Can you please make "I made it myself,which explains why it's a little burnt." For akutagawa.
âœâ{ofc bbg! one of my biggest fans thus far ( ÂŽ â `)ăïœ âĄ }ââ„
The curtains of your bedroom are no match for the blinding rays of a new day. Through closed eyelids, the sun paints your vision a brilliant red, the color of blood and passion and fire. Itâs also, you suppose, the color of the blood that is often coughed up by your sickly lover. Who, by the way, is not in bed next to you.
Youâre well aware of this before you open your eyes and even as you roll over in bed, hoping to bump into your beloved. Itâs for naught; rotating on your shoulder, you fall back into more bed instead of Rashomon or the frail man cooped up inside. Akutagawaâs usually up before you, but you hoped things might be a little different today. You had this teeny tiny sliver of hope that he wasnât gone and at work already, but your chances seem to slim by the second.Â
Of course. Port Mafia operations wouldnât stop for a silly holiday like Valentineâs Day.
But then you smell it. A smoky scent surfacing from somewhere beneath you. Fire? With the amount of enemies that Aku has, it wouldnât surprise you at all if your residence was found out and attacked. You toss your legs off the bed, crouch on the ground ever so slowly, and crawl around the bed and out the door. You stay crouched the entire time as you scale down the stairs soundlessly.Â
But curiously, as you catch the last step, you notice that the living room is empty and intact. That leaves one place left to check: the one room connected to the only door out of your penthouse. The kitchen. Youâre unarmed but you know which drawer the knives are in, and knowledge is power after all. Besides, Gin didnât make you handy with a knife for nothing. You brace yourself and slide out the corner, ready to feint past the enemy.
Instead you stop face to face with your poor boyfriend carrying a plate of food that matches the color of his coat. He steps back with eyes wide like saucers.
You speak first. âUhh, Ryuu, whatâs this?â He instantly fumbles with the plate and tries to hide it behind his back, albeit unsuccessfully. You try to peer behind him, but he pivots on his feet skillfully. When you poke your head around his other side, Rashomon blocks your view.
âHey, no fair!â you protest, but a new tactic pops into your head immediately. You step forwards as he plants a foot behind him, ready to back up, but you know the Mafiaâs dog has prepared the wrong defense. Heâs completely caught off guard when you lean in, get in his face, and⊠pepper him with kisses.Â
âWhoa, cut that out!â The discomfort in his face is priceless. Akutagawaâs footing loses balance and you take the chance to dart behind him, snatching the plate from his hands. He winces at your swiftness.
âI made it myself, which explains why itâs a little burnt,â your boyfriend says gruffly. Upon not-so-close inspection, you can tell itâs charred through and through.
âHow sweet. Breakfast in bed?â âYeah, something like that,â he replies curtly. You smile bright and his face reddens.Â
âAww, thank you so much!â You put the plate aside to wrap his stiff frame in a big hug. Akutagawa takes a moment to relax, and another few moments to finally return your hug, but you know his limp arms are best he can manage. Itâs somehow quite endearing how, as you pull out of the embrace, he slides out of your arms like heâs eager to escape. (Even if itâs awkward for him, you need him to understand just how happy you are that heâs home and trying to make your day special!) And, speaking of whichâŠ
âSay, Ryuu, why are you here? Could it be that you asked for a sick day or something?â
âHmm? They gave me holiday,â he replies, shrugging. When you narrow your eyes at this, he turns his faceâwhich youâve noticed is still a faint light redâaway.
âL-I-A-R. You never get holiday, not even Christmas Eve.â
âJust eat your breakfast.â Akutagawa crosses his arms. You glance back at the smoldering mess of what looks like toast and bacon and look back at him. He attempts to hide the lower half of his face in the ruffles of his shirt, and youâre sure of it now. But you touch your hand to his forehead just to confirm.
âHey, you really are running a temperature! Get back into bed,â you cry out, much to his dismay.Â
âNo way!" He moves to further conceal himself inside his clothing, but you push his slim build upstairs anyway. His miffed frown pokes out from underneath your blankets, but you persist and tuck him in with more kisses on his forehead. In defeat, he lays flat on his back, eyes on the ceiling as he lets out a long sigh.
âYou know I let you win this one, right?â You giggle and choose not to respond, walking towards the stairs to secretly discard his charcoal abomination.
âHappy Valentineâs DayâŠâ he mumbles as you shut the door. âHappy Valentineâs Day,â you whisper back.