#By Chance
... In which Akechi shows up in Leblanc unexpectedly—to find out more about Futaba and Sojiro, or because he has nowhere else to go. But Leblanc has a habit of becoming people's safe place, and I already know I want it to be his as well.
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I can't take my eyes off Sojiro, who stands next to me behind Leblanc's counter, and Futaba, who sits with her knees pulled to her chest. Both of them are smiling, and it makes me smile as well. The more I watch her come out of her shell, the more convinced I become that stealing her heart was the right thing to do—for her own and Sojiro's sake. Not that I honestly ever doubted it.
I tug at my apron and relish the warm feeling in my heart. We'll have fun at the beach tomorrow . . . Well, if I can find a bathing suit somewhere. I haven't actually brought one to Tokyo. Maybe I should ask Ann or Makoto if they can lend me one as well, just like Futaba. And maybe if we have fun at the beach . . . I force myself to not look at my phone that sits on my counter—dead silent—I'll also have something to occupy myself with as opposed to wondering when Akechi will finally text me.
Our summer vacation is almost over, and I haven't heard from him yet. With each passing day, I grow more anxious that he won't be able to make time at all anymore and that I've missed my chance to even say a proper goodbye to him.
I linger on the painful thought for one moment, then I force my mind away from Akechi and, together with Futaba, explain our plans for tomorrow to Sojiro. "Go have fun," he says. "Make up for the fireworks. Just try not to cut loose too much. And watch out for creeps."
I nod, suppressing the worry I can't let go of—that we are pushing Futaba too hard with this trip. She's only just started interacting with others, and everyone seems to assume the transition will be an easy one—at least easier than it most likely is.
I was never an actual shut-in, but I understand the feeling of wanting to isolate yourself from an environment consisting of people who seem hostile and lacking in understanding of your feelings and your fears. When I first came here, I remember very well the desire to keep my head down and my mouth shut forever . . . until Ryuji forced me to open up anyway.
Well . . . I eye Futaba. Maybe, in that case, it is for the best if we push her after all. Still . . . maybe I should have a talk with her. I promise myself that I'll protect her as best I can—on the beach tomorrow and in general.
"Fireworks?" Futaba asks, and I wonder if she would enjoy coming to a festival like that with us.
"Oh yeah," replies Sojiro. "You wouldn't know. Rin tried to go to a fireworks festival, but it got rained out. Not only did she get crushed in the crowd, but she came home looking like some kinda drowned rat . . . eh, mouse." He gives me a half-smile. I grin back and note that he just referred to this place as my home.
. . . Not that he's wrong.
"Fireworks, huh?" Futaba seems deep in thought. She's staring at her entwined hands, then she jerks up when the doorbell chimes. She's up on her feet faster than I can see who's entered Leblanc. In one swift move, she vaults behind the counter and hides.
As soon as I tear my gaze away from her toward who's now standing in the door, taking in the place, my heart skips a few beats. "Hello," says Akechi, like his being here is the most normal thing in the world. Like he's always come to pick me up in person. Like it's any fair to show up here unannounced, not giving me time to even check for whether my apron has coffee stains or my hair that I've only brushed once today is as much of a hopeless mess as it feels. I can't move. Only stare at him, frozen in surprise.
"Oh . . . welcome," Sojiro greets him, and Futaba latches onto my arm. I squeeze her back reassuringly.
Akechi eyes Sojiro, and then his gaze meets mine. "Oh! You're . . . !"
I smile brightly, wondering whether I should believe his surprise to be genuine or whether his showing up here without knowing that I'd be here too would be too much of a coincidence.
"Huh?" Sojiro looks back and forth between the two of us. "You know each other?"
At that moment, I realize that I may have been forced to tell my friends but not Sojiro about how I've been going out with him. Before I can fess up, he leans forward over the counter to inspect Akechi closer. "Wait, aren't you . . ."
"I'm Akechi," Akechi says, crossing his arms. His eyes drift from Sojiro over to me, and judging by the way he's looking at me, I suddenly do believe that he didn't expect me to be here. He's as caught off guard by this chance encounter as I am. The thought is reassuring in a strange way.
"Oh yeah, the one on TV and stuff." Sojiro looks like he desperately wants to ask how we know each other. "So, what brings you here, Mr. Detective?"
Akechi turns to look around some more, and I remember gushing about this place to him when we were in the jazz club. Suddenly, I'm battling an irrational fear that it may not live up to his expectations.
"This place is more than I imagined it to be." He chases away my worries almost instantly. "You didn't exaggerate, Amamiya. The atmosphere is wonderful. No wonder Sae-san recommended it so strongly to me as well."
Sojiro places down the glass he was holding with a loud clank; both Futaba and I jump. Akechi seems far too engrossed in looking around to care.
"I already told her everything I know," Sojiro hisses. "There's nothing more I got for you people."
I wince again, then take a step toward him, trying to convey that I don't think Akechi is here for anything of the sort.
Akechi turns toward us now, and for the first time, I see how tired he looks. His normally immaculate hair looks like he's been running his hands through it a lot, and there are subtle but visible dark circles around his eyes. If I didn't know better, I'd say his whole face looks more sunken as well.
"Oh no, that's not my intention," he immediately assures Sojiro. "I just came to enjoy some coffee."
"Oh . . ." Sojiro immediately eases up, though I notice he's still keeping up a kind of attentive guard.
Akechi gives me a long look that I can't read. I want to think he's happy to see me, but it's hard to tell with how dark his eyes are. The content expression he's wearing would fool most, I wager, but I can see that it's forced. He's visibly distressed, and part of me wants to round the counter and ask him directly what's bothering him.
Eventually, Akechi's eyes drift over to Futaba, who is still gripping my arm. "And she is . . . ?" He blinks, then his expression shifts lightning fast, so much so that I am certain the following bright smile is even less genuine than the calmness he's trying to exude. "Oh, you must be Wakaba Isshiki's . . ."
Futaba winces, and my head whips around to her. How does Akechi know Futaba's mom? I look at Sojiro, wondering if he told Sae more than I thought. And did Sae really talk to—
"What'll it be?" Sojiro cuts in before Akechi can finish his sentence.
Akechi shifts his weight, taking in the room as though he's acutely aware of what just happened. As if he just got what he really came for. I keep my eyes on him, unable to look away . . . but not for the usual reasons.
An uncomfortable knot forms in my gut when I realize that he's planning something, and I don't know what. I hate that he evidently came here not to see me and that he's—what, probing? Sojiro and Futaba . . . because I don't like being reminded that he's investigating us—and now apparently the two of them are part of the investigation as well. Or maybe a different one? I swallow, trying not to stare too obviously over the top of my glasses.
"I'll have whatever you recommend," Akechi says, and hesitates for a split second before taking a seat at the counter.
I can't say I haven't been looking forward to finally welcoming him to Leblanc, but it was never supposed to be like this. Still, without waiting for Sojiro's reply, I take a step forward, eyeing the utensils behind the counter. I have a feeling I'll be able to make something he'll enjoy myself.
"Coming right up," Sojiro mumbles and eyes me. "You got this?"
I nod, trying to feign professional casualness as I start working. As long as I treat this like any other order, I should be fine.
As soon as he sees that I have it covered, Sojiro disappears into the kitchen, leaving me with Futaba and Akechi. He doesn't hesitate to accept the cup I place in front of him; he even gives me a smile, although it's not nearly as confident as last time. But instead of trying the coffee, Akechi turns his head to stare out the door, deep in thought, before saying something that delivers a stab right to my heart: "It seems I'm unwelcome no matter where I go."
He didn't even address me, but it hurts all the same—almost more than anything he's ever said in my company. I take a step toward him and lean forward, over the counter.
> "You're welcome here."
"That's not true."
"Don't say that."
Akechi jerks around toward me. For a moment, his expression is unadulterated—real—and what I see in his eyes terrifies me a little. He looks like he would love to yell, to jump at me for saying something so outrageous. Like there is not a single fiber in his body that, even for a second, believed I could be telling the truth.
Even though it vanishes as quickly as it appeared, leaving behind that forced collectedness that I'm slowly but surely beginning to hate seeing on his face more than any other expression. It hurts more than if he'd actually started yelling.
". . . Apologies if I bothered you," he says, like he didn't hear what I just said. "I wouldn't have come here had I known this was your cafe."
I put my hands on the counter in front of him, finding it hard not to slam them down too hard. It's astoundingly difficult to contain my agitation with his persistent, apparent refusal to acknowledge that I care about him. The worst part is that I don't know what more I can do to make him believe me.
> "Why do you think you're a bother?"
"You have to have been wanted somewhere . . ."
"Why?" Akechi looks me straight in the eyes, then his gaze flickers over to Futaba, who's still holding my arm before he looks back at me. I can't read his expression, but there's so much suppressed rage in it that I wonder how close his composure actually is to breaking.
"Because—" He scoffs. "My mother was in a relationship with some good-for-nothing man and was swiftly discarded when he learned she was pregnant with an equally good-for-nothing son. That despair would lead to her death and to the aforementioned son being passed from foster home to foster home . . . But I suppose you're right." His hands clench into fists. "He does quite well by himself these days. He can't be too much of a bother to anyone if he does, can he now?"
Futaba's hold on my arm tightens until it should hurt, but I barely feel it. I'm frozen in place, unable to process everything he just said. I open my mouth and close it again, but I still can't speak.
Suddenly, Akechi moves; he crosses his legs and folds his arms on the counter without meeting my gaze. Somewhere at the back of my head, I realize that he probably said much more than he was comfortable sharing. I don't know how to assure him that there is nothing I don't want him to be able to share with me, even if it breaks my heart on his behalf.
"Ah, yes. Medjed . . . To think they'd be taken down by another hacker." He looks at the TV screen in the corner, which I only now see is showing a report on the recently settled Medjed case. "I'm not sure whether Medjed was defeated by the Phantom Thieves themselves or an avid supporter . . ."
He's clearly trying to change the subject, and even though I hate that he's so uncomfortable, I can't change that right now, so maybe it's best to let him.
"Um, you're . . . Futaba-chan, right? Sae-san told me about you." Akechi addresses her directly for the first time, and Futaba jumps a little, prompting me to squeeze her arm reassuringly. She probably feels very overwhelmed, but Akechi doesn't know about her situation. "Many kids your age seem to be fans of the Phantom Thieves," he says. "Do you like them too?"
For a moment, I wonder if he goes around asking everyone that, and whether his reason to do so has shifted now that our popularity has skyrocketed. Whether he is, even if only subconsciously, looking for someone who shares his stance.
Futaba doesn't speak. When I look at her, I see that her expression is defensive, almost angry. Akechi's noticed as well, apparently. "What's the matter?" he asks, finally taking a sip from his coffee.
". . . You're popular too, Ace Detective Akechi," she finally says, and I wonder how true that is anymore. Lately, I've only really seen people antagonize him for still opposing us.
"Thank you." He smiles, but I don't believe his carefreeness. His 'It seems I'm unwelcome no matter where I go' comes to mind, and it hits me just how true it must be, especially now. I've never quite considered what his life has to be like outside his work as a detective and his TV appearances—what it's like for him at school or at home.
I know that he's an honor student and that those are ostracized in general; being a celebrity at an all-time low of his popularity probably doesn't help. I also know that he lives alone. Has anyone shown him any sympathy whatsoever recently? The more I ponder the questions and emotions that are clogging my mind, the more inclined I feel to tell him to stay here a while longer.
Yet before I can say anything, Akechi picks up his cup again and downs it in one sip. "Although, I'd rather not be compared to people like the Phantom Thieves, if at all possible."
It hurts to hear him say that, even now. I can't respond; I can't burst out with the words that bang at the back of my mind—that we aren't the villains he believes we are. That we are a group who welcomes and accepts outcast, lonely kids who have nowhere else to belong. I once thought that he wasn't like that, but very clearly, my judgment was false. Maybe I should wait with such premature assumptions, going forward.
"Mm, this is delicious." Akechi interrupts my swarming thoughts and gestures at the empty cup. "You're quite good at this. I'm envious that you get to drink and even make this kind of coffee for yourself whenever you like."
I give him my most sincere, sympathetic smile.
> "Come again anytime if you want more."
"I lived up to your expectations, didn't I?"
"I'd gladly make some again for you soon."
Akechi looks at me pensively. "I may not have the time in the near future," he says, reminding me that he's technically already told me about the impending end to our developing relationship. "But maybe I will soon. It's better than just texting you."
I nod and relish the excitement his words evoke.
"I would have never thought this to be your cafe," he says, shaking his head. "Then again, I do believe that fate brings people together. It's strange, but . . ." He takes me in, and only me this time. "If I didn't know better, I'd really think it could be different with you. Some of the things you say . . . You really are . . ." He breaks off without finishing the sentence, and I wonder if that's as far as I can get through to him at the moment. "Either way, I'll make certain to come again. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten what I promised you. I think I found my go-to cafe."
I smile back at him and hope with all my heart that he's being sincere. Ever since then, I can't bring myself to let go of the idea that Leblanc could be his home as well, just as it's become mine.
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