The shrill buzz of his phone was the first thing that pulled him from the depths of sleep.
Akuma groaned, dragging a heavy arm over to the nightstand until his fingers closed around the device. His eyes squinted blearily against the light of the screen. 8:03 AM. Saturday.
For a long moment he simply lay there, staring at the digits as if they'd insulted him.
"…I think they deserve a break," he muttered, voice thick with sleep. His thumb slid lazily across the screen, drafting a single message into the group chat for his team:
"No training today. Rest. — Akuma"
A chorus of buzzes erupted immediately after, the confirmations pinging like little needles against his ears. He groaned, tossed the phone aside, and burrowed back under the covers.
At least, that was the plan.
BZZZ—
Another buzz came, this time from directly above his head.
"…?" His brows furrowed. That wasn't his phone.
Then came the unmistakable sing-song voice:
"Oooh, good call, Guinea Pig."
Akuma shot upright. Or tried to — the blanket wrapped around his legs betrayed him, sending him tumbling unceremoniously off the mattress and onto the floor with a solid thud.
"...ghh—dammit." He groaned, one hand pressing against his back as he looked up.
There she was. Tachyon, perched comfortably on the edge of his bed like a cat who owned the place. A loose shoulderless blouse hung off her frame, sleeves drifting down in careless folds. Black sweatpants clung to her legs, her usual lab coat absent for once. But her grin — that mischievous crescent moon grin — was the same as ever.
"Good morning!" she chirped, lifting her own phone and waving it in the air like evidence.
Akuma's deadpan cut through his groan. "…What are you doing?"
Tachyon tilted her head, tapping a finger against her chin. "Hmm, let me see… oh right! I couldn't very well let the others have all the fun, now could I?"
His entire body froze. His expression did not. "…Did you just say… others?"
Her grin widened.
By the time he stumbled out of the bedroom — hastily dragging a plain black shirt down over his torso — Akuma was already regretting waking up at all.
The sound of squeals and clattering pans greeted him first. The smell of eggs and butter followed next.
And then he saw them.
Special Week sat happily on the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room, swinging her legs and humming a cheerful tune. Beside her, Oguri Cap ate with calm dedication, plate after plate of golden omelets already stacked like miniature towers beside her. She was on her sixth. Possibly her seventh.
Meanwhile, Mejiro McQueen stood over the stove in a frilly apron, grumbling under her breath as she battled a stubborn omelet in the pan.
"…What are you guys doing."
His voice was flat enough to drop the temperature of the room.
McQueen yelped in shock, the spatula clattering. The omelet launched into the air like a doomed bird. Special Week's eyes widened, mouth forming an "ah—!" but before disaster struck, Oguri calmly extended her fork, caught it midair, and devoured it in one clean bite.
McQueen's cheeks burned. She didn't dare look at him. "…G-good morning, Akuma-san…"
Another egg cracked against the pan, her hands fumbling.
Akuma pinched the bridge of his nose, dragging himself further inside. He lowered himself onto a chair between Special Week — who beamed "Good morning, Akuma-sensei!" and leaned happily into his hand as he patted her head — and Oguri, who lifted her chopsticks in a lazy wave before shoveling another bite of omelet into her mouth.
Tachyon breezed past him, already fiddling with the kettle. "Tea's on the way! Don't worry, Guinea Pig, I'll handle the drinks."
Akuma sighed. "…Morning."
Special Week leaned closer, voice bright. "So um—McQueen wanted to cook for you, Akuma-sensei! That's why we came! We couldn't just let her do it alone, right?"
Tachyon chuckled darkly from the stove. "Exactly. We can't let her hog the Guinea Pig to herself. That wouldn't be scientific at all."
Even Oguri nodded, chopsticks clicking softly as she swallowed another bite.
McQueen's ears burned crimson, her tail stiff as she grumbled louder. "Y-you didn't have to say it like that…"
Akuma simply exhaled through his nose and accepted the inevitable.
Silence settled for a moment — comfortable, even. Tachyon placed teacups on the table. Special Week blew at hers enthusiastically before taking a sip, only to squeak and fan her tongue when it burned. Akuma shook his head, blowing gently over his own before taking a small drink. Oguri calmly accepted hers, sipping in quiet between plates.
Then McQueen turned, sliding something onto the table.
A plate of omurice. The egg covering was uneven, the ketchup forming a messy squiggle instead of neat letters. Her hands trembled faintly as she set it in front of him.
"...Here." Her voice was almost a whisper.
Akuma looked down at the dish. Then back up at her. Then down again.
With a resigned sigh, he lifted his fork. "…Thanks."
He cut a piece and ate it. The silence that followed was deafening. Four sets of eyes locked on him. He chewed slowly. Swallowed. His brows furrowed.
"…It's… good. I think."
McQueen's lips wobbled, her eyes already misting. "I-I ruined it, didn't I—"
"No." Akuma cut her off, raising a hand. "It's good. The cooking itself is perfect. But…" He leaned forward, tapping the fork against the mound. "…It's just so… sweet."
His gaze flicked toward the stovetop.
Four empty sugar jars sat in a neat little row.
The silence grew heavier. McQueen's ears folded. Tachyon was shaking from suppressed laughter. Special Week tried to hold it back too but failed, giggling into her hands. Oguri just kept eating, unfazed, though her tail swished in amusement.
Akuma dragged a hand down his face. "…How did you even get in here?"
McQueen bit her lip. "…A-Adalbert gave us the key."
"Of course he did." Akuma muttered, spearing another bite anyway and forcing himself to eat it.
"…And where is that man, exactly?"