[ Akira keeps an eye on Akechi. It's not hard. Akechi's knives are supremely unused, saved for his toast antics, so Akira makes quick work of the onion and then sets it to caramelizing, letting the smell of cooking onion flow throughout the condo. It's something that's very Akira, and he almost feels bad about the way he's overtaking Akechi's space. It feels a little like blotting out his mother --
But maybe it's just blotting out the false memory of her that should never have existed. She never lived in this condo; she never grew to have that many grey hairs she swept back into a ponytail; she never walked the path to Jazz Jin with Akechi and Akira and commented on the drinks Muhen served them.
None of that was real, so the memory is fake. Maybe it helps to erase it. Maybe it doesn't. Akira isn't sure anymore.
But: onions. They require enough attention that he can't exactly leave, but not so much that he has to baby them. He stirs them, idly, and watches Akechi out of the corner of his eye until Akechi seems to settle a little, moving the sunflower. ]
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But maybe it's just blotting out the false memory of her that should never have existed. She never lived in this condo; she never grew to have that many grey hairs she swept back into a ponytail; she never walked the path to Jazz Jin with Akechi and Akira and commented on the drinks Muhen served them.
None of that was real, so the memory is fake. Maybe it helps to erase it. Maybe it doesn't. Akira isn't sure anymore.
But: onions. They require enough attention that he can't exactly leave, but not so much that he has to baby them. He stirs them, idly, and watches Akechi out of the corner of his eye until Akechi seems to settle a little, moving the sunflower. ]
You like carrots, right?