Breakfast with Akito:
A Collection of Short Stories
Author's Note: We scared ourselves writing this.
Disclaimer: We don't own Akito nor Fruits Basket.
It's seven-thirty in the morning and you are snuggled deep in your bed. A cheerful bird (or several) chirp outside the window, rousing you from peaceful dreams of your favorite shirtless bishounen.
Then you hear footsteps tip-toeing lightly up the stairs. The seventh stair squeaks. The footsteps pad to a halt outside your room. With a creak, the door opens and a low, haunting voice calls soothingly, "Good morning…" Suddenly, out pops a head. Akito's sunny face brightens up the room. He throws the door open jubilantly, revealing his entire body bedecked in a huge, frilly pink apron, with the words "Kiss the Cook!" on the front. In one hand, he holds a frying pan, in the other, a glass of orange juice. He bounces across the room and crouches over your bed. He presents the frying pan complete with two eggs sunny-side up, a pancake dressed with powdered sugar, a perfect square of butter, drizzled with syrup, and finally, a small piece of lightly-toasted bread spread with strawberry jelly. "I made you breakfast, sweetie."
He sets the frying pan down next to your bed, plants a kiss on your cheek, and skips out of the room, singing, "I'm going to go do the laundry now!"
A Collection of Short Stories
Author's Note: We scared ourselves writing this.
Disclaimer: We don't own Akito nor Fruits Basket.
It's seven-thirty in the morning and you are snuggled deep in your bed. A cheerful bird (or several) chirp outside the window, rousing you from peaceful dreams of your favorite shirtless bishounen.
Then you hear footsteps tip-toeing lightly up the stairs. The seventh stair squeaks. The footsteps pad to a halt outside your room. With a creak, the door opens and a low, haunting voice calls soothingly, "Good morning…" Suddenly, out pops a head. Akito's sunny face brightens up the room. He throws the door open jubilantly, revealing his entire body bedecked in a huge, frilly pink apron, with the words "Kiss the Cook!" on the front. In one hand, he holds a frying pan, in the other, a glass of orange juice. He bounces across the room and crouches over your bed. He presents the frying pan complete with two eggs sunny-side up, a pancake dressed with powdered sugar, a perfect square of butter, drizzled with syrup, and finally, a small piece of lightly-toasted bread spread with strawberry jelly. "I made you breakfast, sweetie."
He sets the frying pan down next to your bed, plants a kiss on your cheek, and skips out of the room, singing, "I'm going to go do the laundry now!"
