Work Text:
“Yusuke.”
“…”
“Yusuke.”
“Hm?”
Akira rounds the counter to where Yusuke sits, hunched over the sheet cake the Wildcard had prepared earlier. A small collection of brushes and edible cake paint bottles – courtesy of Haru, bless her soul and infinite wallet – surround the confection. A dramatic image of Captain Kidd sprawled across the cake itself, although it seemed a quarter away from completion still. There’s paint smeared across Yusuke’s face, which he’s doubtlessly unaware of.
“When I asked you if you wanted to paint something on the cake, I meant something simple. It’s been 2 hours.”
Yusuke pauses just long enough to shoot him a scandalized look. “And has it not been time well-spent? Does our dearest not deserve utmost effort?”
“I–” Well. He has a point, the cake looks bitchin’, but even Akira “wait until the last possible day to send the Calling Card” Kurusu has limits to how close he’s willing to cut it. “Yeah, it looks really cool. But ‘dearest’ is going to be here soon, and he deserves a finished cake.”
(Ryuji would also eat cake he found abandoned on a subway bench, but Akira chooses to hold his tongue on that.)
“I’m going to get started on the coffee.” He states instead, moving back into LeBlanc’s kitchenette. Yusuke nods in vague acknowledgement – he’s already focused back in on the painting process. Akira has to pause when his phone goes off, showing a text from Futaba.
-
Akira likes to think he’s relatively agile, both in and out of the Metaverse. Sure, he doesn’t make a habit of doing Gymnastics Without Limits™ unless they’re exploring a Palace, but that doesn’t mean he doesn't usually carry himself with grace. Some amount of grace. The minimum amount of grace, at least.
Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean he is immune to, say, tripping over his own feet while carrying coffee.
Yusuke jolts back into the present once it registers that Akira’s fallen, and he leans precariously, half-standing, over the cake to survey the damage. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, all good, peachy keen–” Akira grunts as he gets back to his feet. Sojiro wasn’t going to necessarily kill him for managing to break three coffee cups at once, but he was going to be very disappointed in him, which is just about the same thing. And he would tell him that he should’ve been wearing his apron, because there’s no way he’s going to get these stains out of the formerly-white shirt he’s wearing.
Right at that moment, of course, because the universe loves to play fun little jokes, a familiar blond strolls into Café LeBlanc. And in that moment, Akira knows for certain a small number of things:
1. Ryuji looks radiant. He’s tempted to take a page from Yusuke’s playbook and wax poetic about it, but he’s a little busy being covered in coffee. None of this is relevant to the situation at hand, per se, but it’s true nonetheless.
2. Murphy’s Law is real, because why else would the universe align in just the right ways so that he looks like a complete moron right now and the cake isn’t even finished?
3. He looks like a complete moron.
4. Yusuke also looks like a moron, but he’s much less likely to care, so it doesn’t really count.
Ryuji stops short as he takes in the scene – one boyfriend covered in coffee, another covered in paint, an unfinished cake between them. He stares in confusion for a solid minute, just barely long enough for Akira to start worrying that something’s gone wrong, before the realization dawns on his face.
“Oh shit, today’s my birthday!”
Akira could almost hear Futaba laughing.
-
“Dude! Is that Captain Kidd?! Holy shit, this looks effin’ sweet!”
“I should hope not, this recipe is supposed to be only semi-swe–”
Akira interrupts the artist with a kiss, causing him to take on a rosy hue. “You did a great job, Yusuke.”
Ryuji mimics the action with enthusiasm, before planting one on Akira as well, pulling them both into a hug. “Forreal! You guys are the best!”
There’s a pause, then Ryuji gradually lets go of Akira. The coffee, having not quite dried, was now on his and Yusuke’s shirts as well. “…eff.”