starter for @antishadowsuppressionunit
AKECHI IS familiar with this little coffee shop, tucked away in Kichijoji. It's a similar hidden gem to that of the jazz club - secluded, with a touch of calming music over the overhead speakers, and open until later in the night. The only people here tend to be older women and men who come to survey the streets. Akechi feels just like them, sometimes - seeing the world, disconnected by a glass pane, doomed to be a witness in the aftermath of their lives.
So young, yet he feels so hopeless. He is only at the tail end of his teenage years, but Akechi still can't shake the feeling that his life is over, sometimes. Perhaps it really is depression, he muses to himself, hands curled around a still-steaming cup of coffee, placed carefully in a saucer. Cream has been poured into his drink, turning the nearly-black colour into a milky brown, swirls of pitch-darkness still left.
Akechi picks up the spoon from the saucer and stirs it around, a singular packet of sugar emptied. He can feel the texture of the grains still unmelted at the bottom of the cup, so he spends an idle few minutes taking care of the rest of them before bringing the coffee to his mouth and taking a tentative sip. It's not steaming anymore, but it's still nearly too hot to tolerate, so the former detective places it down against the saucer once more.
The piano is gentle and sweet against his ears. This little shop feels like a moment in time that has been captured, preserved, eternally so. A second-hand book that Akechi had bought earlier the week, pages yellowed and worn by time, has a black bookmark slid carefully at the start of chapter 6, pushed out of the way of his coffee so that he does not accidentally get anything on it. Before, he rarely had the time to relax, spending his nights working until late and finding himself back in a shitty apartment that didn't feel like home.
In a way, disappearing had been the best thing that had ever happened to him. Besides, nobody is expecting him to still be alive, and in a place as secluded as this, it's even rarer that someone will recognize him. Staying cooped up all the time does horrid things for his levels of joy, after all. He is allowed the slightest bit of luxury after the utter shitshow he had been put through.
Akechi does not look up from his cup of coffee as the bell to the shop jingles lightly, signalling the entrance of another customer.
