Work Text:
Warm evening light penetrated through the familiar glass door of that retro café— comfortable and quiet. The wad of cash left by the last customers laid fresh on the shoddy table closest to the entrance, kept from shuddering with a singular cork coaster. In the air, an earthy scent of coffee and curry spice kept the lungs fulfilled. Everything felt perfectly crafted to put one’s senses at ease after a long day of work, and yet the humble bustling of Sojiro Sakura proved that the environment was anything but artificial.
The beautiful newswoman on the television spoke mildly to her Thursday listeners. “Good evening,” she said. “While we’ve heard little from the Phantom Thieves since their final escapade last winter, the group maintains their position as the talk of the city with many politicians reciting so called ‘phan-rhetoric’ at their speeches, despite it still being considered a controversial subject.
Meanwhile, Akira Kurusu looked up from his coffee brew at his own beautiful Phantom Thief, who looked gorgeous in her black buttoned shirt tucked into dark-green shorts. She grinned in response.
“Can’t seem to get your eyes off me, huh?” she teased.
Akira chuckled. “As if you’d have an problem with it.”
She reached up and pushed a lock of brown hair behind her ear. Makoto Nijima would never tire from that laugh, she could feel the rumble of his chest flow through her fingertips.
Sojiro, the slim older man with a pimp’s taste in fashion was busy grinding tomorrow’s beans. His hands moved so meticulously as if each bean was equally important. He hummed as he worked, and when the blending process was done he bent over and breathed in the scent, and then moved the grounds into a glass jar and placed it on the counter.
“Akira,” he said after closing the lid. “I’m going to close up early tonight and have a dinner with Futaba. I trust you to lock up behind me.”
Akira nodded, and the bell of the door rang as the café owner went out for the night. Makoto found the interaction to be fascinating, how close the two men were despite only having known each other for a little over a year.
“Akira, when are you going to finally teach me how to make your coffee?” said Makoto, taking another sip. “When I get that police commissioner job down the road I’ll need something to remind me of home.”
A lightbulb seemed to light up over Akira’s head in response. “How about right now?” he asked, standing up from the table with a sudden burst of energy.
Makoto gaped in response as though expecting a pushback of sorts. “Really? I would’ve thought it to be a Sakura trade secret.”
“Lucky for you I am but a humble Kurusu.”
Akira clumsily sidestepped his way out of the booth like a mannerless child. Nijima giggled behind him. She couldn’t tell from his gleeful expression, but this moment was entirely serious for her boyfriend. After nearly a year of tutor lessons from the student council president, Akira finally had an honorable way to repay her. He wrapped around the long bar counter and reached underneath, grabbing two clean aprons and laying one out flat for Makoto to put on.
Akira looked up from the counter to see his girlfriend stuck in place like a deer caught in headlights. “C’mon miss president,” he laughed. “Where’d that eager spirit go off to?”
Makoto blushed with a smile and grabbed the apron off the counter. Akira’s apron, she thought. I wonder if it smells like him. She brought it up to her nose and breathed in, only to be violated by a film of cologne that threw her into a coughing fit.
Akira burst out laughing at the little show. “Sorry Makoto, I think that one’s the old man’s.”
He separated the strips of cloth that tied his apron together, and traded it for the far more aromatic one. Makoto’s face said it all. It wasn’t unlike the face of a skillful jazz musician halfway through an arousing performance. Akira could see the tears building up in her eyes from disgust.
“Let’s move on,” she said, slowly recovering.
So on went Akira’s lesson once the aprons were positioned. He began with the beans: the most vital part of the brew. Fruity Guatemalan blends and expensive Hawaiian beans waiting to be ground. He explained how proper storage slowed the process of oxidization. The common pour over technique that was easy to learn, but hard to master. Sojiro’s secret authentic french press that Akira found behind a bag of rice. Why blooming the grounds with boiling water created a burnt flavor, or why it became far too bitter when the steeping process lasted just ten seconds over its allotted time. Cold brews, espressos, strange techniques that would ruin the café’s business if they were used on the customers.
The art of coffee, and the barista the artist. Mature, bold flavors contrasted by hints of rosemary and millions of other colors to play with.
Makoto Nijima was an intelligent woman, and yet it took all of her focus to keep pace with her tutor. Finally, he was ready to prepare his specialty cup.
Akira counted out the beans one by one. He placed them in the grinder and pulsed to a medium-fine coarseness. Makoto boiled some water to help, their shoulders pressed together as their arms moved. The filter was in an unopened box, and Akira took out one and placed it above a glass pot. He preheated it with hot water and poured only half of the grounds into the filter. While they bloomed he waited fifteen seconds, and then swiftly added the rest. Finally, he poured the hot water in circles above the filter, and Makoto watched as the grounds were flooded and spun, the delicate result dripping underneath. She was hypnotized.
Makoto leaned in, lifting a hand to brush back the hair that fell in front of her face. Her hand didn’t get far. The kettle placed on the stove was oh so conveniently in the way of her arm’s swooping motion. It tilted back, crashing into the coffee brewers on the counter next to the stove and shattering.
Boiling water spilled everywhere. Makoto screamed as it splashed onto her right thigh and trailed down to her ankle.
“Makoto!” screamed a voice behind her, but she hadn’t felt pain so sharp since she was a Phantom Thief, so her senses dulled and she panicked.
Akira caught her as she fell backwards, trying to step away from the stream of hot water rolling down the countertop like acid.
“Makoto, what happened?” he said with a raised voice.
“I—I’m sorry I moved my arm a-and it spilled and—“
“Stop apologizing and come here!”
He dragged her to the bathroom and turned on the sink faucet to its coldest point. He helped Makoto awkwardly lift her leg up and rest it in the sink bed. Cold water poured over her leg as it seared in pain. Tears pricked at her eyes but she refused to cry. It was a hell of a burn but the skin wasn’t blistering.
“I’m sorry for yelling,” said Akira. “Are you okay? You scared the hell out of me.”
“I’m fine; it was totally my mistake. I’m such an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot. I’ll be back in one second; there should be aspirin or something in the cabinets.”
Akira went back into the kitchen, mumbling incoherent bouts of frustration. Makoto cursed herself for wearing shorts as she scooped up the cold water and poured it on the burn on her thigh. The searing pain was mostly gone, left behind by a dull throbbing that wasn’t exactly any better.
Suddenly, a bell rang from the other side of the café, unheard by Makoto, whose ears were occupied by the noise from the sink. The throbbing was becoming more frequent and pulse-like.
“Akira, I really need that aspirin when you find it,” she cried.
Sojiro meandered through the door, caught by surprise from the situation. He looked at what had been glass containers on the kitchen counter, at that point shattered wildly across the chairs and floor. He saw the wreckage by the stove too, and the freeloader he entrusted his shop to frozen in place, making eye contact.
“What in the god damn world happened when I was gone?” he shouted. “I leave you the keys for how long? Thirty minutes? I can’t believe this!”
Makoto shut off the water and stumbled out of the door at that moment, stabilizing herself against the wall and holding her knee up with her right arm to keep pressure off the wound. Her grimaced expression suddenly opened wide when she saw the Boss in front of the counter.
Sojiro turned and saw the girl and the bright red mark on her leg. Whatever anger that contorted his face muscles immediately vanished, and he stepped forward.
“Oh Jesus Christ, you hurt her?” he said, almost panicked. Akira felt guilt punch him in the stomach at the remark.
Makoto let her foot rest on the floor. “No—no of course not. He was teaching me how to make coffee and I knocked over the kettle. I’m so sorry; I’ll buy a replacement for my next visit—“
Sojiro’s brow flew upwards, wrinkling his balding scalp. “Oh, don’t you dare do that,” he said, and then glanced over at Akira. “What are you standing there for? Look for the damn aspirin, boy! I’m gonna run home and see if I have something you can rub on it.”
Sojiro turned on his heels and sped out the door. Akira released a breath he didn’t know he was holding and began looking through the shelves he hadn’t yet checked. In the far back of one he finally found the painkillers, lifting up the bottle and observing it to make sure the expiration date had not yet arrived. Meanwhile, Makoto seated herself on one of the tall chairs at the counter, sighing from both the pain and the inconvenient situation.
Akira shuffled towards his girlfriend, feet dragging slightly as his gaze faced elsewhere. He extended a hand with two white tablets that Makoto quickly swallowed. He turned around and dropped his head, exhausted.
“Akira,” said Makoto. “Look at me.”
He turned around with a pitiful expression, like a neglected child. “This is all my fault, I—“
“Stop talking.”
She stood up and reached her arms around Akira’s neck, pulling him in tight and absorbing the dark cloud over his head like a sponge.
“It’s not your fault,” she said.
“You hurt yourself in front of me.”
“Yeah, and it hurts like hell,” she laughed. “Even the smartest girlfriend in the world makes mistakes, I guess. Don’t beat yourself up.”
She kissed him on the nose and released her grip. Akira’s shoulders finally lost some of the tension they were holding, and he leaned against the counter with a small semblance of relief.
Suddenly, the café door swung open and slammed into the wall with a thud, the bell flailing about alongside it. Tae Takemi, the general practitioner nearby charged in with Sojiro close behind. In her hand was a squeeze-bottle that Akira assumed was an original product. The doctor’s facial expression was rabid.
“You fucking morons!” she spat. “Come here, give me your leg.” Takemi opened the cap and squeezed out a thick green fluid that she proceeded to viciously slather upon Makoto’s burn. “Do you understand how dangerous a burn can be? Boiling water is not a fucking joke! You could’ve had blistering and scarring if it was bad enough. This is how cancer forms, you idiots!”
After getting chewed out by the official Phantom Thieves medical expert, Akira and Makoto decided to call it quits for the day. Sojiro shoved both of them out the door so he could clean while they walked to the Yongen-Jaya train station, despite Makoto’s pleas to help out. The couple left defeated and tired with an extra Takemi-original squeeze-bottle as a parting gift.
Makoto laughed. “I have to say, that coffee recipe must be powerful if it won’t even allow itself to be learned by others.”
“Must be a confidant-exclusive,” Akira chuckled.
“Hm?”
“Look, we’re already at the train station.”
Akira turned and wrapped his arms under Makoto’s, lifting her up and earning a surprised squeak as a reward. “For our next date, we’ll move as far away from domestic abuse as humanly possible,” he said, grinning.
“Oh quiet, you.”
He placed Makoto down and pulled her head in close, setting his chin down on her hair and breathing in her scent. She smelled wonderful, as usual, with an extra coffee fragrance underneath from spending so long in a café.
The night air was cool and refreshing on Makoto’s skin, and she could see planes flying through the Tokyo sky, carrying passengers of all ages to places that were likely far more interesting than the backstreets of Yongen-Jaya, and yet, she was smiling. The moonlight reflected off her pale skin delicately as she sunk deeper into her lover’s embrace, where it was warm. Even with a fresh wound to treat for the next week; even with a boyfriend who she was sure had reserved feelings of guilt from earlier; even in a city she knew kept her locked in from seeing the far reaches of their culturally dynamic world…
Makoto was happy.
“You’re grinning like a total idiot, babe.”