love letter | akashi seijuro

“Hello Satsuki.” Akashi held a luxurious phone to his ear, sitting upright in a black, leather office chair. Even his greetings reeked of dominant authority.

“Huh… Oh! It's Sei-chan!” It took a moment to decipher the low, male voice, but it no doubt had the delivery only Akashi could manage. Momoi even wanted to add, ‘I almost thought you were a serial killer,’ but wisely thought better. “What's up?”

There was a pause on the other end. “I have a favour. I just finished writing a love letter to (F/N) and I wa–”

“A love letter!” She shrieked. To be honest, it was pretty old-fashioned, but it somewhat suited Akashi. “How did (F/N) respond? Was it a yes?!” A blabber of questions escaped her mouth. Momoi always suspected Akashi’s crush on you, but never dwelled on it for too long. Perhaps it was the yandere yearning eyes that blew his cover, or the threats of murder because look at those damn scissors you can kill a bear with them jealousy whenever another male lay eyes on you.

The Rakuzan Captain narrowed his mismatched colour eyes in slight annoyance from the interruption, but continued on. “I haven't given it yet. That's why I want you to judge it.”

He could hear a light chuckle on the other end. “Of course! I'd be glad to.” And Momoi meant it. She would provide any amounts of advice after he was done reading.

Akashi was already smoothing out several sheets of paper from his pocket, positioning the phone between his shoulder and ear. “Very well…” Akashi said. He cleared his throat before finally beginning.

“It is with the greatest effervescence of heart that–”

“Woah! Woah! Woah!” Momoi blared over the phone. “Hold it there! Bring it back, bring it back. What on earth is ‘effortence’ ?!” The pink-haired girl asked incredulously, her plan of feedback after it was finished suddenly forgotten. Akashi blinked twice, puzzled at her reaction.

“It means lightness in spirit.” He elaborated. “Also, it's effervescence, not effortence.”

Momoi ignored the last part. “Then why don't you say ‘lightness in spirit’? And what's with your wording? It sounds more like a funeral than a love letter.”

Akashi, too, ignored the last part. He didn't even budge at her blunt words. Personally, he was quite fond of the format and structure of his writing, not to mention the colourful language he used. “That would be too platitudinous, I would say.”

Momoi’s eyebrows shot up. First effervescence, and now platitudinous, the Tōō manager thought. She paused to gather her thoughts so not to offend Akashi, treading gingerly over thin ice. “Look, Sei-chan. Maybe you should make your love letter,” emphasizing heavily on the two words, “a little more understandable?”

“Nonsense.” Akashi challenged. The redhead dismissed her suggestion with the wave of a hand. “(F/N) is an intelligent person.”

Momoi slumped back into her seat, sighing exasperatedly as she switched hands on the phone. “I doubt that you're righ-”

“I always win.” Akashi said almost immediately, cutting off the last word. “Therefore, I am always right.”

Momoi rolled her eyes. “I've heard this too many times. This is why people seriously question your mentality.”

“Are you defying me?” Akashi said, raising an eyebrow. A look of bewilderment and vexation crossed Momoi’s features, followed by a flimsy hand gesture. This conversation is getting nowhere, she thought. She even nearly forgot the very reason for this phone call.

A deep sigh escaped her mouth. “No I'm not, Sei-chan. Just get on with it.” Momoi said. After all, it was futile arguing with Akashi. “Let's here more of your love letter. How long is it?” Momoi guessed roughly a page or two.

“38 pages.”

She choked on her own spit. But before she could protest, Akashi already begun talking, and didn't plan on stopping until the end.

“It is with the greatest effervescence of heart that this composed letter of liaison has reached your illustrious presence on the most auspicious of felicitous zeniths to render affection to one of the most revered and cherished companion of my youthful years.” Akashi read it out loud as though it was a piece of literature that could rival Shakespeare.

“Good grief.” Momoi muttered, preparing for a long, platitudinous night.