Chapter Text
The day had finally come. The day when Akira had to leave Tokyo and go back to his hometown.
Sojiro wouldn’t say he was heartbroken over Akira’s imminent departure; “melancholy” would be a more accurate description of his state of mind. It was hard to believe a whole year had gone by since Akira waltzed into his and Futaba’s lives. And soon he had become accustomed to having a teenager (and a cat) living in the dusty attic above his tranquil café. To having a cup of coffee and a plate of curry ready for the kid every morning. To receiving witty remarks and smirks while teaching him how to make good food. To waiting up for him to get back safe every night before telling him to lock the door and leaving. It would no doubt take the old man some time to rid himself of these habits and get used to not having Akira around.
Akira, with his cheeky humor, occasionally bratty attitude and most of all, his kind-hearted spirit, quiet resolve and headstrong determination to do something about this evil, corrupted world. Akira, whom he had come to treat as his own son.
Sojiro’s mind was still taken up with reminiscences of past times with Akira when said teenager slinked down the staircase, his usual bag on his shoulder and a stuffed duffel bag in his hand. Sojiro adjusted his glasses, taking the chance to regain his composure.
“Got everything you need?”
“Yeah,” he replied, stopping in front of the countertop. “Already shipped the rest of my belongings back yesterday.”
“Good, good. Here, take this with you too.” Sojiro handed Akira a pocket-sized notebook. His recipe note. The latter’s eyes widened upon realizing what it was and blinked up to meet his gaze.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, already taught you the tricks to make good coffee and curry. Might as well pass on the rest of my hidden recipes.”
Gratitude written all over his face, Akira took a slow, deep breath before letting it out. “I…thank you, Boss. I’ll make sure not to let my skills get rusty.”
“You better.” That was all Sojiro wanted to hear. The truth was that he would prefer having Akira here so he could oversee his progress in person, that his heart felt younger with his presence. But, it wasn’t his place to question the kid’s decision to leave, so his notebook was the next best thing he could offer.
“One more thing. Knowing you, I won’t bother telling you to stay out of trouble. But do remember this: A whole support group is here to back you up whenever you need it, so don’t go bottle things up like you always do, okay? Everyone’s just one phone call away.”
“Boss…” Akira’s face went through a mix of emotions, like this was the least he expected to hear from Sojiro. The fact was neither did the old man himself. He had only planned to give out the notebook along with a few admonitions, yet whenever it came to his troubled charge, he couldn’t help but turn into a babbling sap.
With a low grunt, he added, “And come visit Futaba when you can, ‘aight? I know she’s mostly fine now, but she’ll get cranky without her big brother around.”
“Will do.” Akira nodded genuinely this time, then with a hint of tease, asked, “Are you sure you won’t lend the attic out to another delinquent the moment I’m gone though?”
Sojiro snorted, “As if I could. Exactly where do you suggest I find some cocky brat like yourself?”
“Hmm, guess you’re right.”
“Now go, before I change my mind and turn the attic into storage again.”
With the short banter coming to an end, their expressions softened to a matching smile. Holding his gaze for a moment, Akira looked like there was something else on his lips; in the end only he gave a polite half bow. Sojiro saw the hesitance in his face but didn’t comment on it.
“Thank you again for everything, Boss.”
“Take care, kid.”
With that, LeBlanc’s door closed behind Akira, finalizing his departure.
Sojiro carried on with his morning routine, his movement slacked off and shaded with somberness. Not really in the mood to deal with customers, he considered keeping the door sign “CLOSED” for the day but decided against it, as doing so would just leave him with much idle time to reminisce and overthink stuff.
He missed the kid already.
Fortunately, business was even slower than usual, meaning he didn’t need to muster up a chatty, friendly front and could dunk his head in mindless chores like sorting coffee beans and wiping the furniture. After all were done, he stepped out of the café for a cigarette break before going back in and locating his favorite crossword puzzle, diverting his focus to the words from a certain troublesome, frizzy-haired teenager.
When several hours later his phone rang and Futaba’s name appeared on the screen, he had assumed she was to announce that they’d safely dropped Akira off at his parents’ place and were driving back, not this. Anything but a crying Futaba telling him they were on their way to the countryside to pick Akira up. Again.
“Damn it,” Sojiro cursed. “…How is he?” Then he remembered Futaba had yet to reach Akira so she probably wouldn’t know. “How did he sound on the phone?”
Futaba mumbled, “H-He’s…a mess…” Then she told him everything between sniffs, not less of a mess by much herself. About Akira’s damn parents kicking him out before even letting him enter the house, going so far as to throw out bags of his belongings and slam the door in his face. About Akira dragging his stuff in the rain and sobbing in a nearby park for an hour before finally listening to Morgana and willed himself to call his friends, who were halfway on the highway back to Tokyo. According to Futaba, he didn’t manage a few sentences before being swamped by emotions and Morgana took over the call and told them what happened.
Thank god that at least the cat was there with Akira; Sojiro wasn’t sure they would hear from the boy if he was alone when all that happened, despite the old man’s earlier reminder that they were only one call away whenever he was in trouble.
“Go bring him home, kiddo,” Sojiro told his daughter, voice gentle and determined. “He’ll be fine. We’ll make sure he is.”
Disconnecting the call with Futaba, Sojiro’s mind whirled. There were several more calls that needed to be made, rather sooner than later. He should have listened to the nagging voice in his head and done it weeks ago. Now he could only hope it wasn’t too late to do so.