but thorough once-over, and women eyed your boyfriend with crow-like smiles.

It was a silent but welcomed relief when Akira’s arm slipped around your waist, gently bringing you closer to him. It was a subtle gesture, one to let every man whose eyes lingered on you know that you were his--and oh, if only you knew how much he had to will back a smile, a smirk, feeling your arm gently looping around his as a waiter led you two to a reserved table.

Time flew by in the restaurant. Akira was sure that between you and him, a bottle and a half of champagne had been downed.

A silly smile curled your lips and lighthearted giggles bubbled up in your throat, leaving your grinning mouth in high-pitched, exaggerated guffaws as you and Akira left the restaurant. The low heels of your shoes clicked as you staggered on the sidewalk. occasionally bumping into your live-in boyfriend.

It was a miracle that you didn’t fall flat on your face. That, and Akira kept you steady as you walked. His obsidian irises watched you, always watched you. It was almost unbearable how obnoxiously cute you could be, even in an inebriated state.

Hearing him utter your name made you look at him, cheeks flushed red as a snicker left your smiling lips. A drunken hiccup left you as you slurred, “Yeeeees, Akira, my darling?”

Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump. If he wasn’t so focused on ensuring that you didn’t fall and get hurt, he would have pulled you to him, and kissed you then and there.

Simply for enticing him with your voice; he didn’t care if it was riddled with intoxicated slurs. He didn’t care if your breath reeked of champagne. He would still kiss you until you were breathless.

“Will you marry me, Treasure?”

“Ah? What’d you say, my sweet devilish boyfriend?”

“I asked you to marry me. Will you be at my side, not as my girlfriend, but as my beautiful wife?”

You blinked once, twice, three times before you nodded and replied, “Heck yeah I will!” Your declaration was polished off with a soft hiccup, and throwing your arm around his shoulders. Lastly, a wet kiss to his cheek, a bright smile, flushed cheeks, and a drunken shimmer to your gaze as you stared at him, beaming for all you were worth.

He smiled at your response, feeling as though the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.

It wasn’t the most routine proposal, but Akira would take your promise as being genuine. Even if you were drunk and could barely stand upright without his aid, you wouldn’t take him asking you to be his wife so lightly.

You probably wouldn’t remember what you promised him come morning, but for now, he could enjoy watching over you. He could enjoy watching as you prattled on mindlessly, totally ignorant of what you said.

He would be sure to cater to you tomorrow morning with not only breakfast in bed, but a surprise accompanying the meal.