Is what he would like to think, anyway. Every so often, he glances up from his writing in spite of himself, watching Ren move around the kitchen, preparing a meal from scratch just for him. It's not something he's had anyone do for him before outside of a restaurant for a very long time. Even his mother rarely had time or energy to cook a homemade meal for him. As much as Heavenly Blanc looks and acts like a restaurant, he's not paying Ren, and he'd already offered to just do it himself. He'd have gotten by with the raw fruit and vegetables in the fridge if Ren had refused to serve him.
Instead, just like when he makes him coffee, there's a weird domesticity to it. And that's just as dangerous as kissing him, yanking at something in the center of Akechi's chest that he thought he'd buried long ago. It's something he selfishly wants, but knows he can't have. It tightens the muscle in his jaw and tenses his shoulders, but his handwriting remains impeccable.
...It smells delicious. Akechi sets the book aside as Ren slides the plate of finished curry in front of him, staring down at it. For a moment, it's as if his throat has closed up, but he forces himself to speak past it.]
Thank you.
[It's soft, but it's audible. He exhales a sigh through his nose and reaches for utensils to start eating.]
no subject
Is what he would like to think, anyway. Every so often, he glances up from his writing in spite of himself, watching Ren move around the kitchen, preparing a meal from scratch just for him. It's not something he's had anyone do for him before outside of a restaurant for a very long time. Even his mother rarely had time or energy to cook a homemade meal for him. As much as Heavenly Blanc looks and acts like a restaurant, he's not paying Ren, and he'd already offered to just do it himself. He'd have gotten by with the raw fruit and vegetables in the fridge if Ren had refused to serve him.
Instead, just like when he makes him coffee, there's a weird domesticity to it. And that's just as dangerous as kissing him, yanking at something in the center of Akechi's chest that he thought he'd buried long ago. It's something he selfishly wants, but knows he can't have. It tightens the muscle in his jaw and tenses his shoulders, but his handwriting remains impeccable.
...It smells delicious. Akechi sets the book aside as Ren slides the plate of finished curry in front of him, staring down at it. For a moment, it's as if his throat has closed up, but he forces himself to speak past it.]
Thank you.
[It's soft, but it's audible. He exhales a sigh through his nose and reaches for utensils to start eating.]