Now, what would Sojiro want at a time like this, Akira pondered as he prepared the assembly required to manufacture the perfect cup of joe for the weary patron. As he fired up the press pot, Akira suddenly got nervous. What would happen if Sojiro didn't absolutely love it? Even when he was in a good mood, Sojiro would often harass him as to why his coffee wasn't on par with that of the gods. An exhausted, infuriated Sojiro? This cup had to be perfect in every meaning of the word. Who knows what would happen if he was disgusted now? What fury could Akira's lack of skill invoke?
Akira's hands shook as he selected the type of bean to use. After a brow-wetting choice, the jar of Mexican Altura beans floated down towards the counter while Akira calculated just how many beans he needed to get the proportions right. As the coffee was grinding, he dared not look over at the now very asleep Sojiro, who was now beginning to snore. Yup; he's asleep.
The cocoa-colored powder settled within the grinder, and Akira prepared to scoop out the grounds to roast. They migrated from the grinder to the press as he splashed in water at just the right temperature; the resulting mixture seemed to stare back at him as he urgently stirred the concoction, stopping at just the right moment to feel the aroma creep along his nostrils. As he waited for the brew to steep for the strict two and a half minute time limit, Akira finally had a break – even if it was a short one – to investigate the tired owner who had since collapsed in the booth.
Sojiro's wrinkled forehead lay defeated on the table as the middle-aged man refused to stir, unlike the coffee he'd been pouring all day. His eyes were practically seamed shut, with a sullen smirk plastered across the plain of his face where an appeased smirk usually sat. He hadn't even bothered to remove his apron – dirty with splotches of coffee and curry sauce alike, it was sure to stain the booth seat should the overworked owner fall over.
Observing Sojiro nearly distracted Akira too long, for the time for coffee-steeping was nearly over. He hadn't dared use the kitchen alarm, fearing the wraith of Sojiro Sakura – so he relied on his vigilance alone. While he had been ready to finish up the brew when it was ready, Akira panicked slightly as he plunged the contents with determined precision, silently praying that nothing had gone wrong thus far. At that moment there wasn't a soul that could tell you which was pouring faster: the coffee from the pot or the sweat from Akira's brow.
Cup and saucer in hand, Akira tried to regain his cool as he walked over to Sojiro, the cup gravitating towards the tired man's lifeless hands. The mass before him refused to stir, and for a moment Akira wondered if all his hard work had been for nil. As he backed up patiently, however, the body sniffed the air around it and rose, as if programmed to do so. Sojiro slowly looked down at the cup at his hands, then upwards towards the clean apron staring back at him. Looking back at the brew, his fingers extended and brought the mixture to his lips.
A chill crept down Akira's spine as Sojiro took a moment between sips, abstaining from glancing in his direction. After a minute or so of drinking, the coffee veteran stood up and brandished the saucer as he headed towards the sink, looking forward the whole time.
Akira was doomed; he knew it. He mentally prepared himself for whatever scenario would come next. Revoked curry breakfast? Morgana, kicked out on the street? Written up for breaking probation?! Well, that last one was a bit drastic – but it certainly wouldn't be pretty if Sojiro was displeased.
The absence of sound – save the soft clanking of dishes – only spiked Akira's nervousness. He maintained a cool composure, but as Sojiro turned around to grab a drying towel, Akira's previously collected prose nearly collapsed. When Sojiro finally looked Akira in the eyes and opened his mouth to speak, Akira knew he was done for.
Except, he wasn't.
"Well, you picked the right bean for the job, punk," Sojiro slurred, slowly replacing his sullen smirk with his usual one, "but you could have left it roasting a bit longer. I was enjoying my nap."
Of all the beautiful sounds in the world, nothing could have compared to Sojiro's trademark sarcastic tone at that moment. With a determined arm pump, Akira knew he had succeeded.
AN – Thanks for reading! Please leave a review of what you thought, and let me know how I can improve my writing for the future!