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In hindsight, Akechi should’ve expected this from their leader.
He’d been at the local market, in what were probably his most comfortable (and, admittedly, ugliest) clothes, subtly eyeing the instant food section (seriously, why were there so many different types of cup noodles? He very pointedly ignored the Hatsune Miku branded one.) when he’d stumbled upon Akira.
He’d seen him from afar, and the very first thing Akechi noticed (much to his dismay) was how good Akira looked in his button-down shirt. The second, however, became much more pressing after looking at him for more than three seconds.
He looked like shit . Akechi almost wanted to laugh at him. He looked deathly pale, even more so than usual. Moreover, he had a sluggish pace to his steps, and his eyes seemed very, very tired.
Akechi felt the slightest pang of pity, but decided to not dwell on it too much. Akira, for his part, finally seemed to notice Akechi standing awkwardly a few feet away, and his face lit up in a way that Akechi would forever deny was cute. Akira, oblivious to Akechi’s (pathetic) crush, made his way over to where Akechi stood.
“Akechi,” Akira said, a slight rasp to his voice. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Why are you here?” Akechi asked upfront, perhaps a bit too blunt. He didn’t mean to sound like an asshole, it was just second nature.
Akira, like always, ignored his tone. Bless his heart.
“I was just looking for a snack, that is all.” Akira turned to look at the noodles section of the shelves, before grabbing a Seafood instant ramen (Not Akechi’s favorite, but who is he to judge?).
Akechi stared at Akira - probably for a second too long - before scoffing and grabbing the first package he saw; a bright, red and black ramen.
“Well then,” Akechi finally turned to leave, “Take care.”
Akira shot him a smile so very soft, Akechi felt his cheeks heat up against his will.
“I’ll try my best.”
Akechi turned his back on him, and went to the cashier to pay.
When he eventually got home after a rather hellish train ride (seriously, why were there so many people?) Akechi finally bothered to take a look at what was meant to be his dinner for the night.
“ Buldak Hot Chicken Ramen ” he read, much to his dismay. Even the mascot was staring at him with what he swore was malicious intent.
Fuck.
After a very, very painful dinner experience (which he couldn’t even finish, mind you, despite only using half of the seasoning packet) he sat down to scroll through his phone. Even though he hadn’t uploaded to his blog in months he still, in some way, enjoyed seeing people’s comments. Most praised him, no doubt because of his charm, but there were the occasional hate comments. If you were to ask him, those were his favorites.
His rotting was, unfortunately, interrupted by none other than a text message from one Futaba Sakura. As if his day couldn’t get worse, she demanded they call.
‘ ugh. Can’t she just message me? ’ Akechi thought, but he nonetheless pressed the ‘call’ symbol on the messenger app.
“Akechi!” Futaba’s bright voice blasted through his phone speakers, startling him and making his right eardrum ring. “How’s it going, old man?”
“I am not old.” Akechi scowled, already desperately wishing for this to be over. “Why did you call me?” he thought this was a valid question to ask, but-
“Okay, you technically called me first,” Futaba answered, most certainly not oblivious to his hatred. That bastard. “But back to the point!”
Akechi waited. ‘ this better be important ’ he thought to himself.
“It’s Akira.” Futaba said, “He’s sick, and I’m pretty sure he has a fever.”
“Oh.” Akechi stated, probably dumbly. “That makes sense. I saw him earlier and he looked…”
“Like shit?” Futaba answered helpfully, for probably the first time in her life.
“Like shit.” Akechi agreed. He didn’t want to admit it, but he did feel worried for Kurusu. This wasn't the first time he’d disregarded his own health and it most certainly wouldn’t be the last.
He suddenly remembered another pressing issue. “Why, exactly, did you call me?” Akechi began, “Don’t you two live with Sojiro? Why inform me of all people?”
“W-well!” Futaba stammered, “I don’t want to catch whatever he has! And Sojiro isn’t home! You seemed like… the best option?”
Akechi stared blankly at a wall. He could almost feel a headache coming on. Almost .
“Besides, Akira trusts you!” Akechi nearly choked at this. Akira is such an enigma.
“I'm not sure I’d-”
“Please please pretty please?!” Futaba begged. Seemed like there was no getting out of this one. Much to his distaste.
“Okay, fine! I’ll do it. Whatever.” He would tell no one this, but as much as he dreaded every interaction with Futaba, talking with Akira made him feel at ease. It was as if someone finally understood him.
Futaba squealed over the phone. “Thank you so much! I owe you this one,” she sounded relieved at not having to deal with a very sick Akira, and Akechi would relate if it weren't for the fact that he was now, unfortunately, tasked with taking care of him.
“Uh-huh. I’ll be there…” - Akechi mused over his options, suddenly very tired, - “In an hour?”
“Works for me! ‘kaythanksbye !-'” And Futaba hung up.
He sat on his couch for just a second, before bending over and yelling (briefly) into his hands.
‘ what have I gotten myself into?’ He thought. He could barely take care of himself when he was sick, seeing as all he did was take some pain pills and go on with his day in misery. How would he manage taking care of another person?
‘ and that person just so happens to be Akira,’ his mind helpfully supplied, ‘ who you happen to be very gay for. dumbass.’
Neighbors be damned. He grabbed a nearby pillow and screamed into it.
After fussing around, he settled on bringing a small bag of what he considered essentials.
-Akechi was panicking. What were you supposed to bring to take care of someone? Should he buy food? Maybe apples? He probably had some apples in his fridge. Were they having a sleepover? How childish. He should bring a toothbrush just in case. Maybe a set of pajamas? Would that be too overkill? He got more and more frustrated by the second-
Again. Essentials. Some Acetaminophen, and he had half the mind to take his toothbrush along. He’d discarded the idea of the apples, however, considering they’d been sitting in his fridge for God knows how long and frankly, they did not look very appetizing to begin with.
He mused over his options. The trains were still running, so that could be a viable option…
He checked his phone, and left the comfort of his own home.
The trip to the Sakura house wasn’t too rough, if you ignore that Akechi very nearly tripped and fell while speed-walking to the station (something that he will forever be glad no one was around to observe,) but as he stood in front of the dark, looming figure of the house, he couldn’t help but feel just the tiniest bit scared. He quickly shook off this feeling, and stepped up to the door to knock.
Apparently, Futaba beat him to it, seeing as the door swung wide open- nearly giving Akechi a heart attack.
“Akechi! I didn’t think you’d actually come,” Futaba rushed him inside, causing him to trip as he removed his shoes. Futaba kept talking while dragging him along, “Akira’s in his room upstairs. I think we have food in the fridge and cold packs in the freezer,” she quickly went up the stairs, leaving Akechi standing in the hallway dumbly.
“Good luck!” she yelled, before slamming the door and presumably locking it.
Akechi merely sighed. Ignoring his racing heart, he followed in Futaba’s footsteps and went upstairs.
He faced Akira’s door. Should he knock? He did so, just in case…
No response. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting with that. He tested the doorknob- relieved to find it unlocked. He wasn’t all that good at lockpicking, anyways.
He opened the door, allowing himself in before closing it.
The first thing he noticed was how thick the air was- he should probably open the window every once in a while. The second thing was the lump in the bed that he assumed was their leader. An unruly mop of hair sticking out of the blankets assured him that this was, in fact, Akira.
He approached the bed, wincing at the occasional creak of the floorboards, and (as gently as he could muster) shook the sleeping Akira awake.
Akira’s eyes opened, with the same tiredness he’d seen earlier today. Akechi noticed a thin layer of sweat covering his face.
“Akechi?” Akira spoke, a rasp to his voice. Akechi almost felt bad for him.
“Akira,” he started, “Futaba told me you got sick. She called me to take care of you.”
“Oh.” Akira said, before he broke into a giddy smile, “I’ll be in your care then.”
And then he fell asleep. Again. Akechi sighed for what felt like the tenth time today alone. He set down his bag, and left to find a thermometer and something to cool Akira down.
He managed to find said thermometer in the bathroom by some miracle, and took out an icepack from the freezer like Futaba had mentioned. He’d read an article on how to take care of a sick person while on the train, so he knew at least a little on what to do.
He rushed up the stairs and into Akira’s room, and woke him up to take his temperature.
“Akira,” Akechi started, “I have to take your temperature.” In what he considers to be a bold move, he sat down at the edge of the bed. “Could you open your mouth?”
Akira followed his instructions, and Akechi placed the thermometer under his tongue. All he had to do now was wait.
A hand snuck out from under the covers, and Akechi thought Akira was going to fix his own hair or something but-
A clammy hand held his own. He wanted to hold hands.
Akechi suddenly felt the need to flee this room, leave the house and never see Akira ever again. He didn’t move.
After impatiently waiting for 3 minutes (his heart racing because Akira was still holding his hand), he removed the thermometer. It marked 38C°, definitely a fever. That would explain how miserable Akira looked. And his irrational decisions. It made sense.
He took the cold pack and placed it on Akira’s forehead, rewarding him with a pleased sigh.
Much to Akira’s dismay, he did have to free his hand from Akira’s so he could leave the room and go to the kitchen.
“Wait,” Akira started, “Where are you going?”
He sounded so… upset at the mere concept of Akechi leaving. He felt a squeeze in his heart.
“I’m simply going to the kitchen,” Akechi shot back, “Don’t worry. I’m not leaving.”
“Oh. Alright.” Akira seemed to be relieved at his answer. Akechi quietly left the room, and went into the kitchen.
And then, a new problem arose.
‘shit,’ Akechi thought, ‘ I don’t know how to cook ’
Cooking. His worst enemy. He was decent at the most basic of foods, practically an expert at microwaving instant meals, but actually cooking?
Last time he tried to cook, he set off the smoke detector in his apartment.
Futaba had mentioned that they had food in the fridge. Suddenly he felt much more at ease. He opened the fridge to find…
Ingredients. There was curry in a tupperware in the back, but he seriously doubted Akira’s stomach could be able to handle such a spiced meal in his current state.
He really didn’t want to cook, at least not without guidance, lest he go and burn down Sojiro’s kitchen. Leaving him no choice than to ask for help. One of his worst nightmares.
He has no other choice. He has to ask Futaba.
There are definitely better choices out there, but it’s late. He feels pure dread settle down in his bones.
Akechi, almost moving against his will, takes out his phone and sends a text message to Futaba, instructing her to come downstairs.
After what felt like hours (but were probably mere seconds), he hears footsteps practically jumping down the flight of stairs. It startles him, of course, for a brief second thinking Akira might’ve gotten out of bed. It’s not Akira.
“Akechi,” Futaba whisper-yells.
“Futaba,” Akechi says, like a normal person. “I need your help. I want to make soup,”
Futaba stares at him for a few moments, before immediately bursting into giggles.
“Really?” Futaba says, finding this fact hilarious for some reason. “ And you called me ? For help?”
“Yes,” Akechi lets his irritation show in his voice for once, “You were the only person I could think of. Seeing as most other people wouldn’t appreciate a call at this hour, you seemed like my only choice.” ‘ my only hope at making something even remotely edible ’ he thinks, much to his own dismay.
“Well then!” Futaba starts, walking towards a chair and hopping on it, “Lucky for you, Sojiro has taught me one or two things about cooking. What exactly did you want to cook again?”
“Soup.” Akechi answers simply. “It’s for Akira. I fear the curry might make him worse, so…”
“Huh,” Futaba realizes, “I didn’t think of that. You’re smart, old man.”
“Stop calling me old!”
Futaba makes it very obvious that she does not know how to cook soup, much to Akechi’s (quickly) rising annoyance.
“-And then I think you have to cook them on a pan?” Futaba seems confused at her own commands. Akechi is just messily chopping up carrots while she spews half-baked directions at him.
Akechi is done with this. “Do you even know what you’re talking about?!” he demands.
“You were the one that asked me for help!” Futaba yells back, “I’m literally just a girl…”
Akechi’s eye twitches. He glares at the girl in front of him.
Before he can say anything more, however, Futaba seems to snap back. “Oh! I’ve got it!” She says, fishing out her phone from her pocket. For a brief moment, Akechi experiences hope. Hope that, maybe, Futaba will look up a recipe they can follow.
Futaba does not do this. “We gotta call Ann!” she yells, “I think she’s better at cooking than I am, so we should be in good hands!”
Akechi pales. “Wouldn’t it be best to call Sojiro? You know, who is an actual cook? And your father?” he asks, agitated.
Futaba turns her head to the side at this. “I don’t want to bother him…” she says, sheepishly. She gives him what are probably her best puppy-eyes, “Please? I promise Ann will help us!”
Akechi is too tired to refute. “Fine,” he relents, “Call her.”
“Yay!” She cheers. At least one person is happy about this.
Ann picks up after the third ring.
“Hello?” She doesn’t sound tired, which is good. This means she was awake and functioning before Futaba called, making Akechi feel a bit better about intruding at this hour.
“Hey Ann!” Futaba cheerily replies, “You see, I called you because we’re in a predicament. Akira is sick-”
“Wait, who’s ‘we’?” Ann interjects, “And Akira is sick? Is he alright?”
“Akechi’s here with me- Akechi say hi!” Futaba shoves the phone in his face, leaving him no other option than to greet her.
“Hey.” He says, in what he hopes to be nonchalantly enough for Takamaki.
“Oh!” she doesn’t sound upset at his sudden appearance, which he assumes is good, “Hey Akechi!”
There is a short, albeit stifling silence that follows this.
Futaba is there to stop it, though, “Anyways! We need your help to cook soup. Do you think you can help us? Pretty please?”
“Alright, alright!” Ann giggled, “what ingredients do you have?”
After listing off the vegetables they had already cut, Ann set to work instructing them on what to do. Sauté the vegetables, add water, add stock cubes…
“Do not forget that the water is boiling!” Ann’s voice scolds them through the phone, “You have to check the soup after 30 minutes, we don’t want all of the water to evaporate and make the soup too concentrated”
Akechi files this fact into the “ information he will never use” part of his brain.
It feels nice, Akechi supposes, to interact with other people in a setting like this. It’s stressful, and makes his head hurt, but it’s nice. Even amidst Ann’s yells to not burn the vegetables and Futaba’s scurrying around the kitchen eating god knows what, he feels… happy.
It’s not long before the soup is finished. “Well, this was an experience!” Ann speaks. Akechi almost forgot she wasn’t there with them, considering how he was watching the soup like a hawk making sure it didn’t boil over.
“Thank you Ann!” Futaba smiled, “You saved our lives once again. And also Akira’s. I could never repay you…” Futaba salutes at the phone in front of them, knowing that Ann cannot see her.
“Thank you, Ann,” Akechi also adds, “You were of great help.”
Ann laughs, “It was nothing, really. Besides, it was fun talking to you both. We should hang out together again!”
Much to Akechi’s own surprise, he doesn’t dread the idea.
“I’d like that.”
Once everything is cleaned up, he fills a bowl up with the soup (most of it stock, with the occasional chunk of vegetables) and takes a glass of water up to Akira’s room.
He opens the door, this time not nearly as anxious as he was the first time he entered.
Much to his surprise, however, Akira is awake. He’s sitting up on his bed, his back leant against the headboard. He seems relieved to see Akechi for some reason, but he doesn’t dwell on that.
“I brought you food,” Akechi says, making his way over to the bed. “You have to eat. Ann helped us make it.” He doesn’t elaborate any further.
Akira doesn’t question it. “I hope it’s not poisoned,” he says. His voice still sounds raspy from being unused (and from coughing).
“Why are you awake? I thought you’d still be asleep,” Akechi questions, even though he thinks he knows the answer.
“Futaba’s yells woke me up,” Akira’s eyes light up in what Akechi has come to recognize as mischief, “say, my hands feel tired. Do you think you can feed me?” Akira smiles, as if he didn’t just turn Akechi’s world upside down.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Akechi pointedly looks at the chair across the room, suddenly finding it intriguing, “You can feed yourself.” He shoves the bowl of soup in his lap to make a point.
Akira looks upset, “Well, it was worth a try…” He takes the bowl and (thankfully) doesn’t press Akechi further. He doesn’t think his heart would be able to take it.
They make small talk, featuring Akechi complaining about the layout of his kitchen and Akira talking about how “ it’s perfect just the way it is, Akechi. You just don’t cook. ” Akechi mentions how last time he cooked he burnt a pan, and Akira laughs so hard he goes into a coughing fit, complaining about his chest hurting. But he has a smile on his face, so Akechi can deal with the humiliation.
Akira finishes eating the soup, and takes the acetaminophen Akechi brought with him with water. Akechi feels pride in the fact that Akira liked the soup (he went through so much for that simple soup. He feels incredibly thankful that he won’t have to cook with Futaba ever again).
He watches Akira settle down to sleep. His fever seems to have gone down, and he looks much better overall when compared to earlier. He’s still flushed, and tired, but at least he doesn’t look like shit anymore.
“Well,” Akechi stands up from his place on the bed, “I suppose I must get going. If I leave now I’ll be able to catch my train-”
“Wait!” Akira stops him, “Could you stay?”
Akechi thinks this over. If he leaves now, he could go back home to pure quiet. Tranquility. He wouldn’t have to deal with Futaba in the morning.
He’s tired.
“Fine.” He expects Akira to tell him to sleep on the couch downstairs, but he feels his heart stop when Akira scoots over and pats the space next to him.
Akechi is so very tired. So he wordlessly accepts the invitation, definitely not thinking straight (why would you sleep next to a sick person? Especially when you don’t know if what they have is infectious?).
‘whatever.’ Akechi thinks, as he lays down next to Akira, who once again makes him flustered when he sneaks an arm around his waist, ‘ I’ll deal with the consequences tomorrow, ’
It had been around 3 days after The Incident, and Akechi still felt himself blush at the memory of Akira. Neither of them had mentioned the cuddling again, and Akechi firmly intended on keeping it that way for as long as possible. Akira already felt much better, his fever practically gone, but...
Akechi sneezes. He feels very tired all of a sudden.
God damnit.