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Futaba Sakura had a problem.
Really, though. Come on. She didn’t deserve this. At all.
Back in 2014, when she’d planted her secret little bugs in Cafe Leblanc, she’d just been a scared young girl who wanted to keep an eye on her guardian to make sure he was safe. Maybe not the most rational decision, but understandable given her circumstances.
And when her guardian-who-needed-to-stay-safe had inexplicably decided to let some out-of-town delinquent live in the attic of the cafe, she’d definitely been justified in keeping an eye on him from afar. He’d even turned out to be the leader of the Phantom Thieves! Super suspicious.
And when Akira, that leader of the Phantom Thieves—and also her Key Item—was in danger, she’d needed to keep him safe too. Especially when he kept letting the source of that danger, so-called-detective Goro Akechi, spend time in the cafe with only Morgana as supervision! She was absolutely going to keep using her bugs to watch the two of them and nothing could convince her otherwise.
After Akira had gone home, too, she kept those bugs active. Because Sojiro was alone again and the guy had a tendency to mope and how else was Futaba going to know when she needed to swoop in and cheer him up???
Of course, then, once Akira was back in town and working in the cafe again (despite no longer living there, apparently the money he’d saved from the metaverse was enough to allow him to live pretty comfortably), Futaba was just so happy to have him back that she couldn’t help herself from watching the video feed more often during his shifts. She was busier these days, and when she was holed up in her room working on three projects at once, being able to turn to her 4th monitor and remind herself that one of her favorite people was Alive and Well and back in Tokyo again was enough to keep her going. She sure as hell wasn’t going to stop.
Especially when, a few weeks after summer vacation of Akira’s first year of university, Goro Akechi had waltzed right into the cafe and back into all of their lives.
So this was apparently going to be a regular thing again, Akechi spending his afternoons in Cafe Leblanc. And for all that Akira seemed unbothered having him there, Futaba was not about to trust that he had 100% pure intentions. (Yes, he’d more than proved himself while fighting Maruki with them even when he thought he was going to die. But that wasn’t the point.) The point was that she had a perfectly-set-up method of surveillance, so if Mr. Detective Prince decided to try anything she would be the first to know. It was, in her mind, clearly the smart thing to do. Completely reasonable.
The universe, apparently, had other opinions. It seemed that she’d finally reached the boundaries of tolerable behavior and had ventured into unacceptable nosiness, and that karma, or another metaverse God, or something along those lines, had decided to punish her. There was no other explanation for the sheer torture she was currently being subjected to, and had been every day for the past month.
Flirting.
Goro Akechi was flirting with Akira Kurusu, and Akira was flirting back.
When Akechi (Goro? Was she supposed to call him Goro now?) had asked Akira for help with the structure of some sentences in his latest freelance writing project, Futaba had thought something was fishy. After a laughably easy amount of digging, and a cursory glance at Goro’s now not-so-secret fanfiction-writing account (Featherman Detective/Thief AU? What the fuck), she’d quickly determined that Goro was able to write just fine on his own.
It hadn’t occurred to her exactly why he was asking for help until Akira, on a rainy Tuesday, had pulled out an essay for his philosophy class and asked Goro a question (“Because I know you know a lot about philosophers– how could I ever forget our first conversation, detective?” Barf). She’d spent about 30 seconds being confused, because she’d heard Akira brag about his grades before (and an even easier hack into the university system to view his transcript confirmed he hadn’t been lying).
But then Akira had moved to sit right next to Goro, much closer than was necessary to hear his reply of “Really, needing help in school? I’d thought better of you, Joker”. She’d nearly gagged on her precious instant yakisoba when she realized that Akira and Goro were both asking for unnecessary help as an excuse to spend time together, and she was getting a very-unwelcome front row seat.
So it continued– day after day, week after week. Nervous giggles as their hands brushed while passing over a cup of coffee (which Akira had prepared with an exuberant flourish), hours spent at a booth with books in front of them and their heads nearly touching as they asked each other for “help”, followed by back and forth quips where they referred to each other as “Joker” and “Crow”, or “Detective” and “Thief” much more than necessary. Akira had even started trying to teach Goro how to make coffee, something Futaba knew Sojiro was unaware of as he tended to be highly selective about who he allowed behind his counter.
And over time Futaba’s suspicious disgust transitioned into exasperation, as it became obvious that these two idiots were made for each other (as somewhat of a fanfiction connoisseur in her own right, she knew Idiots In Love when she saw them). But, because they were idiots, each of them was somehow completely oblivious to the fact that it was reciprocated. And all Futaba could do… was watch. And listen. And go insane.
She had to do something.
Obviously she couldn’t do anything on her own. Futaba knew enough about her own shortcomings to realize that getting directly involved was likely to end in some sort of awkward disaster (not to mention the fact that Goro still seemed uncomfortable being in the same room as her, and she felt quite the same). What else was there to do then but get help?
As she scrolled through her contacts, it became clear that some of the team members were definitely the wrong choice. Few people, for example, had Ryuji’s talent for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Haru, unfortunately, was still processing her own feelings about Akechi being in their lives, and Makoto was standing in solidarity with her (those two were yet another couple who might need a push to finally get together… but that could be a struggle for another time). Yusuke… obviously no. Sumire… may or may not have confided that she was still harboring her own crushes on both Akira and Akechi, so was unlikely to have an unbiased opinion.
In the end, really, the choice was obvious.
~~
Two days later, Futaba found herself tapping her left foot impatiently while she waited for a second face to appear on her computer screen. Morgana was with her, curled up on her bed with his eyes closed in a valiant effort to pretend he wasn’t just as invested in this as she was. Finally, a grey box labeled “Ann Takamaki” appeared, followed shortly by Ann herself, seated on the bed of her hotel room in Los Angeles where she was currently on a trip paid for by a prominent fashion magazine. As the video came into focus, Ann seemed to be removing one of several pins from her hair.
“Hi Futaba!” she chirped, once she noticed the call had connected.
“Hey Ann, how’s your trip going?” greeted Futaba.
“Oh,” she signed. “You know. It’s a lot of work, really. These are some of the longest shoots I’ve ever done, and the people running them are intense.”
Ann triumphantly pulled the last restraint from her hair, allowing it to cascade down her back in all its glory. She shook herself briefly before turning back to Futaba.
“But! That’s not what we’re here to talk about! What is it that you need my help with, Futaba?” She smiled into the camera, looking eager to offer assistance.
“Well…” Futaba began.
A blur of black fur whooshed past her face, settling into the shape of Morgana as he landed on her desk and primly tucked his tail around his paws.
“Lady Ann!” He cried. “It’s Akira and Akechi, they’re driving both of us insane!”
From there, he and Futaba launched into the story of how the two boys’ reunion had rapidly turned into a back-and-forth flirtation that was becoming painful to watch. And would she, please, give them some advice about what they could do to get these two knuckleheads to realize they were head over heels for each other?
Ann was silent for a long moment after Morgana finished speaking.
“Hmm,” she started. “You know, it is December. Christmas is a very romantic holiday isn’t it? If we could give them a little push, maybe they can have a Christmas Eve date!” The longer Ann spoke, the more excited she seemed.
Futaba shifted to the front edge of her seat.
“Okay, a push in time for Christmas Eve! …what sort of push could we give them, though?” She asked.
“Give me a minute, I’m still thinking,” replied Ann, before jolting upright. “Oh!”
“Yes?” Futaba asked, equally eager.
“You said they spend a lot of time in the cafe together, right?”
“Yes, Lady Ann!” Morgana interjected. “That’s what we just finished telling you! It’s nauseating to be in there with them!”
“Well, I happen to have made Akira watch a lot of American Christmas movies with me. There’s one particular holiday tradition that I’m thinking of, that should give them juuuust the push they need…”
Thirty minutes later, Futaba and Morgana said goodbye to Ann with a fully-formed plan. It shouldn’t be too hard, really. All Futaba had to do was convince Sojiro to decorate the cafe for Christmas! And then, have a hand in which specific decorations he bought, and exactly where they were placed. It would need to look unintentional, she thought, for the plan to be effective. But she happened to have lots of ideas for where Akira and Goro were likely to be…
~~
~~
Goro Akechi had a problem.
More accurately, he had one big problem with several smaller ones clustered around it. His main problem being, of course, that his carefully calculated and meticulously planned reintroduction to the Phantom Thieves, the latest step in what was supposed to be his path toward the improvement of his overall mental health and sense of self-worth (as described by his therapist—he had doubts, himself) had somehow resulted in his attraction to Akira Kurusu getting out of hand, again.
As much as he’d tried to limit his visits to the cafe at first, he’d soon found himself searching for excuses to spend time with Kurusu—Akira—alone. And there it was, the return of those infuriating…feelings…that had nearly been his downfall the first time they’d gotten to know each other.
Which is how he’d found himself here, behind the counter of Cafe LeBlanc, with his newest, most immediate problem. Namely, that Akira had for some indecipherable reason decided that he wanted to teach Goro to make curry. Cooking, what a ridiculous thought! When Akira had made the suggestion, he’d laughed out loud at the idea.
“Seriously, Kurusu, what benefit could there possibly be to me learning to make this cafe’s signature dish, when we’ve already discussed that I do not cook, and I could come here to get it whenever I wish?”
Akira abandoned the cup of coffee he’d been about to pour to lean forward across the bar. Resting his cheek dramatically on his clasped hands, he smirked up at Goro.
“I don’t know, detective, I just thought it might be fun. But that’s an interesting response you just gave. It almost seems like you might be… scared?”
And then.
He winked.
Completely unable to back down from the obvious challenge, Goro had leapt from his seat against his better judgement and strode confidently around the bar to join Akira.
And now, here they were. Goro had been forced into one of those ridiculous green aprons that somehow looked good on Akira but clashed horribly with his own complexion, and was currently chopping onions. On that note, he’d been rendered completely unable to focus at the moment thanks to Akira hovering directly over his shoulder. He turned around to say as much, maybe ask him to back off a bit, and nearly jumped out of his skin as he was met with Akira Kurusu’s face mere inches from his own.
And he’d taken off his glasses.
Goro’s throat went dry. He’d seen Akira’s bare face so few times that he was wholly unprepared for the full force of his stare. Goro had no idea what he’d been about to say, and was now too distracted by admiring the flecks of light and dark in Akira’s irises, and watching how his pupils dilated and contracted slightly as they focused on Goro’s face. Unable to hold such a stare for longer than a few seconds, Goro’s eyes slid downward slightly, toward the bridge of Akira’s nose where the glasses he’d been so recently wearing had left indentations in the skin there. And in between those indentations… were those… freckles? Just four or five, and very subtle, but there they were. Goro could hardly believe his eyes.
Ahem.
Akira cleared his throat, and Goro’s eyes snapped up again. “Something the matter, detective?” Akira asked.
Goro felt his face go hot. Not even just his face– the rush of heat spread all the way down until his fingers were tingling and his heart was thudding in his chest. He was sure his whole face had gone red (damn his decision to wear less make-up today). Had he really just been caught… staring?
“Goro?” Akira asked again.
Words, Goro, he thought. Come on, say something and stop making such a fool of yourself.
“G… glasses?” Was apparently the best he could do.
The sound of Goro’s voice seemed to break Akira out of some sort of trance. He broke their eye contact, shook himself, and took two steps back while running his right hand through the messy fringe on his forehead.
“Hm?” Akira asked.
Underneath the hand still covering part of his face, Goro thought he might have caught… a tinge of pink… on Akira’s cheeks? But why? Goro had been the one caught staring, after all…
“Oh!” Akira continued, reaching one hand into the pocket of his apron to pull out his glasses. “I always take them off while cooking, they get fogged up from the steam. And you know I don’t really need them to see, so…” He trailed off, chuckling.
“Ah yes, of course,” Goro replied, affecting a tone as haughty and condescending as he could manage. “An insult to those everywhere with truly impaired vision. But of course a thief wouldn’t care about something like that.”
Goro let Akira squirm nervously for a few seconds, taking the time to regain his own composure, before bringing both of their attention back to the task at hand.
“Now, you were watching so closely earlier. Are you planning to offer any advice on my technique, or am I merely putting on a show for you?”
Thirty minutes later, two pots of curry simmered merrily next to each other on the stove. On the left, sat Akira’s batch. On the right, Goro’s contribution was a slightly darker shade of brown, noticeably runnier, and had vegetables of much more uneven shapes.
Goro sighed. Why, exactly, had he let Akira put him up to this? (The answer was obvious, of course, but that was something for Goro to contemplate when he wasn’t acutely aware of Akira’s presence and body heat immediately next to him, almost close enough to touch.)
He let himself be distracted by watching the lines of Akira’s body as he shifted, clasped his hands together, and stretched them straight above his head with a (nearly sinful) groan. After following the path of Akira’s hands as they rose, Goro let his gaze continue upward toward the ceiling… and immediately froze at what he saw there.
Dangling from a hook exactly above the midpoint between where he and Akira were standing, was a sprig of mistletoe.
Akira, by now looking up at the ceiling as well, seemed to have noticed the same thing. His hands dropped unceremoniously to his sides with a light thump.
Slowly, the two boys turned to face one another.
“I noticed that Sojiro had decorated the cafe for the holidays, but I hadn’t expected him to be the kind of person to hang mistletoe in the kitchen.” Goro said, raising an eyebrow dubiously. “Does he have a “friend” he brings back here that I’m unaware of?”
Though, now that he knew what to look for, Goro noticed that mistletoe was actually a prominent feature of the cafe’s holiday decorations. A few sprigs hung above the bar, a few more above various booths, and though he couldn’t see it he guessed that the signature leaves could also be found above the front door.
Akira chuckled, going a bit pink (again?) as his hand returned to his hair, this time on the back of his neck.
“I think Futaba had a hand in the decorations this year… she may not have known what it meant and just thought it was pretty?” He offered, shrugging.
“But you do,” said Goro. His palms began to sweat and he shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Oh, yeah,” replied Akira, waving a hand in nonchalance. “Ann’s made me watch all sorts of Christmas movies with her, and Americans sure do love their forced-kissing scenes.” He laughed again, more forced, and was curiously not meeting Goro’s eyes. “But how do you know about mistletoe?” He asked.
Goro couldn’t help himself, lapsing into his favorite I’m-smarter-than-you tone– “I’m well-aware of holiday traditions around the world, of course. It’s important for a detective to know as much as possible about various cultures.” He smirked at Akira slightly.
They lapsed into an awkward silence. A few times in a row, Akira glanced at Goro then looked away, then back at Goro, then away again. His face cycled curiously through various shades of pink and red.
Goro, for his part, was doing something quite similar. As much as he wanted to simply forget that the mistletoe (and its implications) was even there—maybe he could make a joke, change the subject, and get on with their curry-making—he couldn’t ignore the stubborn voice in his head that was telling him that this was his chance.
In fact, this could be his only chance to find out what it might feel like to kiss Akira Kurusu.
Once the idea was seated in his brain, Goro found he could not look away Akira’s face. His eyes, still sans glasses, were just as captivating when they weren’t inches away. Just below, Akira’s lips looked surprisingly smooth and inviting for someone who clearly put no effort into his skincare routine. Lightly pink (the same color as the blush currently dusting Akira’s cheeks) and slightly plump, Goro tried to imagine what they might feel like against his own… and came up empty. It seemed that he would need to find out for himself.
“Well, detective,” said Akira, breaking the silence. “You say you know so much about cultures of the world… but have you… ever experienced this particular tradition for yourself?”
Goro turned to face Akira head-on, feeling himself start to shake as he forced out the words his traitorous brain was daring him to say.
“You know, Kurusu.” He paused. “I can’t say that I have.”
Goro paused again, not trusting his voice to come out even (why was he so flustered?) Get a hold of yourself, Goro. He took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his still-sweaty fists in the pockets of his apron. Finally, steeling himself, he took a step forward, looked up at Akira, and—
Akira seemed to have had the same idea he did. In sync as always, they’d stepped forward in unison and were now so far into each other’s personal space that their noses were nearly touching. Akira’s whole face was an impressive shade of crimson, from the apples of his cheeks to the tips of his ears. His lips were parted, and the breath coming out of them dusted over Goro’s face.
In that moment, staring into Akira’s eyes, it was as if something clicked into place in Goro’s brain. Both of them had had every opportunity to back out of this, but here they both were. Centimeters apart, alone in the cafe, underneath some mistletoe. Akira seemed nearly as eager as he did, if his rapid breaths and flushed face were anything to go by. There was really only one thing that Goro could say next.
“Since we have such an… excellent opportunity for cultural enrichment,” He saw his own amusement reflected in the sparkle of Akira’s gorgeous eyes. “Would you care to share this experience with me?”
Goro felt the corners of his lips turn up as Akira responded,
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Closing his eyes and parting his lips, Goro leaned forward eagerly…
…and his nose immediately collided almost painfully with Akira’s.
Both of their eyes flew open as Goro took a step back, his traitorous face flushing with heat again. Not daring to meet Akira’s eyes, he opened his mouth to say something self-deprecating about inexperience, only to be silenced by the feeling of Akira’s fingers on his cheek.
“Shh,” Akira whispered, lips somehow again only a centimeter from Goro’s. “You look cute when you blush.”
Not giving Goro time to formulate a reply, Akira took advantage of Goro’s parted lips and slack posture to tilt his head slightly to the side, at just the right angle for their lips to finally–finally–touch. It was a chaste kiss, just a surface brush, really, but Goro felt the contact like an electric shock straight from down his spine all the way to his toes. He sighed happily as Akira gently pulled away.
Nowhere near ready to be finished, though, Goro let his instincts take over. “Is that all you’ve got?” He asked, taking a challenging step forward to follow Akira to where he’d backed off.
He lifted both hands to Akira’s (soft, unfairly soft) cheeks, and brought their lips together again. Akira’s hands slipped around his waist, leaving tingles in their wake and pulling the two of them closer together. Not to be outdone, Goro opened his mouth, brushing his tongue against Akira’s lips which instantly parted willingly.
The lovestruck part of Goro’s brain sung in happiness as their kiss very quickly progressed beyond chaste—their tongues clashed, Goro backed them into a wall and their legs slotted together, and Goro’s hands wound their way around the back of Akira’s neck into his hair (that, at least, was not unfairly soft; Goro had some lessons to teach him about conditioner).
The two of them were so lost in each other that they almost didn’t register the front door opening until it was too late. Goro heard the chiming of the bell just in time to quickly release Akira and take a step back into the kitchen, face flaming yet again, just as Yusuke Kitagawa's dark blue hair came into view.
“Ah, Akira! I found myself passing by and it occurred to me that I hadn’t eaten since quite early this morning. So I came inside in the hopes of a plate of that delicious curry I see cooking behind you!”
As Yusuke stepped farther into the cafe, he spotted Goro as well.
“And Akechi, what a pleasant surprise! I do wonder if you might offer me a moment of your time to give your opinion on my latest artistic venture—”
“Have a seat, Yusuke, curry’s almost ready,” Akira cut him off hurriedly.
Goro said nothing, as he was busy thanking his lucky stars that Yusuke was by far not the most observant of the phantom thieves—not only was Akira’s face bright red, but his hair was more disheveled than Goro’d ever seen it, his lips were swollen and glistening, and his apron was visibly askew. Goro immediately committed the sight to memory.
“I owe you a debt of gratitude as always, Akira,” Yusuke’s musical voice brought Goro out of his mental wanderings, and he turned away to fetch a plate to hide what he assumed was his own thoroughly rumpled appearance.
He filled the plate with rice then passed it to Akira, who piled a generous portion of curry on top before heading out into the cafe. Noticing that Yusuke had chosen a booth seat that was currently facing away from them, he paused to nudge Goro with his hip, gesture suggestively at the stairs to the still-furnished attic, and mouth—
Later.
~~
~~
After the cafe was closed for the night, Goro found himself following Akira up the stairs to the attic, valiantly trying not to give away his eagerness by tripping along the way.
Once they reached the top, he didn’t give himself time to think before reaching out to Akira again, touching trembling fingers to his cheeks. Just in time, a twinge of doubt crept in.
“This is… something you really want, right? You didn’t just kiss me because of the mistletoe?” He asked, a bit hesitant.
If Akira was a lightbulb, his smile would have lit up the dim room.
“Of course it is, Goro. It has been for a long time.” Smiling fondly, he added “And you call yourself a detective…”
They leaned forward in unison, tilting their heads in opposite directions (Goro was very good at learning from his mistakes). But, just before their lips met, they were startled by a change in the atmosphere.
All around the room, multicolored fairy lights began to blink on, revealing extensive decorations on the ceiling and shelves. More mistletoe had apparently been placed directly above where they were currently standing, and several more pieces were hanging conspicuously above the bed.
Just as the boys’ confusion began to register, the voice of a notorious Canadian singer began to play out of Akira’s phone speakers.
“It’s the most beautiful time of the year
Lights fill the streets spreading so much cheer
I should be playing in the winter snow
But I'mma be under the mistletoe…”
Goro stood still in shock as Akira began to chuckle helplessly, allowing his forehead to flop onto Goro’s shoulder as his laughter increased. Finally, he threw his head back and groaned.
“Futabaaaaaaaaaaaaa…”
There was no reply, other than a change in the music to a more mellow, jazzy, tune. Akira turned back to look at Goro.
“Well, before I head over to give her a lecture about privacy, how about we get back to what we were doing…”
And, as one, Goro and Akira leaned in for the first kiss of the rest of their lives.
The lights around them flashed in approval.
~~
several hours earlier
Futaba was getting antsy. It had been so long already, since Akira had suggested that he and Goro make curry (she known it would be a good idea to put some mistletoe back there, called it!), and still ages since they’d finished adding the ingredients and stopped to watch the sauce simmer.
Any time now they were going to look up and see–
Oh–
–oh–
Yes!
“This is it, it’s happening!” she shouted out loud, startling Morgana who’d started to doze, and Ann, on video chat again, who was watching the video through Futaba’s phone camera (Futaba was distracted, ok? Or she obviously would have come up with a much better way for Ann to watch the video feed).
“Oooooh, are they finally gonna kiss?” Cooed Ann.
“They’ve definitely noticed the mistletoe,” observed Morgana. “But what are they waiting for?”
“YES!!!!!! WOOHOOOO!” Cheered Futaba as the two figures on her screen leaned in for a kiss. Bolstered by her victory, Futaba grabbed her phone and rushed out of the room. She had to go to the cafe! She’d been right, she deserved to show off and receive her thanks!
She made it all the way to the front door and had her fingers on the handle before she realized she wasn’t wearing shoes and it was Winter. Dropping her phone on the ground, she picked up one boot. As she tied the laces, she began to notice an extra sound pricking at her ears.
“---aba—”
“---taba!”
“FUTABA!!”
“FUTABA!! What are you doing??”
Startled, Futaba picked up the phone and came face to face with Ann, who’d pressed her face almost all the way up against the phone to shout as loud as she could into the speaker.
“What do you mean what am I doing, I’m going to the cafe of course!”
“WHAT?” Ann screeched. “No! This is their moment, they need to do this alone. You can’t just… barge in and interrupt them! They’ll be so embarrassed it could ruin everything we’ve worked for!”
“B…but!” Futaba protested.
“No buts! Get yourself back upstairs, turn off the video, and go work on some homework or something!” Then, more gently, she added. “You’ve done your part, Futaba, let them do the rest. You can gloat later, and I want to be there too.” Despite her reprimand, Ann was still grinning.
Futaba grinned back.
“Okay, okay, you win. Thanks for your help, Ann. I’ll update you if there are any more developments!”
After ending the video call, Futaba skipped back upstairs. There was plenty she could do to them remotely, after all…