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“What do you want?” says Akechi, stepping through the door of Leblanc in a huff.
“Wow, not even a hello first? How are you doing? You’re looking great today? ” says Akira from behind the counter, grinning.
“You messaged me to tell me you needed me here urgently,” says Akechi, crossing his arms. “Hello, how are you doing, what do you want? Does that make you feel better?”
“Slightly, yes. Sit down,” replies Akira, gesturing to the seats at the counter. Akechi makes no attempt to move, and Akira sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose under the glasses. “I’ll tell you if you sit down.”
Akechi rolls his eyes, but sits down in his usual seat anyway. The rest of the café is empty, conspicuously so for the time of day, and while the sign outside read OPEN Akechi wouldn’t be surprised if Akira had pulled some strings to get people out.
The obvious conclusion comes to him in the blink of an eye, and he raises one eyebrow. “Were you trying to invite me on a date?” he says, smirking and propping his chin up on one hand. “There were better ways you could have done that, you know. After all, we-”
That’s when the bell over the door jingles again and Yusuke Kitagawa steps through.
“Akira, you invited me here?” says Yusuke.
Akechi throws a dirty look Akira’s way.
“Yep,” says Akira, dodging Akechi’s glare expertly. “Both of you, actually, for the same reason.” He side eyes Akechi back, telling him silently and no, it’s not a date.
(Good.)
That is, of course, when Yusuke notices him. “Akechi?” he asks, shocked.
Akechi rolls his eyes. “Yes, Kitagawa, it’s me. And before you ask, no, I don’t know why we’re here either, but I suppose we’re about to be told, right, Kurusu? ” he says, with a pointed turn towards Akira.
Akira nods. “Yusuke? You too,” he says, gesturing with one hand towards the chair next to Akechi and watching as the taller teen easily folds himself into the seat. “Now, with that out of the way… you two are going to learn how to cook today.”
That was absolutely not what Akechi was expecting, and he’s assuming the feeling shows on his face. “Kurusu, we’ve been over this. It’s not that I haven’t tried. I can’t. ”
“And I typically don’t even have the money to go grocery shopping, let alone make a whole meal,” adds Yusuke.
“That’s why you’re going to make curry. Because it’s easy -” he gestures to Akechi, “-and cheap. ” He gestures to Yusuke. “Plus, we’ve got all the ingredients right here.” Akira moves the few feet over to the Leblanc fridge, pulling it open to reveal it filled, likely stocked for customers for the day.
Akechi leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Hm. Well, when this is inedible, don’t say it was my fault, because I warned you.”
~~~
Leblanc’s kitchen is absolutely not meant for three people, let alone three lanky teenage boys. It leads to Akechi doing his best to stay out of the way while the others work, although Akira drags him back in every time anyway.
Meat sizzles in a pan on the stove while Yusuke dices onions on the side, steady artist’s hands and practice in the Metaverse with his sword helping to slice evenly every time. Akira sorts out spices into two small bowls, crushing garlic and grating ginger. Akechi, for the moment, is standing on the side, watching the meat slowly brown, having been given instructions to flip it after a few minutes.
It’s chaos, but somehow, it’s calm. Yes, the three of them bump into each other quite a bit, and it’s nowhere near easy, but Akira gives directions above all the noise, and they settle into a rhythm.
(Sure, maybe Akechi avoids bumping into Kitagawa as much as Kurusu, because he knows Kitagawa might actually hold it against him. Maybe he’d prefer it if it actually was just the two of them here, without any interference, but it’s easier with a third set of hands to dump diced onion into the pan once the meat is removed.)
Akira directs Akechi to add the spices into the mixture once the onions are browned, stirring them around in the heat. Akechi’s had Leblanc curry before, obviously, but has never quite put this much thought into its preparation and the ingredients that go inside. Yusuke clearly hasn’t, either, if his first reaction is to treat the dish like an art piece and admire the way everything came together.
Once everything’s added, Akira covers the pan and leaves it to simmer, setting up a rice cooker and rinsing the rice in the kitchen’s small sink before leaving it to cook alongside the curry. “See? I told you it was easy. Now we just have to wait for it.”
(Akechi still thoroughly believes it will be inedible, but maybe he’d touched it little enough that it wouldn’t matter.)
It takes long enough that Akechi has dropped from the conversation between Akira and Yusuke and opened one of the few games on his phone, one he saves for long stretches in between boring meetings or classes. He’s tuned their quiet talking out and so nearly gets surprised when Akira slides from his chair next to Akechi and moves to take the lid off the curry.
“Mmmmm, bit longer,” he says, watching it simmer, before setting the lid down on the counter and moving to sit back down.
“How much longer would that be, Kurusu?” replies Akechi, setting his phome down to stare at Akira.
“Eh... twenty minutes or so? Didn’t realize you were so impatient, Akechi,” Akira says with a smile.
(Oh, he’s going to kill him.)
“Don’t worry, I’m simply trying to estimate how long it will take for the food to be finished. I’m sure Kitagawa would appreciate it.”
From the snippets of conversation he’d actually paid attention to, this was something that happened quite a bit with the two of them. They’d mentioned Yusuke being one of Akira’s main taste testers on a trip they’d been on together, as the Phantom Thieves, and Akechi can’t help but keep replaying it again and again in his head.
Either way, eventually Akira deems the curry done enough to taste test, and grabs a spoon from a nearby drawer before taking a small sample of the dish, blowing on it to cool it down, and sticking it directly in his mouth. He nods absentmindedly and goes to open his mouth and say something before turning to look at Akechi, and he can see the wave of thoughts going through Akira’s mind before the other actually speaks.
“Alright, one last ingredient.” He spins on his heel to open the refridgerator again, pulling out a small container of yogurt. “This’ll be perfect.” Akira adds a small dollop of the white yogurt into the dish, stirring it around until the color fades into the red, and then taste tests it again. “Yeah, definitely. It’s done.”
He serves it over the rice and the three of them return to their seats at the counter to eat. It’s spicy, but flavorful, and not so strong as to overwhelm Akechi. The meat is tender and falls apart under his fork, and the rice balances out the texture nicely while soaking up the liquid.
Overall, it’s good. He’d like to credit his lack of involvement.
Yusuke seems to believe much the same, waxing poetic about the flavor combinations and the harmony between the meat and the spices. Akechi would almost believe he was exaggerating it if he didn’t know the taller teen did that with everything he enjoyed, treating it like a piece of art to be studied and dissected.
Their plates are emptied without much conversation, and after a round of seconds, three cleaned dishes are placed in the sink for Akira to wash later. (Yusuke volunteered, but Akira insisted.) Yusuke leaves with a copy of the recipe from Akira, citing train fares and schedules, and suddenly it’s just the two of them left in Leblanc.
“That went well, I suppose,” says Akechi, replacing the new silence in the air.
“So? Do you think you can cook now?” replies Akira, leaning onto Akechi’s shoulder from the next chair, which he’d scooted closer to Akechi’s.
“Absolutely not. I believe you did most of the difficult work for that.”
“Well, I guess you’ll just need some more practice, won’t you?” Akechi turns to see Akira smiling up at him, and can’t help when the corners of his own lips mirror them.
“I guess I will.”