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Late November did no favors for the chill of his apartment. The biting cold drafted in through the slit at the door, worming its way in. Even with the window shut, every curtain drawn closed, the apartment froze. Akechi shuddered, slamming the door closed behind him. He removed his gloves hastily despite the chill, flinging them to the corner of the room to rot. Akechi hauled his heavy frame to his kitchenette. It was pitiful, really. Insignificant and small for an apartment of his size. It’s not like anyone used it. He hardly knew how to make anything, as if he’d even want to eat after today.
He settled on a simple cup of coffee. Something to warm him up and nothing more than that. Akechi scoured his cabinets, finding an old pack of instant coffee. Akechi sneered at the packaging, already regretting actions that were to follow. The pot was already on the stove, pristine and unused. Akechi opted for microwavable meals. They were quick and easy and they filled him up enough. He yanked it off the stovetop and plopped the pot in the sink. Akechi absentmindedly ran the water, filling the pot with enough water for his mug.
Setting down the pot back onto the stovetop, he turned the dial and watched the fire under it ignite. His hand twitched. The flame flickered back at him, winking. Akechi flirted with the idea for a moment, but didn’t commit. It’d be too much to clean up after and he’d cleaned up enough messes today. While he waited, he plucked a mug from his cupboard. It was plain and chipped, but it didn't matter. It just had to hold hot coffee inside. Akechi slowly poured the hot water in before stirring in the instant coffee mixture. He stared at the stove for a moment. The red light screamed at him that it was still awake. He quickly turned the dial back, extinguishing the fire.
People debated Akechi’s favorite coffee all the time. Women love to think he takes it semi-sweet, pouring in just a bit of sugar or cream. But he’s a hardboiled detective, they say. So of course he takes it mostly black. But have you seen how sensitive he is, too? Of course he takes his coffee slightly sweet. Right? He never understood why anyone cared that much. Akechi wondered why anyone would ever find the free time to debate on something as silly as his coffee preferences. As if the idea of it would give them any insight on him as a person. He stirred the mixture. Sometimes he abhorred the attention. Being in the public eye is never quite what someone expects until they have the white, hot studio lights pointing at them like an interrogation room. It’s all just one big act. So Akechi tells them, “It’s a secret!” With a wink and a giggle. He keeps them guessing, letting them fabricate his public persona for him. The tabloids and talk shows eat it up every time.
Many see him as a hero, a mouthpiece for all who feel unjustified. Others see him as a brat who dresses like an adult and mimics one, too. They also admit that he does it well, even if they think he’s unfit for his career. Some only see him as another face in the news. More empty buzz to sift through to get to another end. In truth, it didn't matter what anyone thought. It was all false anyway.
The water blackened quickly as any trace of the clarity in the cup disappeared. He was so close to being done with all of his. He just had one more loose end to take care of after today. Then after that, he could be done with the whole affair. He debated on sweetening his drink, but decided against it. He much preferred it to be sickly sweet, but it just didn’t feel right today.
Leblanc was always warm and inviting. It was quiet but never lonely. And the coffee was always to his liking, even on the worst days. Going there today would be downright impossible, though. His barista wouldn’t be there to greet him, after all. There’d be no one welcoming him in. Not the cafe’s warm light. Not the enticing aroma of the coffee. Not the boy behind the counter. His eyes always greeted his own with foolish admiration. He truly was nothing more than a fool. The boy was getting too close. He was an obstacle, a hurdle. But none of that mattered now.
Akechi gripped the handle and took a sip. The coffee burned his tongue and his throat. It was bitter and scolding and any bit of flavor was absent. He choked it down as tears pricked his eyes. The warmth bloomed inside of him uncomfortably. It scorched down to his core. His hand twitched before he downed more. His esophagus singed, sending his body in a coughing fit. Not before long, the coffee was gone and Akechi’s stomach ached. He yearned for the sweetness and the ease of someone else brewing his coffee. But someone like him couldn’t have that.
His mouth held nothing but a bitter taste that refused to leave. Akechi stared at the old mug, worn and cracked. It was still warm. He clutched it fiercely, while his heart leapt from his chest. His breathing accelerated as a flash of a cocky smile crept its way into his mind. Before he knew it, the mug was in ceramic pieces splattered against the counter. Akechi breathed out as exhaustion crept into him. He waved his hand as he skulked to his bed.
Perhaps some messes were meant to be cleaned up later.