Work Text:
In the days following the twentieth of November, Akira couldn’t eat.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true.
He remembered scarfing down a plate of Sojiro’s curry like he hadn’t eaten in years the moment after Sae Niijima left Leblanc after dropping him off. The rest was a long, painful blur, and on the twenty-first, Akira woke up in the dusty attic, shaking. He had expected nightmares to come with the experience, but they didn’t have to be so vivid.
With trembling hands, he reached for the plastic water bottle that Sojiro had given to him the previous night and carefully unscrewed the cap, trying his hardest not to drop it. The lukewarm water was relieving to his throat, sore from how much he had cried while Sojiro helped patch him up-
Nope. He wasn’t going to think about that.
Beat to a pulp or not, Akira was the leader. Leaders didn’t cry like children while their legal guardians applied rubbing alcohol to their bruises.
He put the cap back on the water bottle and laid back down, letting out a soft whine at the pain shooting through his muscles from the movement. As he tried to get comfortable while moving as little as possible, it started to rain.
Lovely.
Eventually, Akira fell asleep again, and was woken up hours later by the sounds of Sojiro coming up the stairs. “Hey, kid?” he said softly, trying not to startle him. “It’s pretty late. You want something to eat?”
Akira sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”
“Almost seven.”
He groaned. “I’ll let you know in a bit.”
Sojiro sighed and turned around to leave as Akira reached for his phone. He was greeted with many notifications, some from the Phantom Thieves group chat, the rest from Takemi, Ohya, Shinya, Yoshida, Hifumi… pretty much all of his friends had texted him, all asking if he was okay. He felt himself smiling as he read all of them, and replied to every message assuring everyone that he was fine, and thanking them for their concern.
Then he put the phone down.
I really should eat, Akira thought to himself. It was dark outside, and Sojiro was probably worried about him. He sighed and slowly got out of bed, ignoring the fact that he was still in his pajamas, and started down the stairs, cringing with pain at every step.
Waiting for Akira downstairs were Sojiro and Futaba, whose face lit up as she saw him enter the room. “Akira, you’re okay!” she exclaimed, jumping down from her seat at the counter and rushing over to hug him. “You were asleep forever, I thought you were dead!”
He smiled and hugged her back. Had anyone else said that to him, he would have been annoyed, but something about the way Futaba did it was more endearing than irritating. “Hi, Futaba.” He looked up at Sojiro, who was preparing two plates of curry.
“You two ready to eat?” Sojiro asked. Akira nodded and gingerly eased himself onto the bar stool and picked up a spoon. For some reason, he felt his appetite decreasing as he stared at the spoonful of curry he was holding. The longer he stared at it, the less Akira wanted to eat. He could feel Sojiro and Futaba’s eyes on him as he continued staring at his food, but he really didn’t know what else to do.
He took a bite.
The curry was delicious as always, but something felt… off.
The taste was there, spicy as ever. but it almost felt flat, as if it was being muted in some way. Akira took another bite, hoping that maybe eating more would make the sensation go away, but that only seemed to make it worse. The more Akira tried to eat, the less taste the food had, and the less he wanted to eat.
“Is something wrong?” Sojiro asked, concern in his voice. “You look like you’re about to be sick.”
Akira shook his head. “I’m fine,” he lied, shaking his head, “I’m just… not hungry.”
Both Futaba and Sojiro looked at him incredulously. “Are you sure? You haven’t eaten anything in almost a day,” Sojiro said. “Is there something wrong with the food?”
Akira shook his head again and put his spoon down on the plate. “No, there’s nothing wrong,” he murmured. “I’m just not hungry. I’m not really sure why…”
“I’ll eat the rest of it if you don’t want it!” Futaba volunteered enthusiastically, leaning closer to him. “Whaddya say?”
Sojiro frowned. “How about I put it in the fridge and you can finish it when you feel hungry again?” he asked. Akira nodded and pushed the plate towards Sojiro, feeling worse than ever. On top of the strange sensation he was having with eating, feeling incredibly guilty for wasting Sojiro’s time, and the still-aching pains he felt all over his body, Akira was suddenly exhausted.
“I’m going back to bed,” he said as he started towards the stairs. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He could hear Futaba pleading with him to come back downstairs, but it was too late. Within seconds, the light was off, and Akira was laying in bed again. He didn’t care if it was barely seven-thirty in the evening. He felt like he could sleep for years.
—
The same thing happened the next day.
And the day after that.
And the day after that.
Akira tried his hardest, but he could only tolerate the smallest amount of food before he decided that he was full for the rest of the day, and that any more food would either have no taste, or cause him to feel nauseous. It was hard to stay focused while he and the Phantom Thieves tried guessing the final keyword to Shido’s Palace, and even harder to actually contribute anything to their discussions. No matter how much he slept, Akira felt exhausted every day. He knew it was because he wasn’t eating anything, but just the thought of forcing himself to eat made him feel uneasy.
“You’ve gotta eat at least a little more than that,” Futaba said one night during dinner as she watched Akira push his food around the plate with his spoon. “You’re probably gonna get sick if you don’t eat, and you’re supposed to be dead, so we can’t take you to the hospital.” She huffed a laugh at her joke, but when Akira didn’t say anything, she became serious. “Come on,” she said, gently nudging him in the arm. “Just this one time, please?”
The look on her face was too much for Akira to ignore. He sighed and picked up the spoon.
“Fine.”
The extra spices Akira had added earlier helped improve the taste a little, but the food still tasted flat. He really didn’t want to force himself to eat any more, but Futaba let out a small whine when he put the spoon down, so he continued.
It was Futaba’s pressure and the thought of having enough energy to destroy Shido’s Palace that helped Akira finish the curry. After roughly thirty minutes had passed, he finally finished, and wasted no time in getting up to wash the dishes. If he looked at the dirty plate for a second longer, Akira was going to throw up.
When he was finished, Akira expected to see Futaba starting to leave, but instead, she was furiously tapping away on her phone, appearing to be texting someone. However, after reading something on the screen, she then looked up at him, then back at the screen, frowning.
“What’s up?” Akira asked, putting the dish towel down and leaning against the sink. Futaba was silent for a moment, appearing to be in deep thought. A second later, she put the phone down and looked at him.
“It’s nothing,” she said, clearly lying. “I was just looking some stuff up, and I wanted to ask you something.”
“Go ahead.”
Futaba shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and Akira suddenly felt bad for making her answer so quickly, seeing how anxious she looked. Despite that, she took a deep breath and began speaking.
“I was really worried about you, so I looked up reasons why someone would be avoiding food or having problems eating, and, um…” She paused. “Do you, uh, have an eating disorder?”
Akira processed the last five seconds for a good thirty. An eating disorder? It was true, he was avoiding food, but not necessarily on purpose. He wanted to eat, sure, but food just didn’t have much taste anymore, so he didn’t. It was worrisome, sure, but he figured it would go away in about a week or so…
“No, I don’t think so,” he answered, trying not to sound annoyed. However, Futaba didn’t look any less concerned. “Listen,” he added quickly, seeing her frown deepening, “I know you’re worried, and I appreciate it, but I’m fine. Really.”
Akira knew he hadn’t convinced her in the slightest, but Futaba still gave a sigh of resignation and hopped out of her seat. “Alright, if you’re so sure,” she said, pushing the chair in and heading towards the door. “I’ll text you later, okay?”
Futaba said nothing as she left, and Akira started kicking himself mentally for being so short with her. She was trying to help him, and he had pushed her away, just like he’d done to everyone who’d tried to help him during the past few days. Forget “later”, he was texting Futaba now.
2016 27 November 18:43
Akira: Hey are you ok
Akira: I'm sorry about earlier, i know you were just trying to help
Akira: I'm not mad at you
Akira: I promise
He turned the phone off immediately after sending the last text and put it in his pocket, then sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt awful.
Maybe a bit of TV will be a good distraction, he thought as he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV that Sojiro kept on while the café was open. However, as soon as the screen lit up, Akira was reminded immediately of why he was so stressed in the first place.
“What does it mean to be a politician with responsibilities?!”
The loud, brash voice of Masayoshi Shido blared from the TV’s speakers, and it startled Akira so badly that he almost dropped the remote. He fumbled with it for a moment before turning the TV off, leaning against the wall, breathing heavily.
Just hearing Shido’s voice sent both anxiety and fury through Akira’s veins. How could he waste his time fussing over food when there was a much larger threat to focus on? How could he be so lazy and refuse to take care of himself while the others were probably ready to burst with anxiety, silently begging to be able to return to the Palace? He was their leader! He had faked his death and escaped captivity from the best police force in Japan!
Akira immediately ran upstairs to grab his bag and coat. Injuries be damned, he was going to go shopping for supplies, and tomorrow, they were going to destroy that Palace.
And their victory was going to be delicious.