Pathetic Fallacy - owl_do_it_later (hobimo) (2024)

Chapter 1: Two Souls Alone in the Dark

Chapter Text

His company left something to be desired. Biting down on the end of his cigarette, he drew the fumes deep into his throat, feeling the airiness spread through the channels behind his face, veiled by flaps of skin and facial muscles he was sure had atrophied. He hated the burn in his throat, behind his nose. He hated the way it forced him to struggle for air, to pull it deeper into his lungs. He could feel them burn like ulcers in his gut. He hated it.

He took another long drag, blowing the pale smoke out of his mouth. His ‘friends’ were playing cards on the ground next to him. The signs of their terrible lifestyle were showing on their faces with hollow cheeks and eye sockets, wearing away lips and blackening teeth.

Something that would never happen to him.

Their hair would fall out in clumps during the night.

Something that would never happen to him.

They would wear away at their life until they wasted away, inhaling and ingesting toxins to f*ck up their brains.

Something that, no matter how hard he sought it, would never happen to him.

The parties he went to seemed to try and be loud and boisterous enough to make up for the terrible people they attracted. Hide wasn’t all that concerned with them, if he was honest. He always ended up going despite how little interest he had in the hope of at least meeting someone interesting. Weed used to be a novelty, but after enough of them he’d grown tired of the smell and the faces of people who were trying to destroy their insides.

They had every right to say the same about him, though. They must have been sick of the guy who’s bright and obtuse personality made up for the minimal addition he would make to their lives. The kid who tried to drink to fit in but never really got into the thick of it because he hated the way alcohol burnt his throat. Unlike the kids who got addicted to the feeling, he dreaded it.

That being said, his curiosity was an addiction that he was never able to shake.

He was required to take a breadth subject in order to get his degree in Forensic Science, and decided to follow his mother’s creative influence and take the Creative Writing course which, if he wanted to, could lead into Journalism. Of course, he hated Journalism but as the guy that would be doing autopsies it could be useful to him in later life.

That’s what he told himself to not feel like a mother’s boy.

This excuse to expose him to a form of inner artistry was also the excuse he used to justify going to these bad parties. It upheld his ‘image’ as well, but what was the joy in that?

“Hide, man, how are you?” he was created at the door by Takashi, who was neither the host of the party nor invited. This didn’t really bother Hide.

“Sup, man?” Hide clapped him on the back. “Ready for a wicked night?”

“Way ahead of you.” Takashi was already drunk. His eyes were rimmed in red and Hide could smell the beer on his breath. “There are some hot as f*ck chicks here, I’m telling you. And, listen to this.” Takashi pulled him close to whisper into Hide’s ear.

“I hear the GLGs are coming.”

Hearing even just the initials of their name sent shivers down Hide’s spine. The GLG—Ghoul Land Gang—were the most brutal gang in the entire region. He’d even heard about them from where he’d grown up on the border of the state, the hairy armpit of nowhere. They were brutal, violent and rich.

Hide was no journalist but he wanted to write about this.

“Holy sh*t,” he whispered to Takashi, his voice buried under the weight of the news, his ears throbbing with the too-loud music. Takashi nodded excitedly, obviously too drunk to fully understand how bad things could get.

“Apparently they’ve got super hot chicks.”

The Ghoul Land Gang, true to the rumours, made no entrance. Hide wasn’t even aware that they had arrived before the cops came and chased them off. That was what he thought of the next morning. That, and the ethereal experience he’d had.

Hide lost track of time. Girls and boys alike had dragged him off to dance, shoved drinks down his throat, tried to share a bong. It must have been hours. He felt sweaty, gross, drunk, and hot. Everything was too hot. Too many bewitched bodies were mingling in a tiny, lit building. He wanted to get outside, so he did.

The fresh air provided mild relief, even surrounded by bodies. He had to separate himself. As much as he thrived in human contact, he had to take a breather before he felt he would combust.

He sat himself on the top of the brick fence that separated the house from the garage. From above, the party looked like an ocean of movement, lacking in any tempo, completely at the whim of the weather.

“It’s kind of sad, isn’t it?” came a voice from beside him.

Hide nearly jumped so high he could have fallen off the wall. As it was, he was sure he’d just jumped out of his skin. The boy next to him had appeared, as silent as a ghost.

He sure looked like one, too.

Dressed in dark clothes, the only thing that stood out to Hide were the shock of white hair and pale, almost sickly skin. His translucent eyelashes picked up the neon lights of the party below.

He brought a cigarette to his lips and inhaled deeply before blowing out. “Makes you wonder, what drives that?”

“Um, I guess? Hi, I’m Hide.”

“Kaneki,” replied the boy without looking away from the party below. From any other person, Hide would have gotten the cold shoulder and ran.

But despite the guy’s distance, Hide didn’t feel like he was being pushed away. His voice was soft with the slightest edge of bitterness. Hide watched him take another drag of his cigarette, the smoke he blew out sucked up the neon lights like his lashes.

“That was a pretty philosophical statement, buddy,” Hide mused, leaning back on his arms, fingers hooked around the edge of the wall behind him. The roughness of the wall seemed to contrast with the soft edges of his sudden companion in a way Hide didn’t quite understand.

It was as if the boy really was a ghost.

“I try to avoid being too thoughtful,” the boy—Kaneki—admitted. He made a sour face and crushed the cigarette in his palm, making Hide wince. But the boy cast it aside. “Makes you too aware of the situation.”

“Jeez, how many bowls have you had today?”

The boy gave a wry smile, turning to Hide for the first time. Hide’s breath caught in his throat, seeing two irises that glowed like molten steel staring into his own. “Not enough, clearly.”

“To each his own, I guess,” Hide shrugged. “Forensic science. You?”

“Literature.”

“Holy sh*t, you are an Arts student!” Hide mock-gasped, clapping a palm over his chest. “This explains it all!”

Kaneki scoffed, silver eyes focusing on the party below once again. He propped his chin on the heel of his hand, musing in silence.

The roar of the party seemed to ebb away to the dullest of humming when Kaneki spoke, voice cutting through the blurred-out world.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

The piercing of sirens cut through the air, casting Kaneki’s pale face in blue and red. His eyes were wide and so bright Hide felt like a deer in caught in one’s headlights.

People were yelling and screaming, police shouting warnings. Hide found himself drowning in Kaneki’s pale face, the way the lights made him look like a marble statue, all perfect angles and the slightest of smirks on the corner of his mouth, as if he was crafted by Michelangelo himself.

The world was a distant roar as Kaneki grabbed his collar and pressed his lips against Hide’s, stealing his breath. In that one instant Hide felt like he was being drunken up by a ghost, just a human-sized cigarette whose oxygen was inhaled like a drug.

Then Kaneki released him, and for an instant Hide saw the briefest of smiles on his lips before the boy jumped over the brick wall and disappeared like the wraith he was.

Chapter 2: To Converge

Chapter Text

Hide couldn’t believe that his first lecture was at 9AM on a Monday morning. The Saturday night party he’d been to—who’s mysterious Kaneki still haunted him—had left him completely wrecked all through Sunday, and he dreaded turning up to a Creative Writing lecture first thing. He was also meant to have written a 1000-word short story that would be peer-critiqued.

This roughly translated to not going to bed on Sunday night. Like, at all.

He dragged his sorry, hungover arse into the lecture and sat himself down seconds before the lecturer came in. He dropped all unnecessary textbooks onto the ground next to his bag and pulled out his notebook, which he had lovingly filed the sh*tty story into.

“All right, students,” said the lecturer, “I want you to find a partner from this box I have down here. In this box are 13 numbers, two of each. Your partner is the one that pulls out the same number as you. You will then peer-edit each other’s work.”

Students moved downwards to where the professor had deposited the box as he readied himself, finding cords for his computer and pulling out notebooks. As Hide made his way down the stairs, he felt a familiar arm loop over his shoulders. Takashi.

“How are you doing after Saturday night?”

Hide noticed the bags under his eyes and the yellowness to his complexion. He was also fighting off the hangover as well as a bunch of other things he’d probably made the bad decision to consume on Saturday night.

“Wrecked,” Hide admitted. “The cops coming was a surprise, though. I guess our famous guests were a no-show?”

“Are you kidding?” Takashi exclaimed before his voice dropped to a wary whisper. “They came, all right. Three of them. One was a dealer with two guards. I only saw two of them, though. They brought some good sh*t. Yato paid a sh*t ton for what we got. Then the cops busted us.”

“Doing drug deals probably isn’t the healthiest activity anyway,” Hide shrugged. “I hope you think better than getting addicted to the sh*t.”

“As a college student, I can only wish for the recreational use. The experience!” Takashi cried, throwing out his arms. “I don’t really plan on becoming much of an addict, though. Things would go bad.”

“You’re telling me.” By now, they’d made it to the front of the line. Hide reached into the box. He wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a blind exercise, because there were only two numbers left: 12 and 8. He and Takashi shared a look, and Hide took 12.

Most people had gone back to their seats with their newfound partner. A handful of people remained looking for their corresponding number. Takashi clapped Hide on the back and went off with his partner: a short brunette girl who had been holding her card up in front of her.

Two more people went off: two girls.

There was only one boy left.

“Number 12?” Hide asked, smiling. The boy in question was around his height, with glasses and dressed in a button-down shirt under a knitted jumper. The top button was done up but he wore no tie. It was a certain thing that unnerved Hide, but he respected the guy’s choice. On top of that he wore a beanie, and Hide saw the fringe of some bleached hair poking through the front.

His partner—one of eight boys in the class, compared to 18 girls—seemed like a weird mix of hipster and dork.

Hide’s curiosity went off with a spike. On top of that, there was something eerie and familiar about the boy, but he couldn’t place it.

“Hi,” Hide said, holding up his card. “Looks like I’m your partner. My name’s—”

“Hide,” the boy supplied. His voice was timid, like he was shy. Hide’s eyebrows went to his hairline.

“You know me?”

“Everyone in this university knows you,” the guy said. “Nice to meet you.”

“And . . . ?” Hide gestured, trying to inspire more of a response.

The boy looked confused.

“What’s your name?”

“Oh!” his eyes widened, and his face reddened in embarrassment. “Sorry, I forgot.” The boy rubbed at his chin, smiling nervously. “My name is— my name is Sasaki.”

“Nice to meet ya!” Hide grinned. Sasaki smiled softly.

“I’ll move my stuff to sit next to you, so . . . be right back!”

Hide jogged up to his books and then instantly regretted it. His head pounded and he had to stop and rest, forcing away the urge to empty his guts onto the ground.

“Are you all right?”

Hide nearly squealed in terror, falling sideways. A hand grabbed his arm and steadied him, surprisingly strong. His partner, Sasaki, stood there. How did that guy just appear?

“I’m so sorry!” the guy looked apologetic, all right. Hide was taken aback, unable to speak from surprise and trying to flush the adrenaline out of his system.

He released Hide, who laughed it off. “It’s all right, man. You just surprised me is all. It’s probably because I’m on a caffeinated hangover right now, though. Don’t worry.”

Sasaki still looked pretty apologetic. Hide pet his shoulder enthusiastically. Turning, he gathered up his book and turned to look for Sasaki—

The space behind him was empty. Thoroughly confused now, Hide scanned the lecture hall for the beanie he had seen the guy in.

“Whoa,” he murmured, unable to locate him.

“What are you waiting for?”

“HOLY SH—STOP SCARING THE BEJESUS OUT OF ME!” Hide squealed. The sound carried in the quiet hall, so that everyone was staring right at them. Sasaki’s face was bright red with embarrassment, his hand partially outstretched, his mouth open, ready to apologise.

No sound came out of his mouth for a long, tense moment.

The two stared at each other, brown eyes on grey, and in those wide, pale eyes Hide found himself drowning in déjà vu. Why?

“Sorry,” Sasaki whispered hoarsely.

“It’s fine,” Hide said quickly. “Really, it’s fine. Like I said, I’m just hungover and—”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it! I’m just a flighty person, so—”

“Sorry, Hide.”

“It’s cool,” Hide said, his tone softening. He noticed the wet film gathering over the smaller boy’s eyes. “Really, it’s not your fault. It’s like a superpower, dude! You can just appear out of nowhere like BOOM!” Hide laughed.

Sasaki gave a small smile, relieved but still guilty. He led Hide to his seat, still red-faced. When they stopped, Hide realised that Sasaki had been sitting in an area devoid of anyone else, as if Sasaki was an island in a sea of solitude.

He stood next to Sasaki’s seat, looking out below. He was in one of the upper corners of the room, and Hide was struck with how much of the room he could see.

“So, what did you write about?” Sasaki was still shy, Hide noticed.

“Honestly, I probably wrote something about life and death or something, since I felt like death at the time. What about you?”

“I actually didn’t do it,” Sasaki admitted. “But I guess I can—”

“Holy crap,” Hide whispered in shock, “You so did not fit that stereotype.”

Sasaki looked at him, completely lost. “What?”

“I thought you were a complete bookworm kind of guy! How could you not do the homework?”

“I forgot,” Sasaki, rubbing his chin nervously. He dragged it over his cheek and fixed his glasses. “Sorry.”

“Hey, no need to apologise to me,” Hide said, shrugging. “I’m sorry that you have to read mine. Anything that you want peer-edited?”

“I have a small essay on a phrase.”

“Whoa, that’s hard.”

“Not really,” Sasaki shrugged. “You can read that if you want, but essays are pretty boring.”

“It would probably help me, in all honesty,” Hide laughed. “Which phrase?”

“Dulceetdecorum est pro patria mori,” Sasaki said, pulling out the paper in question. “My Literature professor said to analyse a poem based on its title, so I did.”

“Isn’t that the war poem guy?”

“Yeah, Wilfred Owen.”

“Okay, well, I’ll do that, and you can read this sh*tty thing.”

Sasaki gave another smile. It was a nice smile, Hide decided. Not large and sunny, like his own, but timid and sweet. Gentle.

Strong, but at the same time, like it was bordering on a smirk—

“Hey, are you okay?” Sasaki waved a hand in front of Hide’s face, snapping him out of it. Hide laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, sorry. Got lost in thought.”

His hands had begun to turn cold, his stomach sinking. That eerie sense of déjà vu he’d been having started to manifest into suspicion.

Surely not. It was a foolish thought. They were nothing alike.

“Is it all right to highlight and write on your paper?” Hide asked, holding a highlighter-pen ready. Sasaki nodded, not looking up from Hide’s ‘story’.

“Sure. It’s probably boring and repetitive, so brace yourself.”

Dolce Decorum est is a war poem by Wilfred Owen that depicts the brutality and constant fatigue of the First World War, its title coming into play in the closing lines of the poem, where the speaker realises how disenchanted they have become with ‘the old Lie’ that is the phrase “Dolce et decorum est pro patria mori.” . . .

“I don’t see what the problem with your essay is,” Hide said as they were packing up. “It’s got to get an A at least.”

“You think?” Sasaki said, a mixture of pride and embarrassment. “Thanks. I get stressed about that class.”

“But clearly not this one!” Hide laughed. “To be honest, I nearly didn’t write one either.”

“It’s good,” Sasaki told him, eyes earnest. “Kind of intense, though. That ghostly kid of yours seems pretty ethereal.”

“I know, right?” Hide exclaimed. “Would you believe it was based off a real experience?”

“I guess so,” Sasaki said, shrugging. “Would have been kind of scary, though, right? A guy randomly appearing next to you?”

“Oh God, yeah. I nearly screamed. He kind of reminds me of you, actually.”

Sasaki’s response took a moment too long. Hide examined his face and saw that the look in his eyes had changed. No longer were they earnest, they had grown dull behind the thick lenses of his glasses. “Really? But I’m not like that at all.”

Hide was sure that he was taking things too far, being too paranoid, but that response sounded very, very fake.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Sasaki!” said Hide, waving. “Can I sit next to you in tomorrow’s class?”

Sasaki’s eyes brightened for a moment, then he looked away. “Sure. Yeah. Of course. See you then.”

The party on Saturday night was the talk of the town, so to speak. Hide had about thirty different conversations about it and mainly, of course, the three GLG members. Everyone appeared to have only seen two—or zero, like Hide—despite the fact that everyone had been told that there were three. A mystery, he supposed.

In fact he got so caught up in a discussion about it that he was late to Forensic Science.

“In addition to the appearance of pressure wounds, we have— NAGACHIKA HIDEYOSHI, COME IN QUIETLY NEXT TIME, PLEASE!”

Hide’s professor was a mix between a legend and a monster. Professor Amon was a big guy with absolutely legendary eyebrows that was also an Investigator at the CCG, the largest detective agency in the world.

He also had it in for Hide, because Hide worked there part-time as a delivery boy, which meant that, when he was late to class, Amon would threaten to have him fired. Hide knew he wouldn’t, because the guy was a little bit of a gentle giant, but it still scared Hide sh*tless each time.

“Sorry, professor!” Hide called, sitting himself down. Amon let out an exasperated sigh and resumed his presentation. Today, they were looking at wounds associated with strangulation. Amon was up to where pressure bruises would be normally found—the neck and face, usually—and any other wounds that would indicate how many people were involved and whether the assailant was a male of female.

His slide show comprised of many gruesome autopsy photos. Hide sometimes questioned why he was so passionate about the subject when the photos made him that ill. They hadn’t even had a practical yet.

That would be fun.

At the end of the class, Amon pulled him aside. “Hide, you have to stop being late to these lectures.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry Professor, I was just having this really interesting conversation, and I completely forgot about the time, and then I was—”

“You wouldn’t be involved with the party that happened on Saturday night, would you?”

Hide clammed up, smiling brightly. sh*t. What was he going to say?

“Uhh . . . no?”

“Nagachika.”

“Yes, yes, I was. Fine. Bust me. I went to a student party and got wasted. Wow.”

Amon sighed. “You’re not in trouble. I was just wondering if I could use you as a witness. I was going to give you a talking-to about being late, but if you give me some good pointers, maybe I’ll forgive you.”

This was another perk of his superior also being his professor.

Hide grinned. “Well, when you put it like that, I guess . . .”

Amon pulled out his notebook, which he always seemed to have on him. “Are you aware that the GLG appeared?”

“I know they did, but I never saw them.”

“When did you hear about it?”

“When I walked in, I was told by one of the guests—who I think crashed the party, because I don’t know them—that the GLG was coming to deliver ‘good stuff’.” Hide made quotation marks sarcastically, the lie falling easily off his tongue. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to keep Takashi out of this, but he had the feeling that the entire mystery that was the GLG was not safe.

“Could you describe the guest?”

“Um . . . I can try? I think they had dark hair? I don’t know, Amon. I think I got a bit too wasted to remember it clearly.”

Amon sighed. “Typical students. Fine. What else? You’re one of the most observant people I know, Hide. You must have noticed something. That, and trouble seems to gravitate towards you.”

He was referencing, of course, the time Hide was involved in witnessing a criminal beat up a young girl on the street he was walking on. Hide ended up with thirteen stitches after that encounter.

That had been a ride. It was also how he had met Amon when he’d first moved to the city: a young country kid full of morals who had stuck up where he shouldn’t have and got the crap beat out of him.

He’d do it again.

“Well, I ended up sitting in the observers seat, funnily enough,” Hide laughed. “I’ve had a lot of people tell me there were three GLG members there, but they only saw two.”

Amon nodded, scribbling it down. “That makes sense.”

“What does? Only seeing two of them?”

Amon nodded again, reaching over to grab a file before handing it to Hide. “These are the people we suspect were there, including the one no one saw. It fits his brief.”

It fits his brief? Who’s brief?

But as Hide opened the file, he realised.

It was an artist’s impression, based off eye-witness accounts: the soft, round face, angular, silver eyes, and the shock of bright white hair.

Kaneki.

Kaneki Ken.

Just who had Hide been talking to, that night?

“So, do you know them?” Amon’s voice caused Hide to snap back to reality for the umpteenth time that day. He scanned the other two pages—a boy with dark, wild hair (also an artist’s impression), a man with short blonde hair, and a girl named “Rabbit” with no picture.

Was he going to lie to his superior? Did this guy really mean that much to him?

Nagachika Hideyoshi was made up of impulses, he decided. He would follow his country gut instinct.

“Sorry, Amon,” he said, “I may have been drunk, but I don’t remember seeing anyone like this.”

He walked out a few minutes later feeling like he was about to fall, vertigo gripping his chest. He’d lied to his superior’s face.

Why?

Chapter 3: To Meet

Chapter Text

Hide was awoken by his head hitting the desk in front of him. He snapped back, eyes stinging and head pounding. He glanced around the room, noting with distaste that he was sitting in another Forensic Science Lecture. Another 9AM lecture, on a Wednesday of all days. Hazily he remembered his Tuesday passing quickly. On Tuesdays he only had a Journalism lecture and Science practical, which was basically Amon showing them plastic models. They didn’t move on to autopsies until next term.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. Work had gone on forever last night. Amon had been gruelling, and Akira had gotten involved, and Hide felt like a child grilled by his parents about the whole party thing. The influx of reports meant that Hide was the one who was responsible for cycling down to the secure P.O. Box full of government files and then cycle back to the office.

Honestly, he’d thought even the small 20^th ward branch of he CCG would have at least a proper courier service.

Apparently not.

Amon gave Hide a look from the other end of the auditorium. Hide grinned away his embarrassment and waved, feeling like an animated sunflower.

(Or maybe an alcoholic sunflower, with puffy red eyes, a headache, and a general distaste for life at that current time. Also, it was metaphorically and physically drowning. In work.)

The image was so disturbing Hide never wanted to ever drink again. One party a year was too much for him, especially where white-haired ghostly male beauties were concerned.

Hide felt his face grow redder just thinking about it.

Nope, nope, nope. He slapped at his cheeks. He was busy being an alcoholic sunflower. He did not have time to fantasise about a dangerous criminal.

He focused on the lecture, taking notes. He felt like his pen was on fire. He was focused, he was on-task—

Kaneki Ken.

God, Hide could have screamed.

“Are you all right, Hide?”

The familiar voice made him jump. Hide pressed a palm down over his nearly-exploding heart from the shock. In front of him stood Haise Sasaki, beanie drawn low and thick-framed glasses magnifying his huge, deer eyes.

Hide had thought he was dosing off, but he must have been super into it if he hadn’t even heard Sasaki appear. Where did that guy even come from?

Hide gave Sasaki a millisecond analysis: dressed nearly the same as yesterday, just with a slightly baggier jumper. In one hand he held a travel mug and a small paper back, and in the other he’d propped his books against his chest.

“I’m bone-tired, but okay. Didn't hear you come up, man! How are you?”

“Good,” said Sasaki simply, smiling politely. “Do you . . . um, do you mind if I sit here?”

Hide had crashed on one of the trees in the garden. Around the other trees, groups of students had gathered. Hide shrugged. “If it is what your animal heart desires, you may place your posterior on the ground beside me.”

sh*t, that sounded way too harsh. He’d meant it as a joke, but it sounded so mean! Sasaki seemed like such a delicate guy, no way would he—

Sasaki plopped himself down with a quiet “hup!” He dumped his books and sipped at his coffee. “Sorry to be a bother,” he said, giving Hide a sideways look. He looked so sincere it could have broken Hide’s heart.

“Of course you can sit here!” Hide cried, grabbing Haise’s shoulder. “Why wouldn’t you? Hey, even if I didn’t want you to, you can tell me to piss off, okay? You can sit wherever you want around me, I don’t care.”

Wow, that was passionate of him.

Sasaki’s cheeks grew pink. “Thanks . . .” he nipped at the top of his cup, shy. Pale, bleached bangs fell over his eyes.

“It’s all g,” said Hide, leaning back on the tree. “I guess I’m a bit forceful of a guy. I hate making people feel, like, bad uncomfortable. I’m not made of glass, I won’t shatter if you tell me to f*ck off—which you can also tell me, Sasaki. If I’m being like super intense and sh*t and you are thinking ‘wow, what a crappy dude’, just tell me. We’re both big boys, we can live on past mortal wounds.”

Filling Sasaki’s silence with Hide’s own, rapid words, he waited for the corner of his lips to smile. When they did, Hide relaxed. He felt so invested in making this guy happy, like there was a delicateness to him that needed to be protected.

Those great big deer eyes of his, Hide was sure.

“So . . .” Hide cleared his throat. “What you got tonight?”

“Philosophy and chemical engineering.”

“Holy sh*t,” Hide breathed. Sasaki’s head snapped to look at him, caught off-guard by Hide’s response.

“Chemical engineering?” Hide’s voice was a squeak. “You do chemical engineering? I thought you were Literature!”

“I am,” Sasaki supplied, looking dumbfounded. “I had to pick a breadth subject outside my field, so I picked chemical engineering with a focus on genetics.”

“But—you already do Creative Writing, Literature and Philosophy. How . . . ?”

“Because of my grades, I applied for an extra subject, and Kamii allowed it.” Sasaki was answering directly, if not a little embarrassed of mentioning his grades. But Hide wasn’t sure if the weight of his words had registered with Sasaki yet. Doing four subjects at Kamii was suicide. No wonder he didn’t do the Creative Writing homework.

Hide let out a long, low whistle, throwing his head back and staring at the green, overlating canopies above. “Do you have any life outside of school.”

“None,” Sasaki said, simply and almost dumbly. Hide was so confused by this guy. He could appear out of nowhere, defy his stereotype and at the same time be an idiot. He was an enigma that defied Hide’s ‘deduction’, as Takizawa called it.

Hide closed his eyes. Fatigue was being held at bay now by the conversation, but in its comfortable lapses, he found himself losing focus. “Tell me about yourself, Sasaki,” he said, unmoving.

“What about myself?” Hide could almost hear the sipping of coffee and the turning of textbook pages. It was comforting.

“Where you’re from, what school you went to, future aspirations, funny stories, anything.”

“There’s not much to tell.” Was Sasaki getting shy, now? Had Hide pressed a button?

“It’s fine if you don’t want to,” he said quickly, cutting Sasaki off. He sat up, leaning forward on his knees. He turned and grinned sideways at Sasaki. “No pressure. Only what you want to tell.”

Sasaki’s eyebrows were disappearing under the thick band of his beanie. He shrugged, looking down. “I’ve always lived in the city. Went to East Tokyo Junior High and Central Tokyo Senior High.”

The two most prestigious schools in the entire country.

“And why are you doing Literature if you’re that smart?”

Sasaki fell silent, eyes growing dull. His actions stilled, and Hide could almost feel the air becoming colder.

“I like to read,” he said.

There was none of the cute dumbness now, Hide noticed. His words were hollow. Empty answers. There was definitely more to this.

“What about you? What’s your story?” Sasaki was trying to keep up the conversation, but Hide could tell he was more interested in his book, now. Crap, Hide had pushed too far. What an idiot!

“Out from the hairy armpit of nowhere in the general northern direction. Parents are hillbillies. My school put me through national entrance exams and found that I was eligible for a city school, but I ended up staying home because my parents got scared I’d be eaten by like, the mafia or something. But now I’m an adult and could rent a dorm for Kamii itself.”

“So you work for the CCG, then?”

Hide’s blood turned ice cold. Whilst he heard no malice in Sasaki’s tone, the quick comment unnerved him. He could hear the rationale in Sasaki’s voice, still tuned to his book: moved from the city, parents scared of mafia, must have interest in the underworld of the city. Renting a dorm, very expensive. Must have a job. Job must have high income and not-so-high hours so he can dedicate time to work. Potential employers? . . . CCG.

“Yup!” Hide laughed. Of course, Sasaki was a smart guy. It wasn’t that hard of a riddle to figure out. Hide ran a hand through his hair. “My seniors are so mean, you have no idea.”

Sasaki gave a small smirk, and Hide felt his suspicions lift. The air became warm again just from that small curl of the lips.

It made him feel safe.

Holy sh*t, did he have a crush on the guy?

First Kaneki Ken, now Sasaki-f*cking- Haise. Oh, what a joy his life was.

But the two were complete opposites. Brain, how did you work?

“I board in the West wing. It’s kind of dodgy. My roommate hates me, I’m pretty sure, but he seems to hate everyone.”

“He sounds exactly like someone I know,” Sasaki smiled, laughing at his own memories. “Complains that everyone else is sh*tty.”

“Holy crap—yes!” Hide jumped forward, grabbing Sasaki by the wrists. “And he’s strawberry blonde, taller than me, with a terrible attitude, and—” Hide realised that he was just about shouting into Sasaki’s bright-red and shocked face.

He threw down Sasaki’s hands and jumped back, holding out his palms. “Yo, I’m really sorry, I’m just such a hands-on person, I really didn’t—Oh, God, I’m really sorry.”

Sasaki’s eyes were wide and grey, those silver irises the same shape and texture of the moon: perfectly round and reflective with surprise. “It’s fine,” said Sasaki quickly, bringing his knees up and all-but burying his crimson face in his textbook.

They were quiet for a long, flustered silence. Hide hung his head in shame. That drunk sunflower was definitely a sad metaphor for his life right then.

“B-besides, it still sounds like someone I know,” Sasaki added, tentatively at first, as if making a peace offering of food to a hungry animal. “He’s doing Science. You might know him.”

“Nishio Nishiki?” asked Hide excitedly, rocking forward, eyes locked onto Sasaki’s face again.

“ . . . Yes,” Sasaki breathed out. “That’s the guy.”

“Holy crap,” Hide said, bubbling with laughter at the hilarity of the situation. Talk about Sasaki being the polar opposite to the people in his life. “How? I get the impression that you’d probably avoid a guy like him.”

Sasaki shrugged, smiling ruefully. “Long story.”

Can you tell it to me?

Sasaki glanced down at the phone to his left, which had lit up with a vibrating alarm. “Ah, sorry. I have to go for a test now.” He gathered up his things quickly, downing the last of his coffee.

Hide sat in silence, his short-circuiting brain unable to deal with the situation. He watched Sasaki stand to leave with a numbness in his limbs.

“Um,” Sasaki started nervously. He held out the paper bag. “It’s a muffin I bought from down the road, but I realised I didn’t like the flavour. So . . . I can’t really eat it because of the tes, and it would be a waste . . . do you want it?”

“What? Oh, um, I mean—”

Sasaki pressed the bag into his hands and stepped back. “See you later, Hide. Thanks for letting me sit with you, and sorry for being a bother. Bye!”

Hide watched him walk off, numbly. Despite his nervous demeanour, his gait was confident and strong. What a strange guy.

In his wake, Hide noticed the first leaves of a bright red autumn falling.

Chapter 4: To Dispute

Chapter Text

The white-haired youth regarded the scene before him. Two gangly, scarecrow of men lay in a bloody heap on the tarmac, their blood being guzzled up by a drain. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought it was the sound of rainwater.

But he did know better.

At the mouth of the alley, his partner appeared: slim and petite, their hood pulled up against the back of their head and pinned to their rabbit mask.

“We’re done here. Uta wants you.”

“Okay." He followed his partner out of the alleyway. What would be the cost, this time? How monstrous would he have to appear to them to be worthy?

Was there even a cost, anymore? Did it mean anything to him?

The client this time was well dressed in a suit and taller than Kaneki, his chin-length hair perfectly groomed and styled around his face. He reminded Kaneki a fraction of Tsukiyama in his style, but there was something off about the man that Kaneki didn’t approve of. It was something he had felt before.

Uta introduced them. “Kaneki, this man from the Garden says he can find Kanou.”

Kaneki stared at him levelly. The Garden was one of the powerful, shadowy groups that V was associated with.

“Furuta Nimura,” said the man, his voice polished and businesslike.

“Kaneki,” he answered. At this, Furuta smiled, cunning glinting in his eyes. “But clearly you already know that.”

“Very astute of you, Mr Kaneki,” he said, tugging on the lapels of his overcoat. “And, as I’m sure you’re aware, the Garden wants to . . . verify you have the background you claim to with Dr Kanou.”

Kaneki was well aware that they wanted what Kanou had made, not Kanou. The Garden was a controlling, precise group.

Kaneki didn’t care, really, what they wanted with Kanou, because there was no way he would stay alive after Kaneki had visited him.

“Okay,” Kaneki said. “What would you like? Please bear in mind I do have to work over the next few days, so a manageable area would be preferred.”

Furuta took a long, graceful step forward, and Kaneki was met by large, dark eyes staring deep into his own. “You have very unique eyes, Kaneki Ken,” he said. His fingertip pressed against Kaneki’s left eyelid.

“I want this one.”

“Don’t you dare be late to the next one, Hide!”

Amon was yelling after him, tormenting him as Hide hurried off to his next lecture. Honestly, the guy. Hide was just grateful he didn’t have work tonight so he’d cop even more abuse.

It was always his fault, it seemed. He always seemed to walk in a few minutes late and Amon was always on time. Hide inwardly sighed, the arts wing coming into view. Hide had overslept again. He’d stayed up far too late last night.

Doing what?

Researching Kaneki—f*cking—Ken.

In fact he probably would have stopped sooner if he’d actually found something. The guy seemed to be a ghost with hardly any trace. He found a single record of a deceased mother in the Deceased Citizens database, listed as ‘son’ to the victim of a heart attack nearly a decade ago, Mrs Asaoka. He still wasn’t sure if it was Kaneki, because he was simply listed as K. Kaneki.

If he was such a dangerous suspect, why couldn’t he find anything? He even went through the CCG (with the password Takizawa had given him ages ago that he had remembered) and still found only that artist impression Amon had shown him. His age was ‘estimated’, his gender was ‘supposed’, his affiliation with the GLG was unknown. It was as if the guy had appeared out of thin air.

What a ghost.

He couldn’t tell this to Amon, however, because Amon would demand to know how the hell he got into the CCG data, and Hide did not want Takizawa, the only sane person there, to leave him.

He walked into the buzzing Journalism lecture room, full of pre-class chatter, and sat himself down at one end of the hall where he could see the screen well. Today was going to be a long day.

And of course, his day didn’t improve when he was given an assignment.

“Recently, there have been a lot of drug-related crimes in the surrounding suburbs—it often is in a university area—but it has spiked recently, as you’d know if you paid attention to the news. I made a graph to compare all drug-related crimes of previous months in relation to this one.” The lecturer pointed his remote at the screen, flicking to the page with his red line graph. It showed a low, linear increase for the last year, and this month spiked sharply upwards.

“Your assignment,” said the professor, pushing his glasses up, “is to write about why and how. You’re all budding journalists, and journalism is a dangerous occupation. This being said, don’t go out into dangerous territory. Just go to the police archives or maybe even the CCG.”

The professor flicked to the next page. On it was the assignment document with dates, briefs, criteria, etc.

“I hope you’re all writing this down.”

Sasaki looked ready to fall asleep when Hide walked into Creative Writing. The hipster-dork, as Hide had started to see him as, propped his head on his hand, his eyelid drooping behind the lenses of his glasses. Hide saw some seriously bad dark bags under his eyes.

“Wow, have a late night last night, Sasaki?”

The boy’s eyes—or eye, Hide noticed suddenly, as his left was hidden behind an eye-patch—rolled towards him. His stare was long and hollow. “Something like that,” he muttered, turning away. Hide watched the slow, tired lowering and opening of his visible eyelid.

Hide sighed, sitting down. “Seems like a dreary day.”

Sasaki said nothing, blinking slowly, like a dog in your lap falling asleep under the rhythm of petting its head. Hide was familiar with the experience.

He wondered if Sasaki would fall asleep if he stroked his hair, too.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Hide opened his books quickly, his face feeling hot. How old was he? Fifteen? Was he that awkward pubescent kid that had no control over his weird fantasies? No! He was an adult. He was in control.

He added it the mental list of ‘things I would do’.

“So what happened to your eye? You get in some awesome bar fight?”

Sasaki snapped to, shocked for a second. “Ah, no. I actually just slipped over last night in the bathroom and hit my head on the sink. It’s pretty embarrassing.”

“Whoa, that’s rough. Were you, like, wasted?”

“What?” Sasaki looked at him quizzically before turning his attention back to his book. He shook his head. “No. No, I hate alcohol, actually.”

“Damn, you should hate me, then,” Hide laughed. “At my high school, I became famous for doing stupid sh*t at parties.”

Sasaki shook his head, but Hide saw that faint smile. It made his chest constrict. He wanted that smile to always be there, because when it wasn’t, Sasaki’s face looked . . . sad. Just sad and tired. His face was always changing and forming expressions, Hide knew, but in those rare lapses, there was a glimpse into a tired, tired boy.

One who had bags under his eyes and pale skin, wore long-sleeved tops and collared shirts, a baggy beanie and glasses, who carried new-looking textbooks and old-looking notebooks.

He was weird, like a slab of cookie dough that didn’t quite fit any cookie cutter. If you looked at him from a certain angle, he was something completely different. The only thing that seemed consistent was that shy, timid nature that so easily turned beetroot red and was shy of human contact.

Hide almost felt protective.

He’s a big boy, Hide told himself, you’re not his mother. Leave him be.

“So, what’s wrong with it? Did it bleed? Swell up? Do you have an epic shiner?” Hide pressed the side of his face into the desk looking up at Sasaki. “Does it hurt? Can I see? Is it really impressive? You should make sure that it’s not too close to the actual eyeball, or it can cause bad swelling behind the eye and cause the actual eyeball to get squished, which can—”

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” Sasaki said, waving his hands in front of him. “Thank you for your concern, Hide, but don’t worry! It’s just a little bruised and has a little scratch around here”—he gestured to the outer corner of his eye—“so I thought I’d keep it covered.” He smiled, looking apologetic.

Of course he would, Hide scolded himself, he should have realised by now that Sasaki was pretty sensitive to that kind of invasive, in-your-face attitude. If Hide had kept going, he could have convinced the guy that his eye would split and leak optical fluids, which could—if extreme enough—blind him.

“Are you sure it’s fine?” Hide asked, slightly concerned. Broken skin could easily lead to infection on the face. “Do you want me to take a look? I am a science student.”

“No, thank you. Really, thank you for concerning yourself about it, but it’s fine,” Sasaki gave him another one of his embarrassed, apologising smiles. “I think it’s fine. It doesn’t hurt at all.”

Hide pouted. “Anything concerning the superoptical ridge or groove can be pretty risky.”

Sasaki’s cheeks reddened. He looked away, head still propped on his hand. “It’s . . . you know a lot about your subject.”

Hide felt his own face redden. He sat up scratching at his cheek bashfully. “Ah, you. Well, I did have to pass all the anatomy and physiology holiday courses before I could do anything else.”

“It’s still really impressive, though.” Sasaki had turned to look at him now, deer eyes large with that seemingly intrinsic sincerity. Hide could all but see his cheeks glowing. “Th-thanks,” he said quietly, scratching at his cheek.

Sasaki gave him a smile, and Hide felt his heart f*cking stop it was so gorgeous.

Hide stared down at his notes, eyes wide. How was he going to make it through this lecture, now?

He was almost grateful when the lecturer began speaking about how their Internal Assessment was going to be a play script. The impending stress took his mind off of how much of it Sasaki Haise did, at that time, occupy.

“So it’s all healed up?” Nimura Furuta pulled at the delicate skin of his eyelids, poking around to make sure the eye had fully recovered. Although a little bloodshot, the actual eyeball had reformed, nerves and all. The lens had come in during the day, and the retina had lined up in the afternoon.

If he didn’t hate it, Kaneki would say that he was somewhat pleased with the rate of recovery.

“So we have a deal, Furuta?”

Furuta grinned widely in that tight-lipped sort of way that showed only the sharp ends of the frontal incisors. Like he wasn’t already a creepy enough person.

“Of course,” he said. He glanced across to Uta, holding out his hand. “It will be a pleasure to work with this group. What do you call yourselves?”

Kaneki wasn’t impressed.

“Why would we have a name when our aim is to hide, Furuta?”

At 11:03PM, Hide received a text from Takashi:

Hey wanna come to a party on fri? ur doing drug sh*t yea?

Hide wasn’t sure why he replied saying: ill be there.

Chapter 5: The Wild Youth

Chapter Text

“We’ve got three jobs tonight,” Kaneki said, handing each of them the vaccum-sealed bag to trap the air, wrapped inside a garbage bag to offer protection and taped with duct tape to stop any rustling of plastic to draw attention. They were wrapped thick enough and tight enough to look like some new form of pipe bomb.

Parcels.

“Touka, we’re delivering yours to a nightclub in the East district. Yours, Ayato, is going to be in the University sector, another shady rich kid. Our last stop is going to be Tsukiyama’s so we can deliver the latest batch.”

“Have they been tested?” Ayato bagged the parcel and zipped up his backpack, slinging it back over his shoulder. He’d hung his mask around his neck. “You know how bad it is when we deliver bad goods.”

“Yeah,” said Kaneki. “They’ve been tested.”

Dimly, the hazy memories of spending the night in the office, making that huge sum of money to submit himself to taking potential toxic amounts of narcotics and stimulants.

They’d been tested.

Ayato almost looked ashamed with himself for asking. His baby face was deceptively young-looking, even though Kaneki knew he was nearly sixteen.

It was still too young, Kaneki thought.

Touka shouldered her bag, pulling on her rabbit mask. “Let’s head out.”

Silently, they made their way about the quiet city.

“Who’s hosting this time?”

“What?” Takashi yelled back, cupping a hand over his ear. “What did you say?”

“WHO’S HOSTING?” Hide all but shouted into his cupped hand. The music was so loud that Takashi didn’t even flinch. Instead, he nodded for a moment, his addled brain processing the words and response.

“It’s Satsuki’s!”

Hide did a mental calculation:

Satsuki = Himuya Satsuki = Female = Takashi’s crush.

So, Takashi was crashing and had invited Hide to tag along.

That being said, the size of the party meant that no one would be able to tell. Hide guessed there were over forty people here just for the sake of the party, not because they had been invited.

In the corners of rooms, groups of kids huddled around a single bong in the hopes of getting high.

Hide was already feeling the effect of the fumes. The idea of being ‘high’ didn’t appeal to him, but he was not going to chicken out and leave the room only an hour after getting here. People were dancing, talking, smoking, and—

Holy sh*t, did Hide just see someone popping a pill?

No, bad idea. Abort. Abort. Litte pink pills did not tick any of his boxes except ones that screamed Get the f*ck out of there.

“Hey, man—” Hide started, but stopped. How would he say it? How would he, despite hanging around through the stench of pot and drunk youths, decide in an instant to up and leave? Takashi would hate him!

sh*t, what would he do?

When it doubt get the f*ck outside, Hide boy, he commanded himself.

“I’m going outside!” he shouted to Takashi, who nodded.

“I’ll be dancing!”

Hide nearly ran outside. He had to calm down. He’d grown up in a small town where the idea of anything remotely psychedelic was bad. Like, heresy bad. People were shunned. It wasn’t the discrimination that scared Hide—it did, but it wasn’t the main problem—what scared him were drugs. The effect of rugs. The business of drugs. The way teeth rotted and hair fell out, the way thirty-year-olds became old men.

It scared the sh*t out of him.

He sipped at his beer slowly. He wasn’t drunk. He’d told himself that he wouldn’t get drunk. No, he was having at maximum three casual beers, and drinking something cool was a good way to calm down.

At this rate, he’d get a phobia of parties.

A girl in a black dress saw him wandering alone, and grabbed his elbow, pulling into her ring of dancing friends. Hide slid into the act of comfort easily, letting himself get pulled around by her and her friends, decided not to mind the incredibly dangerous dancing they were doing with him and their other male friends despite the worry in his mind. Had these girls taken drugs too? Had everyone in this house taken drugs already?

He shelved the panic. Calm down. Deal with it.

The song ended and he laughed them away, walking off to a quieter area of the back yard. He didn’t feel like dancing. He felt like sitting on another brick wall and watching from a safe distance, he felt like meeting a random stranger who was incredibly beautiful. He wanted that; wanted someone who wasn’t high off their face or wanting to be.

He ran a hand through his hair, breathing heavy. Drug-related crimes, he said, were happening due to the increased route of drug transport. Gangs were getting involved in the manufacturing of narcotics and their distribution, earning them a sh*t ton of money to support themselves with. It was also all cash money, so no one was there to track transactions. Police members who’d tried to go undercover ended up identified in a second.

Dealers wore masks, sellers wore masks, kids tore theirs off under the effect of their creations, their bones laid bare.

“People can ask you to do whatever they want, Hide,” his mother would tell him, “but they’re always doing it for themselves. Your well-being won’t matter. Don’t let yourself be used.”

His mother. Oh God, how funny it would be if she heard he’d gate-crashed a party because someone had asked him to. She’d probably beat him into next week if she heard he’d gone despite suspecting there would be drugs.

Sometimes he regretted a lot of his choices.

He sighed into his cup, biting at the rim. He needed to calm down. Freaking out would not solve anything. He was young, he was healthy, he could find his way out of this.

A cold presence, like a ghostly breath on the left side of his neck, startled him. His hand slapped to his neck and he glanced in the direction.

He saw no one. Confused, Hide rubbed at his eyes. Maybe he was high off weed, after all.

Opening his eyes, he felt as if he was watching the world go through syrup, slow moving and cast like gold. The air was turning cool with autumn, but with the orange light through his hair, Hide could almost believe it was a summer’s evening. He watched the sway of that glowing hair, the careful, quick movements of his lithe form. Most of all, he watched how those eyes glowed fiercely silver.

Those eyes met Hide’s own wide ones with a similar look of surprise.

He was dressed up to his chin in black, a small backpack slung over his shoulders. A black turtleneck under a slimming black jacket, black pants and a pair of chunky black boots. Black, black, black and then white.

For an instant, the surprise remained as the world went back to speed for Hide. Then, his face relaxed, sinking into a smirk.

“Don’t get into drugs, Hide,” he said, his voice sarcastic but with an underlying seriousness Hide could see in the redness of his eyes and the dark circles of his eye sockets, the hollows of his cheeks.

“I don’t want to deliver them to you.”

With that, the white-haired boy gave him a thin smile and grabbed the fence with one hand, throwing himself over with ease. Hide watched, unable to speak, to move, to think—

GO AFTER HIM!

Hide ran to the fence, jumping up and propping his toes on the cross-board that held up the planks of wood. He threw his drink away and cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting at the white-haired figure rapidly disappearing over neighbouring fences.

“I LIKE YOU!”

As the parting figure jumped over the next fence, he waved into the air.

Hide wanted to smash his head into the wall. It had been two days since then and he still felt embarrassed.

“Is something wrong, Hide?” Sasaki asked, looking away from his notes at the blonde whose cheek was being mashed into the desk. Hide pouted.

“Nothingggg,” he moaned, burying his face on the pages of his notebook.

Chapter 6: This Fire

Chapter Text

The hit across the jaw sent him stumbling back, blood filling his mouth. “You piece of sh*t!” she snarled, bloodied fist shaking with anger. “You had one job, Kaneki. One. Do you know what that was?”

Kaneki knew it. He always seemed to know it, despite screwing up.

“Be on time, you lazy f*ck!”

“I’m sorry, Aunt Asaoka—”

“Don’t apologise to me, scum,” she snapped, backhanding his face. Kaneki’s mouth was so full of blood he could barely speak. It felt swollen with the metallic, ruby-red liquid as it began to dribble over the basin of his lips. All those old wounds reopening.

“Your words mean nothing. You’re meant to be on time. I gave you a job out of the goodness of my heart after my sister up and died on me, leaving you to us.” She grabbed him by his hair, the dark strands ripping from his scalp. She pulled him inches her face, her otherwise beautiful features was twisted with rage.

“Kanek,” she said quietly, throat humming as she spoke in that dangerously low tone. “If I get a complaint about you ever again—ever again, I swear I will send you to Hell. That’s where you belong, Kaneki. In Hell, with my sister and that dreadful man she married. You know that, don’t you? You’re just like him. Trash. You and him pulled her down, you know.”

She cast him aside, straightening. “Pretending you’re better than others, just because you can pass a government-made system. You’re the reason she’s dead, Kaneki. You should just die.”

Kaneki’s eyes opened, eyes staring into the pre-dawn darkness. His throat didn’t feel dry or rough from screaming. That was a good sign.

He rolled over to look in the clock: 4:45AM. Nearly exactly an hour since he went to bed.

It would have to do. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. His hair still smelled clean from the shampoo and the way he had scrubbed off his scalp to try and rid of himself of the party smell.

He reached over to the glass of water next to his bed, giving it a short blow over the top to make sure the dust and grime from his cheap, gross ‘dorm’ hadn’t settled on the surface.

Standing, he cracked open the window, looking out onto the cityscape.

That was the one good thing about his room: the view of the city it gave him. The towering heights of skyscrapers, the constant glow that reminded him someone, somewhere, hadn’t slept as much as he had that night.

They may sleep through the day, but at least he’d beaten them on the night hours thing.

He flicked the switch to his lap, illuminating the notes he’d set down before he left to work. He pulled out a cigarette from his ever-present packet and lit it, holding it between his teeth while he scanned the notebook.

Hide often wondered how Haise did it. The pale-haired boy looked clean and scrubbed up, his face full and clear as he shuffled the pages of his notes at 9AM on Monday morning.

“Haise,” Hide croaked, “are you human?”

“What?” asked the boy, deer eyes looking up. “What do you mean?”

Hide stared for a long time, mouth agape, before he sullenly sat down. “It’s nine o’clock on Monday and I have to sit through a Creative Writing class?”

“Ah . . .” Haise murmured, trying to be sympathetic. “I’m sorry that I can’t help more.”

Hide shook his head vehemently, nearly taking the boy’s hands in his own to emphasise his point. “Don’t be,” Hide regarded him straight in those steel eyes. “It’s out of your control. Besides, you’re the only reason I look forward to this class.”

It took Hide a second too long to realise why they’d lapsed into silence.

“Haise! Hey, Haise! Calm down!” Hide fanned Haise’s face, sighing.

Haise chewed at his lip and set his pen down. “So, uh . . . you have a good weekend?”

“Yeah, thanks. No awkward parties, no awkward, high yelling. None. I had a great weekend. My parents called and bitched at me, my friend Takashi also called and bitched at me”—Takashi make eye-contact with him, two rows down, and Hide pointed at him angrily—“for not going to this ‘sick as party, bro’, and yeah. I did some work and regretted my choices in general.”

Haise seemed solidly entertained, leaning onto his hand. Hide noticed his eyelids droop for a second too long before he looked up again. “More lively than mine.”

“Really? You look kind of tired.”

“What?” Haise sat bolt upright. “No, no. I’m not. It’s just Mondays. Basically all I did was write essays and practical reports.”

“That’s rough, buddy,” Hide agreed. He watched the lecturer hurry into the room, throw around books and plug in a computer. “I was writing my Journalism article.”

“What on?”

Haise was very talkative today, Hide noticed.

“Drug-related crimes and their increase.”

“What, so like, narcotics, or stimulants, or suppressants like weed and—”

“Whoa, he never specified that.”

Haise’s face went pale.

“Are you okay, dude? You seem a bit . . . off.”

“What? No, I’m fine.” Haise’s hands were shaking as he took notes.

“Give me a look at your face.”

“Whaaa—?” Haise’s face was still red as Hide grabbed his cheeks, startled by how prominent his cheekbones were. Hide squinted, staring at Haise’s eyes.

There was no reddening of the eyelids, but the actual eyeball was heavily veined. It almost as if—

“Haise,” Hide said, very seriously. “Are you high?”

Haise, for the briefest second, looked terrified. He pouted, glancing sideways. “No . . .”

“Holy sh*t, you’re f*cking tanked.”

“I’m not!” Haise hissed, insistent. He pulled his face away, but Hide could see it now: the redness of his eyes, the fatigue in his actions, his boldness. Haise wasn’t usually like this.

Hide glanced down at his empty hands, which felt powdery. Huh?

“You’re f*cking high and attempting to sit through a class. What kind of sh*t did you do this weekend?”

“Nothing. I sat in my dorm and worked whilst my roommate bitched at me.”

“Roommate?”

“Yeah,” Haise pouted. “She hates me at the moment.”

“So, what, you pulled out some pot and puffed away?”

“I didn’t!”

“Haise, I can spell pot on your breath from here. You may have had like, thirty coffees to try and cancel that sh*t out, but I can see it from a distance.”

Haise sighed. “I’m telling you—”

“Oh, Hide, yes, I felt so sad and alone last night that I just whipped out a bowl and puffed away like the hipster I am!” Hide gasped in mock-surprise. “I was so ashamed that I tried to hide it, but I couldn’t, and being high confuses me so.”

Haise didn’t look impressed.

Hide laughed it off, slapping him on the back. Haise must have been a space cadet at that point, because he didn’t even flinch the way he usually did. “Wanna skip class?”

“Yes.”

Hide munched on a brownie while Haise downed his third cup of coffee since they’d sat down. Honestly, the guy was going to explode.

They’d stopped at a small student-run diner at the edge of the campus which offered free coffee refills. Hide wasn’t really that hungry but decided to go there anyway. Around them, other student groups had formed, doing group tasks.

“I really didn’t peg you as someone that would smoke pot,” Hide confessed. “Honestly, I thought I’d do it sooner than you.”

Haise have a cheeky, cheeky smile, obviously over being sprung. He wriggled his eyebrows. “Maybe I am a man of mystery, oh, ho, ho.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Sasaki Haise?”

Haise downed the last of his coffee. “The high should wear off in around”—Haise checked his watch—“ten minutes. Then I’ll just be ashamed and disappointed in myself, so let’s have a fun chat while we can.”

“Wow, that was pretty deep,” Hide leaned against his hand, observing this new Haise. It wasn’t that Hide supported using drugs, but Haise seemed a lot more . . . free like this. It almost made Hide sick to think that maybe there was something good in it.

Shut up, he told himself, you don’t know what’s good for him.

“Hey, Hide,” Haise’s big deer eyes were pleading and genuine in a puppy dog kind of way. “Um . . . is this annoying? Am I annoying you? I’m being a bother, aren’t I? I’m really sorry. Really.”

Wow, that emotional turn around was really fast.

“Nah, man. Any excuse to skip class is good enough, even if your best friend is high as balls.”

Haise, who would normally have gone bright red at this point, stared him in the eye with steel Hide wasn’t accustomed to seeing. “I’m your best friend?”

“Ah—well, um, that is . . .” Hide scratched at his cheek, trying to find a less embarrassing way to deal with this. He’d blown it now, hadn’t he?

Hide sighed. “Yeah. You are. That probably shouldn’t be embarrassing but, you know . . . it kind of says a lot, since we don’t hang out or have each other’s phone numbers, or do stuff.”

Haise hailed over the waitress for a refill. The brunette looked concerned, but Haise waved it off. “It’s fine. I was up all night.”

The waitress looked to him and Hide mouthed ‘high as f*ck’.

The girl got the cue and skedaddled the sh*t out of there.

“You go to parties all the time with other friends, though,” Haise said, blowing steam off his black coffee. “Aren’t they best friend material?”

“Yeah, but . . . they’re kind more, like . . . acquaintances. I’ll remember their names and the sh*t we did, but not really why I liked them. I hang out with Takashi because we both came from the same high school and our families know each other, but we’re not very close. He basically invites me to crash parties so he doesn’t feel as bad about going alone.”

“I see.” Haise was calm. “Do you want my number then?”

“What? Can I really?” Hide nearly jumped out of his seat in excitement. Haise nodded.

“Yeah, and gimme yours. I’ll send you random texts at four in the morning.”

“Haise, how many bowls did you smoke?”

“I was asked to try—” Haise’s voice cut off suddenly as if strangled. He coughed heavily into his sleeve. “Sorry,” he wheezed before coughing again. He swallowed before continuing, “Yes, well. I had two.”

“Two what?”

“Two goes, Hide.”

Hide scratched his head in confusion. “Like, two puffs? And you’re this high?”

“Two whole bowls,” Haise clarified. He was so open and carefree about it that Hide found it hard to fathom this boy and the one he was so accustomed to seeing was the same person. Is this what drugs did?

“Phew,” Hide breathed out. “I have no idea how much that is, but I’m going to guess it’s a lot. How long ago was this?”

“I don’t remember,” Haise said numbly. He scrolled through his phone until he pulled up his own number. “Here,” he said, passing to Hide.

“Wow, what are we, dating?” Hide joked, and Haise laughed.

Haise f*cking laughed and it was the most beautiful thing Hide had ever heard in his life.

“Hide? Hey, earth to Hide?”

“What? Oh, yeah. I’ll send you a text, so add my number.”

Haise swirled his coffee and then downed it in one gulp. “Hide,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“What month is it?”

Hide raised an eyebrow, sceptical of the determination in Haise’s expression. “It’s nearly the end of Autumn. What month does that make it?”

“It’s November?”

There were very few times in Hide’s life where he could say that he had seen that mixture of equal parts surprise and terror. One of them when his aunt had been given her diagnosis: she’d read the paper slowly, eyes wide and empty until it filled with the unquenchable terror.

“Yeah,” Hide said, voice gentle. “It’s meant to snow this Friday.”

“Huh,” Haise tapped the screen of his phone, adding Hide as a contact. Hide noticed the fog that seemed to settle, as if Haise were lost in a high-induced memory. “Snow.”

By the time Haise had downed his sixth cup of coffee, he was off his high. It astounded Hide how quick the entire ordeal seemed to be over. Their Creative Writing class wouldn’t have finished yet.

“I’m really sorry,” Haise said quietly. “For everything. I must have been such a both—I even pulled you out of class!”

“Like I said, that class is dead boring,” Hide said. “I have to do it as part of Journalism, though. That sucks.”

Haise still looked ashamed of himself. “Let me make it up to you!”

“Haise, you don’t owe me anything,” Hide said, smiling. “All we did was skip class, anyway.”

“But, I took time out of your learning, I hassled you for your number, and so much other things—”

“Haise, seriously. I’m not angry, I’m glad you’re okay. Don’t beat yourself up about it. I got to hang out with you, eat a brownie, get your number—which I’m still pleased with myself about—and you were a pretty funny space cadet.”

Haise still looked deflated. “I’m really sorry.”

Hide pet his shoulder roughly, causing Haise to jump. “Well, I did get some funny blackmail material, I guess . . . looks like you’re stuck being my friend or else I’ll just . . . release it out, maybe . . .”

Haise’s face, slowly, melted into a relieved smile. “I guess.”

It was snowing. He watched delicate petals of ice fall down around him, silent. They stroked at his cheeks, icy cool, washed away the blood.

It was soothing, the cold. From the ground, pushing into the soles of his feet and from above, twinkling down like flakes of fallen stars, caressing his every wound. He could feel them closing, the familiar sting of knitting fibres.

The neighbourhood behind was forgotten. At that moment, alone in the dark, being swallowed up by the cold, he swore he would forget it. Forget everything that came before this year, everything since the last snowfall. His life was measured out in snowflakes.

He would not have an unloving family, he would not have a lonely past. No, he was just the boy in the snow. He would live, ugly and continuously, until he had completed what he swore to do.

He would rid the world of the man that had ruined everything.

He stared down at his hands, the nails so used to having to spring back they had grown black, the keratin now heavily infused with dark, clotted blood. He’d paint them, every day, to make sure no one ever saw. He’d wear a hat. He’d hide his scars from himself.

And when he was done, he could stop counting snowfalls.

“Nagachika, you’re pretty spaced out today.”

It was Amon, standing above him in his CCG suit—which was only marginally different than his lecturer suit.

“Sorry, Amon. Just wasting away here, no files to rush off, no one to interview.”

Amon shook his head. “You kids—and you especially. Why are you always late? School is important, you know. Akira even said she saw you ditching class today. Do you want to be a bum, Hide? Your parents pay for your boarding here, don’t wallow in their expenditure, young man.”

Hide held up his hands in surrender. “Whoa, now. I’m usually late against my will, Amon. I’m always sorry about that, really. And today was . . . my friend needed help. Like, in that instant. I’m also on a scholarship, so . . .”

Amon huffed. “Anyways,” he said, throwing down a case file onto Hide’s desk. “The director was wondering if you’d like to help out with the case we’re doing.”

“Oh? What’s that?” Hide’s interest was piqued instantly.

“The GLG have been spotted making transactions in various nightclubs near the University sector,” said Amon. “Director Washuu wants to see if you can work undercover.”

“Will that mean that you don’t yell at me every time I’m late?”

Amon crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe.”

“Sign me up, sir yessir!”

“The CCG have been onto our deals in the nightclubs,” Uta said, scrolling through his phone. “I’m going to put you on Eto’s team for now to distract them, since they seem to know you the best.”

“Is Eto undercover during these?” Kaneki was reading a book he’d found in Uta’s ‘private collection’. That usually translated to books he’d stolen from the sad girls he’d had one-night stands with. Uta was weird in that kind of way.

“Yeah,” said Uta. “You know how young she looks and all. I’ll send that Furuta guy as well. Oh, he also says he has a lead in the 6^th ward and he’d like to discuss it with you. I figured nightclubs are pretty safe.”

“Yes, please,” Kaneki said. He reached for one of Uta’s cigarettes.

“Good. Your first job is tomorrow night. We’re meeting this guy that wants to redistribute our crack.”

“How much?”

“He wants thirty kilos, but I think we’ll give him twenty-five, because I don’t like him,” Uta showed a picture to Kaneki of a man with dark hair and slim build. “Looks dodgy, doesn’t he?”

“Looks like a sad sack of sh*t,” Kaneki agreed. “You think he has the cash?”

“Well, that’s why we’re sending you and Eto. If she doesn’t beat him up. If he gets himself jacked up before that, well, like I said: that’s why we have you there.”

“I see.”

Uta put down his phone. “Who’s the new kid you’ve been hanging around with?”

“Who?” Kaneki was fairly sure he knew where this was going.

“Itori tells me she saw you making out with some blondy at that party we went to a few months back.”

“Yeah, he looked only marginally more pathetic than I did so I kissed him.”

“Nice,” Uta said. He took the book from Kaneki and chucked him a lighter. Kaneki accepted it with a nod of thanks.

“Want to test out the crack? I’m not sure about this bunch after the new lot came in. Clearly our supplies aren’t as good as we thought Aogiri’s way.”

Aogiri was the smaller band of dealers GLG had formed an agreement with to distribute the drugs they produced. Eto was in charge of them. Despite her small size, Kaneki had never met anyone more cunning.

“How much?”

“I’ll give you five hundred per lot. There are twelve.”

“I guess there are worse overtime shifts. Yeah, I can. I’ll crash here tonight, though.”

Looks like there’d be no school for him, tomorrow.

“It’s kind of sad, isn’t it?” Kaneki could help but say it. Watching the party below, he couldn’t see the attraction of being surrounded by hundreds of bodies, all mindlessly dancing and writhing, almost like they were in pain.

But the party wasn’t the saddest part. He’d sat down next to a blonde boy around his age, if not slightly older, with bleached hair and freckles you only got from living in the country. It was something that Kaneki had always wondered about.

The boy sat alone. His caramel eyes were lost.

“Um, I guess? Hi, I’m Hide.”

“Kaneki.”

He wondered what ‘Hide’ was short for. What kind of guy would introduce themselves by a nickname? What was the point of a nickname if you were called it by everyone? Did names have any meaning at all?

What would he know, anyway?

“That was a pretty philosophical statement, buddy,” Hide said. Kaneki could hear the discomfort from his voice, but there was something else in there. Something that didn’t make Kaneki want to leave.

Something that made Hide different.

“I try to avoid being too thoughtful,” he admitted. It was true. The deeper he hung around in thoughts, the harder it was to keep to what he had promised himself nearly a year ago. Sourly, he crushed his cigarette in his palm, ignoring the sting. “Makes you too aware of the situation.”

“Jeez, how many bowls have you had today?” Hide laughed.

It was light-hearted, the statement. Almost funny. Kaneki felt his lips curl. He turned towards Hide, examining him up and down: dark, caramel eyes, blonde hair that had been bleached orange, freckles, and so much life in his eyes.

Such lonely eyes.

“Not enough, clearly,” he said dryly.

Hide shrugged. “To each his own. Forensic Science. You?” His gaze was inquisitive and gut-wrenchingly innocent.

“Literature.”

“Holy sh*t, you are am Arts Student!” Hide clapped a palm over his chest in mock surprise. “This explains it all!”

Kaneki scoffed, looking back at the party. Somehow, it seemed less sad and more pitiful to him, now. Pitiful because he could relate in some dark, twisted way to the desire to dance around and f*ck up your body from the inside.

Except that would never happen to him.

Kaneki heard the distant wail of police sirens. In the crowd, he saw Touka give the signal: Scatter.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Kaneki whispered before he could stop himself.

He turned back to Hide. The boy was unique in a way that isolated him from others. He stared back at Kaneki with wide, entranced eyes. Kaneki felt his stomach churn. What was this? Why wasn’t he thoroughly disturbed?

Why hadn’t the kid run to the cops and screamed, ‘There’s a murderer at this party! Get him, please! Save me!’ Why hadn’t he?

Kaneki took a moment, examining once again the haze in his eyes and the pinkness on his cheeks, sitting right at the curve of his cheekbones. His lips were soft and full, only slightly chapped in the student’s typical bad lifestyle.

Hide wasn’t involved with Kaneki’s trade; he wasn’t involved with Kaneki’s demons or life or anything.

Leaning forward, he grabbed Hide’s collar and pulled their mouths together. Something felt so brilliantly right in doing so. He couldn’t sense any disgust from the other at all.

Greedily he kissed him, teeth clacking and hands running through Hide’s hair. He licked at Hide’s lip, nearly pushing himself in freely. Kaneki had never realised how fulfilling the desire for affection could be.

It was alarming.

The sirens of the police were close, now. He had to make his exit. He pulled away, taking a moment to etch the face into his memory. The face of the strange, lonely boy.

Maybe when he died, the forensic scientist could chop him up and realise where Kanou had screwed him over. Kaneki wouldn’t hate that.

He smiled. Maybe it was morbid, but it was the nicest thing Kaneki had thought in a long time, like the briefest glimmer of a starved candle in the dark that was the inside of Kaneki Ken.

He took a final second to appreciate the face he left before he jumped off the fence and ran.

He ran, and ran, and ran.

Chapter 7: A State of Clear Blue

Chapter Text

Kaneki blinked, groggily coming to. His held a splitting headache and he could tell from the acidic taste on the back of his tongue and the burn running down the length of his throat that his heart had stopped at some point.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. Was it wrong he was so used to being high that his distorted vision no longer even affected him?

He pulled out his phone and texted Uta: “Number 3 has been spiked with cyanide.”

Aogiri had supplied them with dangerous goods? What did that mean?

“Oi, Trashika, get the f*ck up!”

Hide groaned in protest, but he was already being—quite literally—booted out of bed by his flatmate and senior, Nishio Nishiki.

“Your lecture starts in ten minutes, and I’m inviting Kimi over. Scoot.”

He was tall, with strawberry-blonde hair that seemed to naturally swirl across his face. That, accompanied with his narrow eyes and sour face made up his character pretty accurately. His great talent was indeed to look down on people.

Hide liked to believe he was a gem underneath.

Really, he liked to.

Kimi, his girlfriend, was probably the worst match Hide had ever seen, but there was something about them so opposite that they couldn’t help but attract: Kimi was quiet, reserved, and just all around timid and nice.

Nishiki was the perfect example of arsehole, on the other hand.

Hide didn’t like to think bad of people, so he saw the way he acted around her as who he really was, and Hide was touched, sometimes, by how caring the douche could be.

Of course, when he realised Hide had seen glimpses into his tender, young heart, he kicked the kid out.

This was why he had been sent out during the times Kimi came over. That, and the fact that they were really loud when they went at it.

Nishiki was a third-year whose last roommate had moved out due to changing campus, and so the room was up. The two-people rooms were far cheaper than one-man, and Hide had applied for it instantly. He wanted to live the college student dream: stay up late with roommates, go out to parties together, live the party life.

His plans were pretty crushed when he got there. He knew that, but he kept hoping one day Nishiki would actually ask him if they wanted to hang out one day rather than fighting to get to the coffee machine first in the morning.

“I’m awake,” Hide grumbled from the floor. “And I’m leaving. Please stop kicking me.”

Nishiki had been tapping Hide’s side with his foot until he’d replied. “Good.”

Hide listened to his footsteps move away, before blurting, “Do you know Sasaki Haise?”

Sitting up, he saw the confusion on Nishio’s face. “Who?”

Haise wasn’t in Creative Writing that Monday.

Hide didn’t see Haise at all at campus.

Dude where r u? he’d texted the same thing many times, but had yet to have a response. He knew he had the right number. He knew, so why was Haise avoiding him?

Yo, he gave us notes today about the play script. I made a copy for you. Are you sick? Do you want me bring them over?

An hour ticked by. Then another, then another.

“Nagachika, you’re pretty lost-looking.”

Hide hadn’t even been paying attention to his workplace. Amon was watching him from his desk, his huge form hulked over the small keyboard whilst Akira paced back and forth, collecting papers from the printer and depositing them on her desk. Takizawa, even, had been watching him from his desk directly opposite Hide.

“Yeah,” Hide admitted. “My best friend wasn’t at school today and I’m not sure why. I’ve tried texting him but the guy hasn’t replied.”

“Maybe he actually despises you,” Akira said loosely, walking back to his desk. “Is he reserved in your presence? Is he always doing something else and avoiding eye-contact? Is he hesitant when he speaks? These are all indications that he is uncomfortable around you, Nagachika.”

“Just because he looks it doesn’t mean he is!” Hide sat up, pouting. “He even came and sat with me by choice!”

“Jesus, Hide. How long have you known this guy?” Takizawa was slouching against his palm, tired on a Monday. “It seems like you’re his carer or something. ‘Oh, he even replied to me today! He’s come so far!’”

Takizawa Seidou, Hide was sure, kind of love-hated him in the way they loved each other for the beef and banter they could have. It was fairly mutual.

“What’s his name?” Amon joined in. “I’m eager to see what he looks like.”

Ah, Amon’s parental side. “His name is Sasaki Haise. Look him up on the database. You can, can’t you, Amon? I mean, you should have access to it all, because you’re a professor and all.”

Amon clicked around for a bit before Hide heard him type something. “This guy? It’s the only one listed.”

Amon swivelled the computer around, and Hide stared at a stranger’s photo.

“So what was that text about?” Uta was on the phone with him, now. Kaneki’s headache had all but subsided. He’d trialled the rest of the packets but found only the third batch spiked.

“I tried the first two, and they were fine as always. After I tried the third one I blacked out for a second, since my heart shut down.”

“Well, that was Aogiri’s addition to the week.”

“They’re all Aogiri’s, aren’t they?”

“What? No,” Uta didn’t seem impressed. “Batch one and two came from a new group down in the 11^th ward, batch three from Aogiri, batch four from the Blades down near Aogiri, and batch four and five are from small-time dealers who agreed to sell it to me cheaper.”

“After you threatened to knife them,” Kaneki finished. He heard Uta’s grunt of assent on the end of the line.

“I’m getting a bit curious about Aogiri. I heard a rumour the other day they were stirring up trouble with other gangs. Trying to make them join. Itori thinks that they want to fight us to be the controlling gang.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Kaneki said, picking up a few grains of the sh*t he’d just ingested and pressing it to his tongue absently.

He f*cking hated being high.

And he f*cking hated drugs.

“You’re telling me,” Uta muttered. Kaneki heard some rustling and a woman’s voice. Ah, so that’s what Uta had been up to all night.

“But yeah. I heard that the White Suits are mobilising, and that Aogiri is convincing smaller groups all over Tokyo. If this continues, we may have a slight problem.”

“What are they going to do? Fight us? Sell drugs faster? Do they not realise that it takes time to get strong enough to pose a threat?”

“Don’t underestimate Eto and her lot,” Uta said offhandedly. “You know how sneaky she is. She’s as strong in her mind as her old man was in body.”

“And we all know how well that turned out for him.”

Uta scoffed on the other end of the line. “Okay, well, I’ll see you later for the job. Anything happen around there?”

“Nah. Only one death.” His own.

“Nice. Do try and stay alive before the job. You know how picky Eto is.”

The boy in the picture had bleached-blonde hair, with the same thick-framed glasses, but he wasn’t Sasaki. For one, Haise’s hair was much less yellow than that—who was he trying to be, Hide?—and his face was much longer and thinner. His eyes were dark, along with his eyebrows—the natural colour of his hair. He wore no hat, as was required for ID photos. His skin held some colour to it, and there was something so much more boring about the boy he stared at.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Hide said brightly. “He’s dyed his hair again since then, but that’s the guy.”

What the hell is this? That’s the only Sasaki listed?

“He takes Literature, Creative Writing, Chemical Engineering and Philosophy.”

The subjects are correct, so why . . . ?

“That’s him, all right.”

“Your friend must be pretty smart if Kamii let him take four subjects,” Amon said. He smirked, “so how did he end up with you?”

Hide shrugged. “I have quite the charm, you know.”

“The same charm as a chewed-up old shoe,” Takizawa scoffed.

“One that needs to be thrown into the bin asap,” Akira finished.

Hide stared around the room. He knew they were trying to lighten the mood, but Hide still felt put off by that picture. He smiled, flashing his teeth and turning up the wattage. “But that shoe was chewed by a very cute dog.”

Akira stood up suddenly, making Hide jump. “Hide,” she said, “you’re due to head out soon. There’s a nightclub in the University sector we want you posted at.”

Hide saluted. “You wish is my command, sir yessir!”

Akira sighed. “I don’t know what your plan is, but get dressed in something more . . . clubby than that. I’ll brief you when you return.”

Hide hurried out of the room.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Kaneki Ken,” Eto was smiling. Her short, pale hair was messy as always. She had a medical mask pushed down off her mouth for the meeting. Tyical of Aogiri’s style, she wore a dark cloak-style jacket over black clothing. Kaneki was dressed as he usually was: black up to the chin.

“Eto,” he greeted. He was solidly not high anymore, not from weed and not from co*ke.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” she joked, giggling to herself. She was often like that, amused by only herself. She dropped her small frame into one of the bar stools and leaned over the counter, leaving Kaneki standing awkwardly alone.

“Read any good books lately, Kaneki?”

“Not really. I’ve been reading all the set material for university,” he admitted. “I heard Takatsuki Sen’s new book came out and I’ve been meaning to get to it.” He gave her a subtle glare from the corner of his eye, watching her grin.

“Yes, it did. She has a press conference about that book in a few days. Better make sure I don’t reek of gang bars and drugs by then, hmm?”

Kaneki sometimes hated the way she was so positive about the whole thing. He quietly detested the way she could plan out her life for decades after today.

“Living two lives is hard,” Eto sighed, leaning back on the counter. “I guess you would know, wouldn’t you?”

Eto was always good with facts like that. Kaneki didn’t really mind, though. He assumed everyone except the innocent rich kids at Kamii knew. “Not really. The hardest part is remembering who you killed to get there.”

“Bingo!” Eto giggled. “That’s the Kaneki I know!”

“Did you not recognise me?” the more Kaneki talked, the more he realised his voice flat-lined. He walked behind the bar to busy himself, cleaning the glasses. It had been months since he last did the drinks shift, ever since Uta had assigned him to three groups instead of two.

“You’ve been pretty happy recently,” Eto admitted, leaning forward on the counter, her head resting in her palms. “That constant despair in those glassy eyes has become hidden behind a curtain. It pains me to lose such a good source!”

“Ha,” Kaneki snorted. “Maybe that’s because Uta has me doing all the drug testing now. Speaking of which, Eto, Aogiri delivered a certain dangerous good the other day.”

Eto’s smile only grew. “Did you like it?”

So she planned it. Who else planned it? Uta? Itori?

“I blacked out for a solid thirty seconds,” Kaneki admitted. “Your group is getting better at lethal poisons.”

Eto’s eyes were lit with that scheming flame Kaneki long associated with power. “Did we, now?”

Kaneki knew he was good at picking up on cues. After living with paranoia for so long, he’d started to find the changes in tone, inflection in the pitch of one’s voice. Eto was fairly obvious about it, but he put together the dots in an instant.

“Ah, so you’re working with all the gangs that we received co*ke from,” Kaneki said, thoughtfully. “A mixture to create a nice fatal co*cktail just for me? I’m touched.”

“It’s an early birthday present,” Eto grinned. “We all know how much you adore dying, so we thought we’d make sure it got pretty good.”

“I’m assuming you’re well aware of how I do things, then. You were certain that the chemicals would still be in my system for long enough to react with the cyanide.”

“And so, Mr Chemical Engineer, what are your thoughts?”

Kaneki smiled thinly. “That’s for me to know, Eto.”

She laughed, leaning into her hands. “You’re a funny one, dear little Kaneki. I wonder, have you thought about my proposition?”

Join Aogiri, Kaneki. Join us, and I’ll help you find Kanou. I’ll let you kill him. You trust me, don’t you, Kaneki? You know I won’t lie about it. You kill him, and then you’ll be complete. Then you can go and do whatever you want. You want to be free, don’t you? Free of your curse? Of your fears? Of your job?

You hate it, don’t you? Everything?

Don’t you want to watch the world burn, too?

“I’ve thought about it,” Kaneki said, pouring himself a glass of water. “And I’m still going to decline. Besides, I made a deal with Garden already.”

Eto pouted. “Choosing shady old men over me!”

Kaneki shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I’m a shady old man?” Furuta had appeared in the room.

“Yes.”

They’d spoken in unison.

Hide felt embarrassed when he dragged himself out of the change rooms. He’d found a black dress shirt and tucked it into a pair of dark skinny jeans. He’d combed back his hair (a little, since it never had any real effect) and wore a pair of white dress shoes.

The whole black and white thing really put him off.

Akira gave him a good scan, pale eyes scrutinizing him. “You’ll pass,” she admitted, “barely.”

“Says the lady not coming with me,” Hide said, grinning.

Akira didn’t look amused. “It’s not good to have too many people at once. Anyway, here is your mic.” She handed him a small ear-plug. “When in doubt, tap it and start talking. Because it’s inside your ear, it will pick up the vibrations through the bone rather than the music outside. If you think you’re in danger, phone for back up straight away, Nagachika. Straight away. Amon, Takizawa and I will be on standby until the mission is over.”

“And when’s that?”

“You’re in there for a maximum of six hours.”

Hide swallowed. “I like to believe that I can make six hours useful, but—”

“There is no binding you to that time,” Amon spoke up. His voice was earnest and full of concern. “If you can even find one small thing, you can come out. There’s no reason for you to stay too long.”

“But what if I do see something, but stay in to see how it goes?”

“You can tell us.” Akira tapped at her ear. “As long as you don’t say the safe word, all communications will be rallied to us, and we won’t mobilize.”

“What’s the safeword?”

“You can choose it,” Amon said.

Hide could already feel it burning on the tip of his tongue.

“Ghoul,” he said.

The nightclub was fairly empty in the early evening. The barmen were sweeping, the performers were laughing and chatting, and Eto was behind the door with the owner, bargaining for a better price.

She’d told them, if you hear a commotion, come in straight away and just go for the kill. Don’t even worry about whether you were wrong. There’s no harm in killing this guy.

She was right, of course. The secondary owner was an Aogiri member, and anything that would get her more power was a plus.

“Uta said you have leads for me,” Kaneki said, breaking the silence. He didn’t look across at his partner. Both of their gazes were fixed straight ahead, observing the quiet nightclub.

“Yes,” said Furuta, voice silky. “I did indeed.”

“So?” Kaneki prompted. “What kind?”

“Around the farthest reaches of the city is a CCG-owned property that used to belong to the Yasuhisa family, prominent in the CCG. Now, Kaneki, I’m sure you know that Kanou was ex-CCG, right?”

“I do, yes.” The words felt sour on Kaneki’s tongue.

Furuta hummed in ascent. “We recently tracked down a suspected link to Kanou going over that way. A girl, maybe your age. She has long, dark hair and a pretty blank face.”

“Was she alone?” Kaneki felt the sinking feeling form in his gut. Soon, it would begin to sting, and Kaneki knew he would be enraged.

“Yes,” Furuta said. “Throughout the entire time we tracked her, she was alone.”

Kaneki fell silent. No, it couldn’t be. There was no way she would be alone for more than thirty seconds at a time. “What clothes was she wearing?”

Furuta shifted next to him. “A dark cloak, fairly standard except for the red circular pattern on the hood.”

sh*t. Kaneki’s every nerve stung with anger. It was her.

“She’s connected,” Kaneki said. “We should go check that place out.”

“When would suit?” Furuta asked. “Who do you want to bring?”

“I can organise a small group of around four. You can get maybe three others. Tomorrow night. We’re going.”

Furuta laughed sharply. “You don’t beat around the bush, Kaneki. Do you know this girl? What should we do about her?”

“Make sure she’s alone,” Kaneki said. He watched as people began to file in. The nightclub had opened. “She’s usually accompanied by her partner. Together, they’re a problem. Alone they’re weak.”

“Seems interesting,” Furuta said. Kaneki heard the smile on his words like oil slicked over ground. “I wonder if you’ll tell me about them.”

“Maybe when they’re dead.”

The lights dimmed, and the crowd grew. The music started. Lights came on. Drinks were served. He watched the crowd sceptically. No one seemed to notice them where they were, removed from the dance floor. The room behind them was silent.

“You’re deceptively calm, Mr Kaneki,” Furuta drawled. His hands were clasped in front of him, relaxed but ready to act like the guard he was. Kaneki stood similarly. Both men were garbed in black, but Furuta’s taller fame made Kaneki look like the easier target.

Kaneki was fine with that.

“I am very calm,” Kaneki assured, very aware of the knives tucked into his belt and the ankle part of his boots. He felt the weight of the small emergency handgun in his pocket, pressing against his ribs. “Why would I not be?”

Kaneki had given Furuta a once-over before they arrived, and was able to locate a gun on either side of the man’s waist, but no other weaponry. Despite this, Kaneki was sure he’d hidden away his own stash.

That was something Kaneki knew: the more the better. sh*t could get bad fast.

He heard the pulling back of lips in a smile. Kaneki did his best not to react to the sound of the saliva-filled grin. “Your eyes become progressively brighter the angrier they get, have you noticed that?”

“I’d be lying if I hadn’t,” Kaneki said. “I’d also be lying if I said I believed a word you said.”

“Oh, I love these games.” Furuta’s voice was level. “Which is the lie, hmm?”

“It’s not a game at all,” Kaneki said.

“Life’s a game.”

“Oh yeah? What do I get if I win?”

Furuta laughed, loudly and bitterly.

“There’s no prize for living.”

Hide felt like a child on his first day of school. Except he was nineteen years old, and his parents consisted of his work colleagues who were giving him thumbs up so that he didn’t die.

Yeah. That was a possibility.

Standing in line, he swallowed hard. It wasn’t like he’d never been to a club before. No, he’d been before. The sky was dark, and the line was boisterous with people who were still wasted off pres.

The bouncer was a tall man with swirling beard on his chin. Hide swallowed, not making eye-contact. Even though the bouncer didn't emanate that sense of punk-what-you-doing-here-imma-kill-you-lil’-sh*t, Hide still felt nervous.

Slowly, he approached the font of the line. He had his ID ready in his hand, one that would say yes, he was nineteen, he was a legal adult and could be entering.

“Are you okay?” the bouncer asked.

Hide had to crane his neck back to look the huge bouncer in face. His eyes were kind despite his large frame. Hide nodded vigorously. “Yeah, yeah I am. It’s just . . . I’m meant to be, um . . .” make up something, quick!

“I’m meant to be meeting someone in there,” Hide said. “I’m kind of nervous.”

The bouncer smiled, giving Hide’s shoulder a pat. It was weirdly comforting. Hide squinted, trying to read his ID which was pinned to his breast pocket:

Banjou.

“Thanks,” Hide said, anxiety levelling.

Banjou smiled. “Okay, you can head in.”

“Eto sure takes her time,” Furuta mused, watching the people in the same way Kaneki had been. Every now and then, Kaneki would steal a glance from the corner of his eye, and see the man standing stoically, if not smugly, as he observed the wider human race.

Kaneki shrugged. “She’s a fussy woman.”

“What was the proposition she offered?” Furuta asked. “I heard you two talking when I came in.”

“Ah,” Kaneki said. “She wants me to join her group.”

“But aren’t you already part of the Ghouls?”

Kaneki shook his head. “I’ve never officially joined. I work as a hired hit man, bodyguard and tester. Although I’m basically part of the group, I don’t have the fancy sh*t that makes me theirs.”

“Uta seems pretty possessive of you.”

God, he’s sure curious. Doesn’t he know that by sticking his nose in someone will chop it off for him?

Kaneki shrugged. “I guess he would. I am an object, after all.”

“That’s a little disappointing,” Furuta admitted. “I would have thought you were more . . .”

His words faded into a buzzing jumble as Kaneki’s eyes focused on the patrons entering through the main door. His gaze froze on that familiar head of bleached hair, badly outgrown, combed back and his face freshened up. God, what a bad time.

He’d dressed nice for the club, Kaneki could see. The CCG must have sent him. Kaneki didn’t think that he would end up in a club quite this shady on his own if he had chosen.

He could only watch as the boy, after his few moments of disorientation, drew himself over to the bar and instantly got in conversation with a girl sitting there. Kaneki breathed a sigh of relief. Standing out wasn’t a good idea in a place like this.

“Kaneki?” Furuta prompted. “What, is all the drugs going to your brain?”

“I wish,” Kaneki muttered. Furuta fell silent after that.

Kaneki’s eyes never stopped watching Hide.

Chapter 8: Cerulean

Chapter Text

“What’s a young thing like you doing in a place like this?”

Hide had sat down at the bar, where he fell into conversation with a woman. She had long, dark hair that glowed purple under the neon lights. Her eyes were angular and reminiscent of a cat, right down to their striking violet colour.

She leaned on the counter, and Hide had a hard time keeping his eyes to her face when the folds of her chest just about spilled onto the bar in her revealing black dress.

“I’m actually waiting for someone,” Hide said, deciding to stick with the safest lie he could. Maybe then he could run to Banjou for help if he needed it. That is, if Hide was right about his character.

“That’s cute.” Her blood-red lips twisted into a crescent smile. Her long lashes cast shadows on her cheeks as she blinked. “So? What’s her name? Or his name? Actually, let’s start with the basics. What’s your name, boy?”

Hide gave his usual sunny grin. “My full name is Hideyoshi, but you can call me Hide.”

“Hide, huh?” her eyes glinted with mischief. Hide watched her lick her lips as she leant forward towards him. “That’s a very cute name for a cute thing like you.”

“I’m flattered,” Hide said, dropping his voice. He knew this was the time to act. He hadn’t learnt nothing from everything he’d seen. Now was the time to mingle, to fake it until he made it. Shelf that anxiety and replace it with something else.

When you act well enough, people are inclined to act afraid of you.

“What’s your name, then?” he asked, leaning on the bar. The bartender gave him his drink right at the perfect minute, and Hide took a sip of it, not once breaking eye-contact with the woman. She grinned back.

She reminded him of Cheshire cat.

“Rize,” she said, smiling. “Kamishiro Rize.”

Hide was sure he’d heard the name before, and not in a good way.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Rize.”

“Same to you, Mr Hide.” She grinned at him while taking a sip of her own co*cktail. Now, in the changing light, all he could sense from her was the feeling of predator. Like a panther, enticing its prey into safety so she could pounce.

Hide placed his drink down at took the chance to observe her. She seemed to relish in his attention.

Except all he was doing was trying to scan how bad of a threat she was. Black dress, along with some sort of furry plush looped over her shoulders. Her hair was down, and there was a small purse resting beside her on the bar top.

Hide drew a blank. He had a deep, insticual feeling that he was in danger around this woman.

Time to escape?

He scanned the crowd, mentally preparing himself for the act he would have to put on.

Act well, and she’ll follow it. Act well, act well, act well—

“Oh, that’s them there!” he cried, jumping up and pointing. He turned back to her, nodding politely. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Rize.”

He turned on heel, desperate to get away.

“Ah, Hide, wait. You left your drink behind.”

He turned back and saw her reaching out with it in his direction. The small beer looked unrefined against her. Hide smiled, forcing gratitude onto his face. “Thanks for that,” he said. “I’m so forgetful.”

“Don’t worry yourself. I myself get a bit clumsy too. It was nice to meet you, Hide.”

As he took the glass, he felt her sharp-nailed hands brush against his for an uncomfortable moment. They’d been perfectly manicured, glowing red against the pale, soft skin of her hand.

“Thank you,” he said again, and turned away.

Once he was suitably within the throng of people, he breathed a sigh of relief. God, that had been terrifying.

He sipped at his drink. It was foul. Had it always been this sour, or was the panic of the moment what distracted him from the actual taste? He wasn’t sure.

I paid so much money for that, he mentally cried. It didn’t matter how bad it tasted; he would drink the thing he’d wasted so much money on.

At one end of the club was a small stage where performers would ‘strut their stuff’. However, most of the performers were just on the classier side of strippers. Around the stage were a few small tables that were frequented by waiters, and to the other end of the ground floor was where everyone seemed to be dancing.

Looking up, Hide saw a mezzanine level, where people were sitting and eating, having a full view of the place. Hide wondered what an actual date here would be like.

The dance floor, sitting area and just general place everyone had to dance was a slight depression in the floor of the club, with a slightly raised path around the edges that presumably, the owner could observe through. Along this hallway were doors: the performer’s change room, the toilets, some offices, etc.

Each door had a pair of guards standing in front, minus the toilets.

Hide, suddenly feeling watched, walked over to the stage and sat down at an empty table, sipping his drink sullenly. He was meant to be talking to people, finding things out—why did he feel so introverted tonight of all nights? Wasn’t he the bubbly-personality Hide?

He swallowed, hard. His sh*tty work parents had given him thumbs-up for this.

He downed the rest of his beer in one go and took a second to process the alcoholic sting. He scanned the room, feeling the effects kick in almost instantly.

Wow, that was pretty fast. How long ago had he bought the drink? Five minutes? Ten minutes? Ten minutes seemed like a safe bet. His hands were shaking. He hadn’t noticed the performer change. The place seemed much louder now. Had he spaced out?

He stood, and for a second, he couldn’t feel his foot. God, what had he ordered? Wasn’t it just a straight beer? It had to be the nerves. Calm down, Hide, he told himself. Calm down.

The place seemed fuller, now. There was an abundance of people that had no care in the world, swaying dangerously, laughing, singing along to lyrics Hide couldn’t hear.

Get info, he thought. That had been his job. He had to live up to it.

Without thinking too much he—quite literally—dived into the thrush of bodies. People were singing and dancing, laughing. The air was filled with a mix of alcohol, perfume and perspiration.

The shock to his senses caught him, and he stumbled. A pair of feminine hands wrapped around his own and he looked up to see a shorter, brown-haired girl grinning up at him. Her face was red and glowing, eyes bright if not glassy. She pulled him into her rhythm, and he danced with her.

“What’s your name?” yelled the girl over the music.

“Hide!” he yelled back, brushing shoulders with strangers. “What’s yours?”

“Yoriko!”

“Nice to meet you!” he yelled, grasping her hands again. He felt so childish around her: they were literally just jumping up and down to the bass drop of the music, grinning stupidly at each other.

Maybe he didn’t feel so nervous anymore.

“Who are you here with?” Yoriko asked as the music died down for a moment.

Hide shook his head. “I’m alone,” he admitted. “My buddies left me.”

“Huh” her mouth fell open, eyes wide and honest. “That’s so mean!”

Hide shrugged as the music started up again. “What about you?”

“I’m here with a bunch of friends,” she said, looping arms with him and leading him to another part of the dance floor. “There’s a few of us, and we’re celebrating because we just finished midterms.”

“You’re still in school?”

“It’s my final year,” Yoriko said. “I am of age.”

Hide laughed. It felt so good to laugh. He hadn’t realised how warm it made him feel. Hell, looping arms with a stranger felt great. Maybe this whole place was great.

“So your friends aren’t?”

His eyes fell upon a small group of people standing around a small, circular bar-height table. Their drinks rested on it. There were two boys and one girl with short, dark hair, styled to fall over one of her eyes. Her cheeks were dusted with pink.

“Guys, I met this guy!” Yoriko yelled, once again trying to talk through the roar of the music. “His name’s Hide, and, um . . .” Yoriko looked at him expectantly.

“Uh, my friends ditched me, and now I’m all alone, so Yoriko took me over here,” Hide said, grinning. “I’m a first-year at Kamii.”

“Sweet!” said one of the boys. “That’s where I wanna go!”

Hide felt great. He lingered at their table, laughing and talking. Why was he there again? He didn’t care. The edges of his vision were bright, stained with the neon globes in the dim place. Everything felt great, even when the dark-haired girl gave him the silent treatment.

Speaking of her, Yoriko sat next to her and leaned her head on her shoulder. Hide couldn’t tell if they were dating or not. Maybe they were just really good friends? Sometimes girls were really clingy? Eh, what did Hide know? He had a crush on his classmate and on one of the city’s worst criminals simultaneously. Who was he to critique other people’s lives?

Wow, he had made that personal quick. He rubbed at his forehead, zoning back into what one of the boys was saying.

“Hey, Hide,” he said, “Are you . . . your eyes are a bit . . .”

Hide raised his eyebrows, smiling. “I dunno, man. Oh, I have to ask: do you know if there’s anyone here that’s connected to gangs?”

The dark-haired girl stood up suddenly. “I’m going home,” she said. “I don’t feel well, and my brother is waiting for me.” She stalked off.

“Wait, Touka—” Yoriko started, chasing after her.

The two boys looked at each other, then at Hide. “I guess we should leave, too,” one of them said. “Nice to meet you, Hide.”

“Nice to meet you, too!” Hide said, waving brightly. This constant cycle of hellos and goodbyes could have felt hollow, but Hide didn’t really care. He felt warm, like he was engulfed in joy, as if all the good intentions he’d always thought he had were glowing out through his pores.

He went back to the dance floor. How long had he been in there? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t really care. People smiled at him with brightly-painted lips and dark eyes. People kissed him when he looked away. It felt amazing.

A cool hand wrapped around one of his own, thrown up in the air. There was the press of cool lips against his neck, and he shivered. “Hide,” said an all-too familiar voice, “you’re not okay.”

He spun around, seeing the familiar white-haired man, as still as a statue amongst waves of people. Hide thought he was standing on the edge of a cliff. Behind him, the world was moving and growing and sweating, but Kaneki stood still, like a ghost.

Like a deity.

Hide cupped Kaneki’s face in his hands, making the other boy’s eyes go wide with surprise. “Has anyone ever told you, Kaneki, that you’re beautiful?”

Hide remembered shouting his confession over a fence. Normally, that would be embarrassing, but standing in front of the man before him, Hide could only smile at the memory, like an aged polaroid photo; filled with fondness.

Kaneki’s eyes softened. “Come here,” he said, wrapping his fingers through his belt loops and pulling Hide against him. He noticed they were black. There was the briefest of moments where Hide could inspect the way his pale skin turned bluish around his eyes before Kaneki’s lips were against his own, and Hide lost himself in it.

He didn’t care why he was there. He didn’t care what was happening. He was caught up in the stillness that was Kaneki Ken, caught up in a pillar that remained unchanging in a sea of commotion, of desperation, of ecstasy. He felt Kaneki explore every inch of his mouth with his tongue and he moaned against him, craving more. He wanted all of Kaneki Ken. He wanted the ghostly boy and bright lights, he wanted the sadness in his silver eyes, he wanted the scars on his hands, the black of his nails, and he wanted the softness of his lips.

Hide had never realised how much he wanted.

Kaneki’s fingers were in his hair when he pulled away. Hide studied the other boy’s face, pale skin slightly pink, translucent lashes sucking up the colour until silver eyes shone like kaleidoscopes. The world was staining Kaneki Ken with all its emotions.

Kaneki’s fingers brushed over his ears, and in one swift movement pulled out the silver earplug he’d been sent in with.

What was so important about the plug? Hide wracked his brain, but nothing came. Everything was a blur of warmth and colour. But Kaneki—no, Kaneki shouldn’t—he had something to do—

Kaneki dropped it on the ground and crushed it under his foot.

“You . . . that’s not . . .” Hide was so confused. What was going on?

Kaneki’s hands cupped his cheeks and guided him back to his lips. The confusion was gone in an instant. They were swaying together in the music, hips rocking, lips crashing.

“Hide,” Kaneki said, leaning away, “you’re high.”

“What?” Hide whispered. He felt like a kid that had been told a secret: The secret that Kaneki Ken was actually magic.

Kaneki shook his head, concern in his rainbow eyes. “That woman at the bar, Rize, she dropped a drug in your beer when you first came in. That was LSD, Hide. She spiked your drink. You came in here two hours ago, don’t you remember?”

“That’s so funny, Kaneki,” Hide said, pecking at his lips. Kaneki pushed him back, a hand over his mouth.

“Hide,” he said, seriousness in the sculpted grooves of his face, “Rize spiked your drink with LSD. I don’t know how much, but you are very, very high.”

“No, I’m not,” Hide insisted. “Rize was so nice! She even reminded me that I’d left my drink behind. There’s no way she’d do that.”

“Hide.”

“And I don’t feel any different. I always see you the same way, Kaneki.”

The shorter boy’s eyes were wide and shining. “Hide,” he said, brow knitting with concern. “You’re high.”

“But I feel great,” Hide said, confused. “That’s not what drugs are. Drugs are scary things that make you pale and make your hair fall out to stop your body working the way it wants to.” He thought of his aunt, squeezing his hand from her prone position in the hospital bed, a bandanna wrapped around her bald head. Her eyes had been shining.

“Drugs don’t make people happy.”

When he focused back on Kaneki’s face, Hide felt torn in two. Kaneki’s eyes were painfully soft. He pushed back Hide’s hair gently. “Hide,” he repeated, “there are stages to drugs. You’re high at the moment, but eventually you’ll crash. You should head home now and make it the least bad possible.”

Hide grabbed Kaneki’s wrists. His eyes were watering, and he couldn’t fathom why. “No, I’m not. I can’t be. Kaneki, I can’t be—”

Kaneki pulled Hide against him, lips meeting his neck. “It’s okay. You’re fine. You’re more than this, I know.”

Hide clutched at Kaneki’s slim form, feeling the hard muscles against the boy’s shoulders, buried under layers of clothes. Kaneki smelled like sadness and something chemical, of cigarette smoke and empty bars. He inhaled his smell, savouring it.

“I like you,” Hide said into Kaneki’s shoulder.

He felt Kaneki’s face tense under Hide’s jaw in a smile. “Thank you, Hide.”

Hide ran his hand through the pure-white locks of Kaneki’s hair. “You remind me of someone,” he whispered, leaning against him. They were swaying again, speaking softly even though the music was roaring. “But I can’t figure out who.”

“Must suck for them,” Kaneki joked.

Hide sighed, feeling himself move inches closer. “No,” he said, “why would it?”

Kaneki was silent for a moment. In the next his lips were pressed against his neck, sucking and stinging where Kaneki bit him. Hide groaned, pressing into him. His hands tugged at Kaneki’s hair, pressing him down against Hide’s neck. He felt as if every good thing that Hide had felt shining out of himself were being eaten up by Kaneki, and Hide felt delicious.

“Hide,” Kaneki murmured, trailing kisses along his jaw. “You should . . .” he paused, kissing the corner of Hide’s parted mouth. “You should go home.”

“I have . . . Akira and . . . I got a job,” Hide murmured, lost in the moment.

Kaneki’s hands, steering his eyes to his, grounded him. His face had grown red in the heat of the club. His pupils were large and black in the moat of silver. “Go home,” he whispered.

Hide took Kaneki’s chin his fingers and rested his forehead against Kaneki’s, closing his eyes. He wished they could just dissolve into each other through tactile contact.

Kaneki let out a long breath. Hide felt his ribcage slowly contract as he did, his warm breath cool against the bare skin of his neck. “Hide,” he whispered, “do you believe in ghosts?”

Hide heard the despair in his voice and pressed his lips against Kaneki’s temple. He wanted Kaneki to be as happy as Hide felt. He wanted it. He wanted Kaneki to suck him his colours of joy; neon yellows and pinks and greens and purples that danced like the people in the club, their sweaty limbs coated with the lights studded on the ground.

He trailed kisses along Kaneki’s cheekbone, warm with blood, trailing down to Kaneki’s mouth.

“No,” Kaneki said, pressing a cool fingertip to Hide’s searching lips. Hide stared into Kaneki’s silvery eyes, their colour draining out. He stared at Hide levelly, lips squeezed into a poor-fitting smile. “I’ll see you home, Hide. You need to leave.”

Hide felt Kaneki press something into his pocket. Hide reached for it, but Kaneki took his hand, shaking his head. “Save it for later. Think of it as me making it up to you, okay?”

Kaneki took his hand, and he followed him blindly, looking around the room with wide, alert eyes that seemed to see every single colour in the room, every droplet of sweat and every disorientated, bleary eye. At the bar, he saw the beautiful Rize, who raised a hand to wave at him. Hide waved back. Kaneki watched him, eyes gentle. They continued to the exit along the edges of the club.

Kaneki led him towards the exit, where the cold air was blowing out like a lonely child screaming to be let in. Kaneki tugged at the neck of his jumper, and Hide saw that he’d pulled up a bandana that covered his mouth and nose. It was black except for a pattern of bared teeth that made Hide shiver.

Kaneki led him out into the dark. The cold was icy, and Hide wished he’d brought a jumper. Why hadn’t he brought a jumper? Did he have a coat? Seeing him start to shiver, Kaneki squeezed his hand.

They’d exited onto the backstreet, which was humming with the music from inside the club. The ground was damp from the cold, ice forming on the lampposts.

Kaneki stopped as they reached the corner, looking onto the main road. Where had Amon said they’d meet? Hide couldn’t remember.

“Goodbye, Hide,” he heard Kaneki whisper, but by the time Hide’s head had whipped around to look for the boy, he was gone without a trace.

He sat down on the curb, confused. What had just happened? He knew he still felt great, but now confusion was setting in. What had he done? What exactly was he meant to have done? What did he and Kaneki do? Did it mean anything?

The sound of footsteps thundering down the pavement caught his attention, and he was swept up into strong hands and worried faces. Akira, Amon and Takizawa had found him. Hide felt guilt start in his gut, and in an instant, every emotion he’d felt did a one-eighty and suddenly he was sobbing and crying, ugly and in despair.

He had no idea what had happened at all.

“I had no idea you were such a player, Kaneki.”

He and Eto were sitting in a nearby tree, its huge canopy providing enough cover for them to observe the scene. Kaneki watched with some relief how stressed his colleagues had been about him, but he should have expected Amon Kotarou to be so caring.

He should have.

But he hadn’t.

“I’m not a player,” Kaneki said. He felt tired. He was sure some of the drug had been sitting in Hide’s mouth when he kissed him, and left him a little bit high. It was wearing off, though. It always wore off quickly with him.

“You’re definitely a player,” Eto said. “Making him fall for you when everyone knows that even if you returned the feelings, you two would be destined to never be.”

She was right, there.

“Maybe I’ll re-consider your offer,” Kaneki murmured. “But I doubt it.”

“Please do!” Eto grinned. She’d pulled the medical mask off her face. “Your addition to our ranks would be most handy.”

“Yeah,” Kaneki said distantly. He didn’t really want to join. To be honest, he didn’t really want to have anything to do with them, but Rize’s presence in the bar had irked him. There was that one thread, one intangible connection to her that stretched to the him from before.

It made his blood run cold, because he hated that too.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t hate Nagachika Hideyoshi.

“You two are such Shakespearian material,” Eto sighed. “There’s no fun in that.”

Eto shimmied her way down the tree and began to head off. “See you next time, Kaneki.”

Kaneki didn’t reply. He stayed and watched Hide begin to crash as he sobbed and screamed into the arms of his superiors. Kaneki stayed until Hide had been led off home.

At home, thought about taking out his other phone.

He didn't.

The next morning was busy.

“And then some complete idiot walks up to our table! I knew I shouldn’t have let Yoriko wander off alone. She always brings back stray dogs.”

Touka was ranting and raving to Ayato at the kitchen table, despite the fact that he didn’t really seem to care. The younger boy was staring at notebook, drawing something like the average sixteen-year-old did.

Kaneki sipped at his coffee in silence. He liked these moments.

“Oi, Kaneki,” Touka snapped, sitting down angrily. “What happened to you last night?”

“I wonder,” he murmured.

Chapter 9: To Belong

Chapter Text

“I’ll help you,” she said.

He stared at her, wary. No, she wouldn’t. No one wanted to help him.

She held up a bag of cosmetics. “Makeup. I think I can make my own pigments. We’ll use them to cover up your face, make you look healthy. My friend made me this nude eyeliner, and this concealer matches your skin tone . . .” her voice drifted off. “Let me help you, please. Please!”

His words failed him at that moment. How was he, who had vowed to hate everything, supposed to accept her kindness?

But he did.

And so, every morning, she would wake up and make him over expertly, hiding his hollow cheekbones, colouring over the dark circles around the eyes, covering his scars. At the end of it, he looked like a normal, healthy human being.

“As long as no one touches your face,” she said, “no one will notice.”

He was always indebt to her. She was one of the things that he knew he would feel sorry for.

Takizawa gave him a lopsided grin as Hide walked in. “Oh, hello, prom queen. Shed enough tears last night?”

Hide sighed. “I did, yes, thank you.”

Amon looked concerned only for his health. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened? What’s wrong? Did you see who did it?”

Akira stood, placing a firm hand on her partner’s shoulder. “Nagachika,” she said, “did you willingly take the drug?”

“No.”

She nodded, pale eyes calculating. “Do you know who got you?”

“A woman named Kamishiro Rize spiked my drink.”

Her eyes turned stony. “I see.”

“She’s a criminal, isn’t she? I had the feeling when I was talking to her. She’s one scary woman.”

“She’s a known murderer. Not affiliated with any groups, either. Just a straight-up, open serial killer.”

Holy sh*t.

“She was pretty terrifying.”

“She was probably going to kill you, Hide!” Amon was shaking him, now. “You could have died!”

“But I didn’t,” Hide said, brightly. “And now all I have to do is be routinely terrified of pretty ladies.”

Three pairs of eyes turned to Akira.

She shrugged. “Please remember how terrified you should have been when I have you all fired.”

Collectively, the men in the room mumbled ‘sorry’.

“What else did you find out?”

“The Ghouls are involved in dealing crack cocaine.”

Akira was already taking notes. “Tell us everything.”

That afternoon, when Hide had woken up feeling like sh*t, realised that he’d been put to bed in his pyjamas and washed. sh*t, he couldn’t remember anything after he’d found his superiors running towards him on the street. He’d been tripping bad, he was sure.

Holy sh*t, had he made out with Kaneki Ken?

It took Hide a solid hour to get himself past that realisation. He was sure his memories were stained with his tripping-out, because there was no way things were quite that bad, right? No, definitely his own imagination.

But . . . hadn’t Kaneki put something in his pocket?

“Think of it as my way of making it up to you.”

Hide, in his frenzy, went searching for that scrap of memory, that untouchable something that had been put in his pocket.

It was a tiny scrap of paper with neat, organised notes:

• Rize Kamishiro buys from GLG
• GLG is essentially a re-distributor of drugs it buys off other manufacturers in smaller gangs
• GLG could be relocating
• Aogiri gaining power in city

That paper alone was the sole reason Hide had gathered up the nerve to take a handful of painkillers in the attempt to become respectable enough to show up to work.

Kaneki had given him information about the gang system of Tokyo. Why? What did Kaneki wish to achieve? Or did the guy actually feel genuine sympathy for him?

No, Hide told himself. Of course not.

Kaneki was waiting at the sixth ward train station with two other men: Tsukiyama Shuu, or Mr MM, and Banjou. In cases like these, a smaller group would be better. Banjou was the kind of guy that stuck by his side through thick and thin, and Kaneki was comfortable with his help. Even though his appearance was far more intimidating than his nature, it provided that second’s worth of hesitation Kaneki could use.

Tsukiyama, on the other hand, was slippery and hard to get, able to slit throat’s in a second. Kaneki expected nothing less from the son of one of the most powerful (and corrupt) families in the country. Tsukiyama had been trained from a young age to be ruthless and effective by his father and the rest of his family’s assistants.

“Monsieur,” he said, looking out past Kaneki, “when is our partner meant to be arriving?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Kaneki said, “but he’ll come.”

It was a Monday night, but the sixth ward was eerily empty of the usual hustle and bustle of students and consumers. It seemed as if everyone had sensed their arrival in advance and cleared out.

Maybe they had. Kaneki didn’t know.

“Yoohoo, Kaneki!”

Three heads whipped in the direction of the voice, hands already reaching for weapons.

Furuta was waving, accompanied by three men in dark clothes and wearing black Panama hats to hide their faces. V members. Kaneki wasn’t surprised.

“You’re early,” Furuta said, smiling dangerously. Kaneki gave a sideways glance to Tsukiyama, who had covered his face with his moon-shaped mask. Banjou remained an open book. Kaneki was never sure what to make of that. His own familiar scarf was around his neck.

“Let’s not wait,” Kaneki said. “Lead the way.”

Furuta continued to smile, eyes narrow. His three companions were dead silent.

“Yes,” he said. “Let us.”

Hide had received four text messages from Haise, that day.

9:20AM Hide? R u sick? Do u want notes?

10:00AM Σ(´ﾟωﾟ｀ ) hide ur missing all these notes!!

10:27AM ok ill make a note for u do u want me to bring them to u?

11:07AM dw ill give them to nishio

Hide felt pretty guilty about leaving Haise to sit through that boring two-hour-long period all alone. He sighed, sending a text back:

7:09PM thanks man

He received no reply at all, that night.

Feeling crap, he fell asleep on the couch after he got back from the office. Amon and Akira had been like putting himself through a meat grinder, as usual, while Takizawa laughed and made snide comments about him. That boy was in for some serious anger from Hide when he didn’t feel like sh*t. Just you wait, Seidou.

He was then woken by something flat falling onto his face. He jumped up, groping for whatever had fallen in his disheveled state.

“Your buddy Haise gave me these,” said Nishiki, making himself a cup of coffee. “Damn, what’s a guy like you doing with a guy like him, anyway?”

“What do you mean?” Hide asked, rubbing his eyes. “Just because I’m really dumb?”

Nishiki’s bespectacled eyes gave away nothing. “I thought he was fairly dodgy, myself.”

“Seriously, Nishio, I have no idea what you’re getting at,” Hide insisted, standing. God, his head hurt. He rubbed at his temple. “That guy wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“If you say so,” Nishiki shrugged. “But I’d be careful.”

“Dude, I don’t get it!” Hide threw his hands up, “he’s the nicest, purest guy I’ve ever met!”

Nishio shook his head. “They always seem that way.”

“Who does?”

“Okay, clearly it’s none of your business. Probably, it’s none of mine, either.” Nishio’s fingers tapped on the counter. Hide was thoroughly curious, now. Nishio was hardly ever nervous, but that finger-tapping was his own sign of stress.

Had Nishio said something he wasn’t meant to have?

“Jeez, a day without Kimi got you this wound up?” Hide joked, making his way to his room. “I’m sorry I don’t provide enough stimulation for that tense mind of yours.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

Hide watched Nishio: he was drinking too quickly, moving too quickly, like he couldn’t wait to get out of the situation. Any second now, Hide knew, he would make some excuse to leave the room.

“I have work to do.”

Nishio was hiding something. Something that Haise was concerned in.

Like what?

The mansion loomed above the small group in the dark. Kaneki pulled his scarf over his nose.

“The Yasuhisa mansion,” Furuta announced, spreading his arms. “Shall we digress?”

“Don’t be foolish,” Kaneki said, walking forward. “What else would we have come here for?”

“I don’t like this, Kaneki,” Banjou said hesitantly. “This place feels . . . bad.”

That’s a good sign, then, Kaneki thought but dared not tell Banjou this. Banjou was probably the most transparent guy Kaneki had ever met; he wore his heart on his sleeve. Time and time again, it confused Kaneki how he ended up in this business.

And how the business hadn’t ended up in him.

They approached the front door, where Kaneki held up a hand to stop their procession. Gently, he placed a cool palm against the door, pushing it forward.

To his surprise, the door was open.

It swung inward almost at his icy touch.

“That’s not normal,” Banjou said, worry in his voice. “That is not normal.”

“Calm down, Banjou,” Kaneki said softly. “It’s meant to be abandoned, remember?”

Kaneki could feel the lying smoothness in his voice like oil poured onto his tongue: disgusting and thick.

Discomfort moved through his group.

They crept inside.

An aging man sat in front of the security monitor. In one hand, he held a coffee, and in the other, a pile of medical notes. Kaneki Ken’s medical notes.

“Kuro, Shiro,” he said, “Are you ready?”

“Yes, Father,” they said in unison. Black and white. White and black. They stood in absolute stillness. “We will go and greet them.”

“Good,” he said. “Go and tame our fallen angel.”

Hide rubbed his eyes. He regretted so many choices.

He’d hacked into the CCG database again using Takizawa’s account. Think of it as payback.

Initial searches of “Kaneki Ken” had proven useless, as they had been last time, so he decided to broadly look for more reports of the Ghoul Land Group in general.

Hide knew that the CCG had been gathering information on the group for nearly a decade, but the sheer amount never ceased to amaze him.

Details on the chemical components of the drugs they’d gotten, detailed accounts of acts committed by the group. Murders, robberies, and all kinds of other things. The basic premise of the entire group was to be violent and efficient.

Then, he found one extra note:

All members had a tattoo of the characters “喰種” somewhere on their body. Roughly translated, it meant “ghoul”. Hide supposed that fit. It wasn’t extreme.

Did Kaneki have that tattoo? Hide drew a blank: if Kaneki did have it, then it was somewhere easily concealed. He wracked his memory, trying to think of something. Kaneki always wore high-neck clothing, like turtleneck jumpers, or he had that scarf around his neck, or . . . what else? High-collared tops?

Hey, doesn’t Haise always wear button-down shirts with the throat button done up? Or sweaters?

No. That was stupid.

So Kaneki’s could have been on his neck. Where else? His arms? His legs? Maybe he was a foot tattoo kind of guy?

If Kaneki was part of the GLG, he had to have a tattoo.

But was he?

Hide groaned, running his hands through his hair. Fine, calm down. Who were Kaneki’s main associates?

The member known as ‘Rabbit’, whose gender was guessed to be female based on their size and long, pink hair. However, they’d never been seen without a rabbit mask over their face, or had their voice recorded. However, theirs had been spotted on their left shoulder blade.

Another was “Gourmet”, called such because the only weapons he used were throwing knives made by the same brand that made cutlery. Naturally, the CCG had already investigated and drew a blank; the company hadn’t made those knives in over 50 years. They were antiques and valuable.

That explained why the CCG had only every found two from a crime scene.

Why was Kaneki Ken so elusive? Hide could have screamed in frustration.

Annoyed, he decided to look further into the identities of other members. As they ran out, he ended up on a file that spoke about civilian disguises the members could be using.

Hide’s heart stopped.

“ . . . Often, people use glasses as a mechanism to hide the intensity of their facial features. The bolder shapes of the glasses on their face detract the viewer’s eye from the real features, instead focusing on the glasses themselves. The thicker and bolder the glass frames, the more effective. This is also useful when the wearer’s eye colour is very unique.”

Haise wore glasses.

“Shut up, Hide,” he snapped at himself. That was stupid. That being said, he kept reading.

“Another factor is specifically opposite clothing choices. Members of gangs who are renowned for a specific style of dress, such as dark colours or barely-decent items, often dress the complete opposite when not in work: modest, or in nondescript pale colours.”

Haise wore white or cream button-down shirts with pale sweaters, while Kaneki always wore black.

Jesus, Hide, he wanted to scream, stop doing this! You’ll drive yourself insane!

He kept reading.

“Another factor in a gang member is anything that is somewhat unique about them, such as their eye colour (see mentioned above). This can include facial markings such as freckles or birthmarks, particular scars, hair colour, or skin tone.

For each one, see below.”

Almost despite himself, Hide clicked on the ‘hair colour’ link.

“For an individual with a unique hair colour, they often refuse to dye it. This can be traced back to an underlying psychiatric condition that they must retain a certain image (as is prevalent in gang members) or the fact that their position in select gang depends upon the image. This often means that they a) style it differently, b) put in dye chalk to wash out or c) wear a hat to distract the eye from its colour or make it seem different. This is a similar technique to the glasses as was previously stated.”

Hide’s stomach began to clench. No, this was not possible. It was coincidence! Nishiki was playing him! This was stupid, Haise was probably the gentlest, kindest person Hide knew.

He also was high that one time, and had an eye-patch that one time, and—

No. Hide cut off that trail of thoughts. No.

Against his better judgment, he kept reading this stupid article.

“Members of gangs, especially when in civilian identities, are often reluctant to participate in social events. This can involve the lack of friends, having difficulty socializing and often never attending any social functions in the danger that something could happen to expose them.”

Hide slammed the computer shut. Nope. Nope. Nope.

Just because Haise ticked a lot of these boxes, it did not make him Kaneki Ken. Hide would stop thinking like that. Sure, maybe Haise was part of a gang—which Hide strongly doubted—but he didn’t have to be Kaneki. That was too personalized of an approach from Hide.

And then, maybe Kaneki did have a civilian identity. Hadn’t he said, when Hide and he first met, that he was studying Literature?

Haise studies Literature.

“No!” Hide yelled, throwing away the computer. Angrily, he threw the covers up over himself. “No!”

The thought hung over him like a bad smell.

Until they’d wandered into his underground lab, the search had seemed bleak.

However, at the end, they’d still ended up there.

That was where the sh*t hit the fan.

They’d found a pathway to the basem*nt, which in turn led into a series of underground tunnels. They had proceeded in silence the entire time, every nerve tingling with anxiousness. It was creepy. Their suspicions had been correct; something was happening here.

At the end of the tunnel, they ended up in a huge, metal-plated room. It would have been thirty meters high, at least. They had gotten very deep underground, indeed.

“Kaneki,” Tsukiyama whispered, “I’m not so sure about this.”

“I agree,” Banjou said. “This isn't right.”

“Kaneki, your accomplices don’t seem very loyal,” Furuta grinned.

Kaneki remained silent. He had no time for this. He could feel the anger already budding in the back of his throat. His hands shook. Kanou was here. Kanou was here.

“Hey, Sister, do you believe in ghosts?”

“No, Sister. Why would you ask that?”

“I could have sworn I was looking at one.”

The only way forward was to cross the room to the next tunnel. Normally, this was a straightforward process. It would be, if there weren’t two figures standing in front of it.

One, garbed all in black, and the other in stark white.

Yashiro and Kurona, together. A collective unit that Kaneki was wary of. They were in his way.

Again.

“Kaneki,” Tsukiyama started, “do you know these people?”

The Gourmet persona had settled over him. His voice was smooth and deep. Kaneki knew he was holding one of his knives in hand already. Kaneki nodded. “These are the ones I warned you about.”

“Hear that, Sister? He warned them about us!”

“Has he warned them about himself?”

“I wonder what they’re talking about,” Furuta mused, delight in his voice. Kaneki grunted.

“Can I leave them to you?” Kaneki asked. “These should be the only major obstacles. Past them is Kanou.”

“You are a man with a mission, aren’t you?” Furuta smiled at him. “I’m afraid I can’t let you go on alone. My men here are strong. They’ll help yours with the task.”

“Oi, Kaneki . . .” Banjou looked more uncomfortable about being left with the silent V members than Kuro and Shiro. Kaneki clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“If you betray my men,” Kaneki said levelly, staring down Furuta in his dark eyes, “I will destroy you.”

Furuta’s smile didn’t falter. “Please do.”

“Now, now, Kaneki,” said the old man in front of the monitor, “be kinder to your foster sisters.”

Screaming. Who was screaming? Was he screaming? He didn’t know. His head hurt. His throat hurt. His chest hurt. f*ck, everything hurt. His every cell burned in agony.

“Start counting,” came the heavy, violent voice, roaring with his own f*cked-up gluttony and that eerie undertone that never ceased to creep him out. “Start!”

“Nine-hundred and . . .” sh*t, what the f*ck was it? How was he meant to do mathematics in this situation?

There was the metal ‘shiiing’ of metal slicing and an inferno of pain from his leg. “FUU—NINE HUNDRED AND . . .—”

Again, it came.

“NINE HUNDRED AND NINETY-THREE!” he screamed, tears burning his bloody cheeks.

“Oh, that’s good,” he said, voice thick. “That’s good.”

“Nine hundred and eighty-six . . . nine hundred and seventy-nine . . .”

Kaneki walked forward. Opposite him, Kuro and Shiro walked to meet in their eerie unison. Kaneki saw the way their bangs fell over one of their eyes.

When people cut out their eyes, they didn’t heal.

“Sister, I don’t think that ghost has faded at all.”

“Not at all.”

“I wish I could say the same.”

Kaneki’s voice was empty. Empty, empty, empty, like his f*cking soul. “Time hasn't been so kind to you, I see. Father still getting angry that you failed home-schooling?”

What was he doing? Why was he riling them up? He didn’t know. They brought back so many memories, and the only result he got from the burning chemical reactions in his brain was pure rage.

Kuro’s eye narrowed. “It seems he’s developed a bark.”

“Shame he still can’t bite.”

Kaneki’s vision was turning red. He barely noticed it when a knife flew past Shiro’s face, slicing a clean cut through her cheek and chopping off her foot of hair. I sailed past her until it thunked into the wall not far beyond.

Her eye was wide as she stared at him. Kaneki knew that while she held his attention, Kuro would be moving. Kuro would be moving, filled with that sisterly anger to strike him down. Kuro loved to go from the top.

Kaneki didn’t even break Shiro’s eye contact as he ducked, hearing Kuro fly over the top of him.

He started towards her, a knife already grasped in his fingertips, ready to strike—

He ran right past her. He didn’t have the time.

“Allez!” he heard Tsukiyama yell from behind him, presumably engaged in combat with them already.

“Your regenerative abilities are very impressive, Kaneki.” His voice was cold. Synthetic. Clinical. “I’m thinking we should take it up a notch.”

“How so?” the other voice was wet and dripping. Dripping with blood and all manner of other things. It was disgusting.

“I think we can move past the general wounds. Let’s try vital organs, now. Kaneki,” he grasped, Kaneki’s chin. Blindfolded and lying on that table, Kaneki could only cry.

“If you survive this, Kaneki, if you fulfill my expectations . . . you can be God.”

He screamed.

“What the f*ck.” Kaneki’s voice broke the silence. “What the f*ck.”

They’d sprinted there, run up the stairwell and found the control room, the walls covered with screens showing security footage. There was a chair and papers, but there was no one in the room.

No one had been in that room for a very long time.

He spun to Furuta, who was grinning. “Well, this is an issue, isn’t it?”

“You set me up,” Kaneki whispered. “You set me up! You set me and my men up! Kanou was never here, was he? sh*t, you’re probably working with him!”

Furuta’s smile didn't falter for an instant. “That’s a bit of an accusation, isn’t it? Kaneki?”

Kaneki stormed over to the desk. There were papers next to the chair—his papers. His own, smiling, black-haired face and everything they did to him and recorded. The lab experiment Kaneki Ken immortalized on sheets of paper.

They were cold to the touch.

“I don’t know why you did this,” Kaneki said, voice shaking with anger, “but I know you did. Tell me, Furuta—where—is—Kanou?”

Furuta smiled. “You could never have touched him, Kaneki. He’s trying to make God. Little fallen angels like you can never so much as lay a finger on him.”

Kaneki’s anger ebbed away. Normally, he would feel tired at this point. His thoughts would wonder.

This was not his ‘normally’, however.

“I warned you, didn’t I?” Kaneki’s voice was smooth and sharp. In his fingers, he tapped the flat of his blade. “That if you betrayed my men, I’d destroy you?”

Furuta laughed.

“He regenerated his liver? And his kidneys? They got faster each time?” His voice was happy, elated. He seemed like he was being told his child was getting straight A’s at a parent-teacher night. “If we were to increase the dosage, would it affect him?”

“It seems like his body is beginning to hold permanent changes,” the other man said. Kaneki bit back the urge to scream out the numbers at the mere sound of his voice. He was already crying.

He was always crying.

“That’s a good sign,” said proud father. “I’ll increase it anyway. Maybe we’ll have exponential results. If you’ve tried all his organs, try his heart next. I want to see how quickly his body grows it back.”

“I can do that.” He sounded far too pleased with the objective. “Also, we’re running low on anesthesia . . .”

“Don’t lie to me, Jason,” said the doctor. “We both know you haven’t been using it on him.”

Kaneki, as it tended to, forgot his moments of rage. When he came to he was walking down the stairs that he had just sprinted up, with blood staining his black top and hands. He was missing a few knives, the rest covered in blood.

He could guess what happened.

Furuta did not accompany him back.

By the time he reached Banjou and Tsukiyama, the V agents were dead and Kuro and Shiro were gone. Everything seemed to have disappeared in an instant.

“I was set up,” he said. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”

Empty, hollow, synthetic, fake. That’s all he could think of himself. Made of baby tissues and pensioner’s memories.

“What happened?” Tsukiyama looked concerned. He hadn’t taken off his mask yet, which left it splattered with blood. Whose, Kaneki wasn’t sure.

“Furuta is dead,” he said. “Kanou wasn’t here. It was a hoax.”

“Then why . . .” why would he even lead us out here?

They knew him well enough not to question why Furuta was dead.

“I’m not sure,” Kaneki said. “Let’s head back. I bet they probably f*cked with us while we weren’t there.”

Kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me—

“Are you grateful to us? You should be. We made you strong. Problems are the result of one’s own weakness.”

I want to die please kill me please please please I’ll count I’ll do anything please—

“You can even get back at that Aunt of yours. You crashed her business. Her husband made great drugs, you know? She made a fortune selling them. But you . . .”

Oh, God. If he existed, strike him dead right there.

“Instead, she got rid of you. Do you know why? Because you’re weak, Kaneki. You’re useless. She sold you to some organ-harvesting group, and Kanou found out that your blood type was AB. It was chance. You are so weak fate plays with you like a toy.”

Why did Kaneki’s heart keep f*cking beating?

“Stop,” Kaneki whispered shakily. “Please.”

Jason laughed. It filled the entire room and Kaneki’s ears burned. It hurt. His head hurt. Fear filled his stomach and spread through his entire body like a lethal virus. If only it could kill him. He was terrified.

“Stop?” he taunted. His weight shifted, and Kaneki knew he was standing now. “Why would I do that? Do you think you have any power over me, Kaneki? You’re trash! You’re worthless! If only you could die, ha!”

Kaneki hadn’t been talking to him.

Kaneki had been begging his heart to just

Stop

Beating.

Kaneki heard the news when he entered the bar. Uta didn’t seem too shocked that they’d been set up. He also didn’t seem very impressed that Kaneki had outright killed his business partner.

Kaneki guessed he was used to it.

“Rize’s gone,” said Uta, pouring himself a shot. “V took her. Just vanished in a second.”

“What does that mean?” Banjou looked confused, not to mention terrified. Kaneki knew that Banjou and Rize went back to a time before him, and that Banjou cared about her deeply, despite the fact Rize wore the big guy like a cheap accessory.

“It means,” Kaneki said calmly, “that V is using her again.”

Rize Kamishiro, the product of careful training from V, who had escaped due to her own violent desire for power, was now back in their control.

This, at the same time Aogiri was gaining power, left them at a single conclusion:

“V wants its city back.”

Hide woke up on Tuesday morning with one goal:

He would invite Haise Sasaki out on a date.

Chapter 10: On the Verge of Night

Chapter Text

“Hey, Haise!” Hide yelled, running up to the guy at their 3pm Wednesday Creative Writing class. He dumped his books, before turning to stare down at Haise. The boy had been reading a book, and stared up at Hide with his pale, doe eyes.

Glasses are used to distract from the eyes themselves.

“Want to go see a movie with me this weekend?”

“What?”

“This weekend. Saturday or Sunday afternoon. Hell, even Friday’s are good after 4 o’clock. What do you say? I hear there’s a great movie playing this weekend!”

“Hide, calm down,” Haise said, putting down his book. “You’re really flustered.”

Hide made a show of breathing out long and hard, before breathing in again.

Often reluctant to engage in social activities.

“What do you say?” Hide was brimming with nervous energy. Surely, Haise wouldn’t turn him down. Sure, the guy was shy, but there was no way . . .

Definitely, there was no way.

“Um, week-ends are a bit hard for me, I’m sorry,” Haise said. Hide could see the apology in his eyes. “Maybe another time?”

“What about Friday night?” Hide insisted.

Haise seemed taken aback by his passion for the request. Hide could already see the ‘no’ forming on his tongue. Hide, in his desperation, grabbed both of Haise’s hands in his own. The smaller boy jumped, his face turning tomato red.

“Please?”

Haise looked away. Hide could basically see the steam coming out of his skin in embarrassment. “Um, well, I mean—“

Hide had to get him to agree. He had to. If Haise said no, then . . . what would stop Hide from thinking down that pathway he did not want to? There would be nothing.

“It’s a horror movie,” Hide prompted. “Maybe you wouldn’t like it, but you’re always reading those horror books by Takatsuki. It’s called the Conjuring, but that’s only scary if you believe in—”

Do you believe in ghosts?

Haise, bright red, whispered his answer.

“Okay,” he said. “Thank you. I’ll go. But—but I’m paying for our tickets!”

“The Garden is breathing down my neck, Kaneki,” Uta sighed. “They’re like, ‘oh, you sh*tty gang killed one of our members! Woe is us!’”

“It’s their fault,” Kaneki sighed. “I warned Furuta, and he obviously didn’t take us seriously.”

Uta shrugged. “You’re a pretty up-tight person, Kaneki. Maybe they thought they could abuse that.”

“Hmm,” Kaneki said. Despite his nonchalance, a thought turned in the back of his head: had Furuta wanted him to kill him? Was that intentional? He mentally tossed it aside.

He’d made his own coffee from the back room and sat down at the bar. Uta knew that Kaneki hated alcohol—it was one of many things he hated—and the fact that he never got drunk left something to be desired.

Uta handed him a cigarette, which Kaneki gladly accepted. Wednesdays were always slow for them. They had no orders for goods, no jobs, no real anything. Usually, Kaneki sat at the bar until something interesting happened.

Lately, he’d been getting bored of that.

“Nishiki came by yesterday,” Uta said. “He seemed really freaked out about some kid at his university.”

“I wonder why that is.” Kaneki took another sip of his coffee. It was delicately bitter, like his tastebuds were looking for that intense bitterness and only able to steal and snatch at it.

Uta lit his own cigarette and tossed the lighter to Kaneki. He breathed in first, then grasped the thin shaft in his fingers, blowing out as he leaned back against the drinks cabinet. Despite Itori being the owner, Uta always seemed to be the only one around.

“How’s this thing with the boy of yours going?”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

Uta smirked. “The nightclub footage says otherwise. I never thought that you, the Black Reaper, would be so gentle with so mortal a man.”

Kaneki lit his own smoke and tossed it back. Instantly the familiar sense of dislike started as he felt the smoke sting through his every respiratory canal. “Coming from the man who has one-night stands on a daily basis.”

“Hey, now. It’s twice-daily, get it right.”

Kaneki smirked. “Find any good bookworms recently? I finished the last one you stole.”

“I was wondering where that went,” Uta straightened. “Yeah, the last chick was actually smart. I think she was in it for the same reason I was.”

“Free sex with no repercussions?”

“Wow, that sounded pretty demeaning, Kaneki. I almost feel bad.”

Kaneki downed the last of his coffee, sticking his cigarette behind his ear. “So, any books?”

“I think she already had the new Takatsuki Sen book, since I know Eto is a stickler for not giving away any money. It’s in the office.”

Kaneki grunted in affirmation. He always wondered why Uta would take books he never read. But in the end, he didn’t think too deeply about it. Kaneki was the one exploiting his habit, anyway.

He stood, feeling the general air that he had no reason to loiter and might as well do more productive things. He was heading out to the office when Uta stopped him, asking, “What do you think they’re going to use Rize for?”

Kaneki felt fatigue prickle at the back of his eyes. He blinked, very slowly. God, why did Uta ask him these questions? Didn’t he know that Kaneki wasn’t smart or knowledgeable in V’s affairs?

“I dunno,” Kaneki admitted. “Probably something that will win them back Tokyo. You know how they hate being underneath other gangs.”

“But they’re not dealing many drugs,” Uta said, smirking in his direction. “So how are they going to?”

Take away what makes us desirable, Kaneki wanted to say. He didn’t.

He shrugged, pushing open the door. “I’ve no idea.”

“Do you like reading?”

The girl with dark hair stood above his table. Her red-framed glasses made her eyes look impossibly violet. Kaneki immediately felt his face go red. Why would a pretty girl like her pay attention to someone like him?

“Um—ah, yes,” he stammered, hiding his face behind the book. “It’s . . . it’s very dear to me.”

The girl smiled. It was delicate like porcelain. The flawlessness of her skin, the deep pigment of her features; dark eyes, intense brows, the right dusting of pink on the tip of her nose from the winter’s sting. Her smile was different to anything else Kaneki had seen before.

“So it’s like an escape?”

Her words were not harsh, but the directness caught Kaneki off guard. He watched in a stunned silence as she sat down, the lacy folds of her dress swaying in the air, feather-light. Her eyes glowed with curiosity. “Isn’t it?”

“It’s . . .” Was it? Was it an escape to Kaneki? He felt like the obvious answer was yes, but something disputed that within him. “Not exactly.”

Her eyebrows perked up, and she lent forward on her elbows, curious. “What is it to you, then?”

“Well, um . . .” what would he say? He wasn’t good at talking to girls! What did he need to say? What was he meant to say? What did she want to hear?

“After my father died, well—oh, he died when I was young,” Kaneki said quickly, noticing the sympathy flood to her face. “He died, and, well, his books were my only connection to him. It hurt my mother too much to leave too many pictures of him around the house, so . . . I don’t really have many things of him.”

“So you read for your father to escape from your mother?”

Shame. Shame on him. Shame in him. His face turned red now but glowing with guilt. He loved his mother, he told himself. Surely, her love was strange, and maybe people would frown upon it but—God, had he been that transparent?

“Hey, it’s okay,” the girl reached out and grasped his hand. He flinched at the contact, but she smiled reassuringly, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. Her hands were warm. “Some families are strange. I won’t tell. I promise.” She pressed a palm to her heart, violet eyes serious.

Kaneki could have cried.

He shook his head, looking down. “Um, I shouldn’t . . . my life is great. My mother does all the work herself. I have nothing to complain about. She—”

“Don’t make excuses,” the girl said, voice hard. Again, Kaneki found it lacked any real ice, any real harshness. It was almost genuine, he realised. Genuine sympathy, expressed through different ways. Like gene expression in different cells; some are expressed whilst others are not. Were human traits the same way?

“I’m . . . not.” His voice was so pathetically weak. God, he was so pathetic. His mother would beat him—

The girl was right. He was making excuses, wasn’t he?

But it was so f*cked because he couldn’t hate his mother. He just couldn’t. She did so much for him. It was obviously his fault: his own pathetic personality, his own stupidity, his own selfishness.

“What’s your name?” the girl’s voice was soft. “Mine’s Rize. Yours?”

“Kaneki,” he said, equally as quiet but not nearly as touching.

Rize smiled. “So, why do you like reading?”

Kaneki was quiet for a long time. Rize seemed to ooze patience, which was strangely comforting.

“I like to try and imagine what kind of man would read the books,” he said hesitantly. “Try to imagine what kind of face he’d have, what kind of stories he’d tell. Things like that. Small things. They’re stupid, I shouldn’t—”

“That’s cool,” Rize said, smiling. “That’s really cool.”

Hide paced his room. It helped drone out the noise coming from Nishio’s. Think, he told himself. Maybe Haise had been reluctant, but he hadn’t said no. Hell, the guy had insisted on buying them tickets. Hide wouldn’t let him, of course. How rude would it be to make someone forcibly come see a film they didn’t want to and make them pay? Rude!

What would he wear? What would he ask? Would he— No, Hide had established that Haise was very unlikely to be related to gangs. The guy was just too kind. Nishiki probably made some paranoid connection and freaked out. Maybe Haise did that appearing-disappearing act that scared him. Yeah, it was probably that.

Don’t make excuses. Don’t talk yourself out of it.

Jesus, of all the times for Confucius to be spreading wisdom! Hide had to be rational, here. Haise, with his shy personality and meek nature would never fare well in a gang. He’d probably be the kind of kid everyone made their bitch.

Holy sh*t, that was so mean. Hide whacked his forehead, muttering “stupid!”

In all honesty, Hide would probably end up being their bitch. Gangs tended to be made up of people with more metal in their bones than calcium.

Hide sat himself down on the foot of his bed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had to know more about Kaneki Ken. He had to—

Wait.

Hide knew nothing about Kaneki Ken.

“Argh!” Hide wanted to slam his head through the wall.

The next time he saw Rize, his mother was long dead.

He was such a bad kid. How dare he think badly of his mother? How dare he?

He was the worst.

His mother had been so loving, so caring, so able to do everything and ask nothing in return. His aunt . . .

He took a deep breath, tilting his head back. When he opened his eyes, he saw a pale face staring down at him from above.

“Argh!” he yelped, sinking back into his seat. Rize smiled. “You!”

“M-Me,” Kaneki agreed, waiting for her to sit down opposite him before he had the nerve to straighten back up in his seat. Rize smiled across at him. Visually, she looked the same, but Kaneki . . . he could almost feel a weight in her gaze, rather than see it. It was an intense, dull burn, like nerves before a presentation.

“You’re . . . it’s Kaneki, right?” she smiled at him.

It didn’t feel quite as genuine anymore.

“Yes,” he said, nervously. “And you’re Rize, right?”

“Bingo!” she laughed, clapping her hands in excitement. “How are you? You look so old!”

Kaneki felt old.

“It’s school,” he lied. “It’s really stressful, and I’m really scared of bringing home a disappointing grade.” sh*t, that had slipped out. He hadn’t meant to say it like that. sh*t, now Rize would tell his Aunt this, or she’d tell her friend this and somehow through a game of Chinese Whispers it would reach his Aunt, twisted and subjected to a cruel hyperbole and he would—

“School is tough,” Rize agreed, pouting. She swung her bag—which Kaneki now noticed was slung over her shoulder—onto the table. “I have so much homework.”

Kaneki felt the smile play at his lips. They were sitting in the local library, where Kaneki often retreated under the pretence of work. He had nowhere else to escape from his house to.

“H-how are you?” Kaneki’s voice shook. He was so bad at conversation.

Rize smiled. “I’ve seen better days. My beauty sleep has been dwindling.” She yawned, as if to emphasise this. “Then again, success chips away at the soul.”

They fell into silence. Kaneki, too nervous to figure out how to get the conversation going again, turned back to his book. It was Takatsuki Sen’s new book, “Monochrome Rainbow”, a collection of morbid short stories about humanity and the severe lack thereof.

“I have that book,” Rize said, peering at him with interest. “It’s good, isn’t it? She’s really delicate when describing those violent things. It’s insightful, like she’s experienced them enough to warp them into something poetic.”

Kaneki couldn’t have put it a better way.

Thursdays were Hide’s least favourite day of the week. Two lectures, very close together, and then five long hours of CCG work. Akira had more or less hired him as a “Consultant Rank Three”, as she put it, which meant she didn’t feel bad about giving him the jobs sh*tty rookies were dumped with and she could use his super power of observation to help her.

So she said.

Hide knew that standing in front of a photocopier for four hours was literally only observing the ink run dry and the paper jam for no good reason.

Bored, he looked over to Takizawa, who was clearly not working. His eyes were still, and Hide saw moving colours over the white neck of his shirt. “Hey, Seidou,” he said, “do you think the gangs every fight for control in Tokyo?”

“What?” Takizawa said, snapping back to attention. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”

Hide inwardly sighed. “I said, do you ever wonder if the gangs in Tokyo fight for power?”

Takizawa looked genuinely confused. “Why would you ask that?”

“I was just wondering,” Hide said offhandedly. “I just wondered how GLG ended up being the top dogs, and who they had to be beat up to get there.”

“The GLG is huge, Hide. Any other gang would be stupid.”

“Yeah.” But Hide wasn’t convinced. Surely, the GLG wasn’t timeless; there was someone before them, and there would be someone after them. What he wanted to know was how they seemed to change hands so quietly, and how so little evidence of this was found.

Why were gangs so elusive?

“Also, do you think the gangs are super uptight about pledging loyalty and stuff?”

“Hide, they’re violent brutes but they’re not f*ckwits,” Seidou said, clearly done with his hassling. “If you didn’t pledge alliance to them, how would you get away with it?”

“What if you were like, so super strong they wanted you?”

“Then they’d buy your services, obviously.”

Then they’d buy your services.

“Wait,” Hide said, rubbing his forehead. His brain seemed to be whirring so fast it was giving him a headache. “What if strong gangs just contract really strong hit-men. Wouldn’t that be useful?”

Takizawa shrugged, saying, “I would have thought that the majority of hit-men came from gangs to work for smaller contractors.”

“Yeah, but there’s—”

“We may not know a lot, Hide,” Takizawa said, “but I think we can assume that much.”

Hide sighed. Maybe Takizawa was right; maybe Hide was wrong. “Do you think there is any evidence of gangs fighting?”

Takizawa threw up his arms. “It never ceases! It’s Thursday night, I’ve had a big week, and now the “Consultant Rank Three” won’t shut up! Yes, Hide, there have been cases. The most recent was nearly two years ago involving a place called Anteiku. Go look for it through the archives.”

“We’ll become buyers of your aunt,” said the old man. “That way, you can come here. She won’t be able to complain with that, will she?”

Kaneki felt like he was sinking. He felt like clay was encasing him from the feet up, slowing crushing the air out of him. Was his hair going grey yet? Surely, the amount of stress he was under would make something change. Some twisted part of him wanted it to visual, so he knew that this wasn’t just a bad dream.

So that he could figure out an escape.

“I . . . I don’t think so,” Kaneki admitted, staring into his cup of strong, black coffee. It was three o’clock in the morning. “But, she’d . . . I don’t know. What would you do with it?”

The old man Yoshimura pressed his lips into a thin smile. “I’d probably sell it. This place is . . . I suppose you could call it a refuge. For me, mainly. To step away from gang life. I’ve grown tired of it, but have all the connections. I’ll ferry it into the group.”

Kaneki swallowed. His aunt had told him so many times to get the money directly, to not sell it on unless they were a trusted customer . . .

Yoshimura was, wasn’t he?

“Okay,” Kaneki breathed, eyes stinging with tears. “Thank you,” he choked out. “Thank you.”

Yoshimura placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. It almost felt fatherly.

Kaneki grew to regret that reassurance.

Hide sat himself down at his desk in Creative Writing in silence. Haise was late.

That was the first thing he noticed.

The second thing was that there was someone else in the lecture.

Their class was 26. It was small. There were 8 males and 18 females. That was why the addition of a new boy caught Hide’s attention like a candle in the dark.

He was tall and lean, the exact size, shape and proportions for a model. He wore bright purple pants and a positively garish shirt. His hair, dyed purple and styled to the side only added to his elegant face.

He was sitting alone, a few rows down. No one had dared approach him yet. If Hide were to guess, he would say the man was maybe a year or two older than himself.

“Merci, mademoiselle,” he called to the girl in the row below, who glowed red. “J’espère que ce cours est intéressant, parce que je n’ai pas beaucoup d’espace dans ma vie, vous voyez. Mais un ami de moi me dit que c’était très utile pour la vie.”

Hide didn’t speak French. He had no idea what the man just said, but the girl and her desk partner were glowing, obviously flattered to a spiritual level that a flamboyant individual had just uttered lilting foreign words in their general atomic direction. Hide sighed, leaning into his hand. Maybe the guy had taken a gap year. That would explain the foreign language, but . . . a two-year gap year? Yes? No?

Ugh, Hide didn’t care. He had enough problems in his life. One started with K, and the other with H.

“Hi,” said his H-problem, dropping his stuff in a flurry. His glasses were askew, and his hat was slipping off. His face was a tad pink from his hurrying. Hide raised an eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, did I miss anything? God, I’m sorry for making you wait, you must be so annoyed—”

“Whoa, calm down,” Hide said, laughing. “I only just got here. Take a moment. Relax. Good old professor is late, probably marking all of our plays last night.”

Haise opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Hide felt his nervous energy begin to recede as the boy relaxed into his chair. Hide regarded the boy’s pale face, seeing a few smudges of powder under his nose.

Is that . . . makeup?

“Hey, Haise—” he began, but the ice in Haise’s eyes cut him off.

He was glaring down at the man with purple hair, who had turned to smirk back at him.

Angrily, Haise opened his notes and made an effort to not look at the man the entire lecture.

“Late! Again! What the f*ck do you even do, Kaneki, to make you so late? People are complaining! What could distract you so much? Do you even know how much we do for you?”

Kaneki, staring down at the table, thought of the warm lights of the coffee shop, the kindly smile of the manager, the reassuring bitterness of his coffee. They talked. Kaneki felt safe. Every time, he forgot to keep track of how long he’d been there. Every time.

He couldn’t tell his aunt that. No.

She was holding a wooden spoon, now. Of course, she’d been making the bento for Yuuichi, his cousin. He was uninvolved in all of this. It didn’t affect him at all. Kaneki felt a violent stab of jealously.

Why him?

Pain bloomed from his jaw and sparks flew behinds his eyes. “Answer me when I’m talking you, dammit! Show some respect!”

“I’m sorry, Aunt Asaoka,” he said, jaw stinging. “It’s all my fault, I’m sorry.”

“Damn right it’s all your fault. If you’re not useful, just go and die.”

“Are you ready for tonight?” Hide asked as they packed up, grinning. Haise’s mood had been, well . . . the worst he’d ever seen on anyone the entire lecture. The boy looked up, almost surprised to find Hide staring back at him.

“What?”

Hide’s heart fell. “You didn’t . . . tonight, remember? Movies?”

“Oh, yeah!” Haise smiled. “Ah, I’m really sorry, Hide. It’s really rude of me to—”

“You can’t come?”

“What? No!” Haise waved his hands vigorously. “No, no. I can still come! I just wanted to say sorry for being so moody and all today, I just—”

“It’s fine!” Hide smiled. “So we’re still on, right? Movies? Tonight?”

Haise nodded, determined. “I’m buying the tickets. Local cinema, right?”

“Yep!” Hide couldn’t keep the grin off his face. He was going on a date with Haise. A date. What was he, a schoolgirl? “How’s seven?”

“Perfect,” Haise smiled. “Um, thank you for inviting me. Really, I’m not that good with people, so . . . thanks for, um . . . just thanks.”

Thanks for sticking with me.

Hide grinned. “Don’t be so harsh on yourself! You’re a great guy!”

Haise’s cheeks reddened. “Thank you.”

“What’s this?” the man’s voice was . . . unpleasant. Haise went rigid, and Hide froze. Hide could only watch the taller man approach and hold out his hand towards Haise. “Tsukiyama Shuu, how do you do?”

Haise’s gaze was unusually steeled. “Pleasure.”

Tsukiyama, completely unfazed by Haise’s uncharacteristic coldness, moved on to Hide. “I’m new here. I swapped in from Asian History.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Hide said, taking the man’s outstretched hand. “It’s Hide. I nearly took that course myself. Nice to meet you too, Tsukiyama.”

The man gave a thin, almost creepy, smile. “I hope we have many great meetings, Mr Hide.”

“Say, Mr Tsukiyama,” Haise said, evenly. “Our class is over, and I hate to be rude, but we really must be going, right, Hide?” The instant their eyes met, Hide could see the begging to leave in Haise’s eyes.

“It was nice to meet you, Tsukiyama, but we really must be off. See you for Monday’s lesson.”

“Oh, I will, Haise.”

The younger girl was there, today. She too was doing the same thing Kaneki was. She was around the age Kaneki had been when his aunt began to send him out: around fourteen. Her eyes were sunken and tired. Weariness dripped from every inch of her being.

“What’s your name?” she asked, voice rough and eyes icy. Kaneki flinched under her tone.

“Kaneki,” he said. “Yours?”

“Touka.”

They lapsed into silence, the both of them sipping the coffees Yoshimura had made for them. “My neighbour,” she said. “You?”

“Aunt.”

It wasn’t an uncommon train of conversation. Kaneki was getting better into forcing himself into the mould he had crafted to deal with this new life; confident, quiet and efficient. He wore a watch, constantly checking the time. He wouldn’t be late again. He’d please her, this time.

Touka nodded. “Yoshimura try and help you too? He says that if I come and live here, I’ll escape my bitch of a neighbour. God, I hate her. She threatened to kill my brother if I didn’t do her work, though.”

She was such an open person, but at the same time Kaneki felt her restrain herself. She, like many others, was used to hiding. “How long have you been doing this for?” she asked him.

“Nearly two years.”

Had time passed that quickly? No, it hadn’t changed. It had been six years since his mother’s death. God, that was so f*cked.

Touka let out a low whistle. “That’s pretty long. How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” he said.

“Fourteen.”

Again, they lapsed into silence. Kaneki stood. “Tell the manager thank you. And, uh . . . I hope things get better for you.”

Her eyes went wide, as if surprised by his concern. He watched them gather a watery film, and she looked away, biting her lip in frustration.

“Thank you,” Touka said.

When he reached his aunt’s home that night, her husband—his uncle, somehow—pinned him against the wall. His hands smelled like drugs and blood. His aunt was stumbling towards him, anger coursing through her very being. “So you’ve been meddling at Anteiku,” she snarled. “That’s why. God, you’re so useless. Release him, Gou. I’ll call them. This won’t happen again.”

Kaneki found out much later that Anteiku had been burned to the ground not long after.

Hide checked himself in the reflection. He’d worn what he usually wore; bright colours in bad amounts, but decided that on a date, in the dark, he deserved to wear even more. Haise’s visually disabled eyeballs would have a fit when they saw him.

He jogged down the stairs, not even noticing Nishiki’s look of disapproval. The faster he got there, the better. This was a huge moment. After this, Hide could come home and believe that no, maybe Haise wasn’t related to any gangs at all.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Rize had asked him once. They were sitting at a table in Anteiku. By now, she was just a shell of what she used to be. Any kindness had been replaced by greed, and Kaneki felt like she was only around him to fatten him up.

“No,” he said.

Rize looked disappointed. “I do. I think we, as humans, make them.”

“Just because we’re haunted doesn’t mean ghosts are real. It’s all in the head.”

Rize’s smile sharpened until he felt like he was looking into the eyes of a gleeful, stalking lion. “Oh, Kaneki. What are ghosts if not lost souls who failed?”

Chapter 11: All We Do

Chapter Text

“Hey,” the white-haired youth’s voice was faint in the speaker of his mobile. “I’m not coming in until morning.”

“Oh? Getting some action at last, Kaneki?”

Kaneki snorted, unimpressed. “I’ll be in around twelve, maybe one in the morning. I’ll take Ayato’s shift.”

“Yeah, because he’ll be pleased about that.”

Kaneki stared down the alleyway. It had to be around five in the afternoon, now. He should get going soon.

“He can complain all he wants. He’ll be grateful to take a break.”

“Well, if you say so, Big K.”

Kaneki sighed. “See you in the morning.”

As he began to pull the phone away, Uta yelled, “Wait! Wait. sh*t, I nearly forgot. We got a message from V.”

“Like what?” Kaneki hoped his lack of concern didn’t come through his voice.

“You remember what Rize’s famous for, yeah? We found one of our members with it done to him. With a knife, though, so it wasn’t her. Pretty daring of them, don’t you think? What’s their goal?”

“No idea,” Kaneki said. “Bye.”

Hide saw Haise from a distance, at first. The boy was leaning against the wall, beanie pulled lower than usual due to the chill in the air. He’d pulled a black scarf around his neck, the lower half of his face disappearing into its folds as he stared down at his phone. He wore a beige overcoat, which seemed to dwarf his small frame.

No, there was no one that cute that could be a f*cking gangster. Nope. Never.

“Haise!” Hide called, waving jovially. Haise’s eyes snapped up from his phone, scanning the Friday night crowd before they settled on Hide, standing out like a human torch. He’d gone with bright orange and yellow just about everywhere. He almost missed his favourite pair of three-quarter green pants, but sometimes winter was an icy bitch, and so he’d swapped them for grey full-length pants. At least his ski jacket was bordering on fluoro orange, though. Positives.

“Hey,” Haise said, shyly. He pocketed his phone. His cheeks were dusted in pink, the tip of his nose red from the cold. Hide nearly zoned out staring at the subtle colouring of his pale face.

“I already bought us tickets, so—”

“Wait, what?”

Haise instantly looked guilty. “I said I would, because . . . well, you invited me out. It was the least I could do.”

“That’s not—but I invited you! God, that was so rude of me! I’m sorry, the guest shouldn’t have to pay for the tickets, sheesh—”

Haise smiled meekly, holding out the ticket that said CONJURING 1900. Grumbling his discontent, Hide accepted the ticket. “I’m sorry, Haise. I shouldn’t have made you pay.”

“It was my choice,” Haise said. “But sorry for making you feel bad. Really, I just thought that it was really nice of you to ask me to the movies, so . . . yeah. I wanted to. Don’t feel bad about it.”

“At least let me pay you back!” Hide protested, following Haise into the cinema. He pulled out the money from his wallet and tried to shove it into Haise’s hands, who miraculously kept dodging him.

Sheesh, Hide thought. He couldn’t leave it at this. It would haunt him! No, he’d slip it into Haise’s pocket. Maybe that was selfish of him, Haise seemed to have only good intentions . . . no. Hide had asked him here. Hide had to pay.

His mother would be so proud.

“At least let me buy the food!” Hide was pretty stubborn, now. He wouldn’t let it go like his. He steered Haise towards the snacks bar. “Popcorn? Choc-top? Drink?”

“I’m . . . I’m fine, thanks, Hide.”

“Dude, are you making this hard or what?” Hide laughed nervously. “Come on, you have to eat something at the movies!”

“Actually, my roommate force-fed me the food she made for her date tomorrow,” Haise said nervously. Hide had noticed that whenever he spoke about his life that was a step away from what Hide knew, he always seemed to tense up.

“I had like, six different omelettes.”

“Man,” Hide said, sighing. “That’s rough. I’ll get a popcorn, though, so if you get peckish during the film you can always eat it.”

Haise smiled. “Thanks, Hide.”

“So, you scared?” Hide said, recovering his optimism. Haise shrugged.

“I dunno. I hear it’s pretty terrifying.”

“I know! I saw the trailers. It looks so creepy. The chick and the nightgown and like, wow. Super creepy.”

“Mm,” Haise hummed, thoughtful. “And it’s packed full of jump-scares, too. Sorry in advance if I squeal.”

Hide grinned, slapping on the back. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you hold my hand when you get scared.”

Haise’s face turned red, but he didn’t freak out.

Hide was so proud.

Quickly he changed hands with the popcorn; some money for a worthwhile investment. They headed towards the cinema.

“Unless, I guess,” Haise said, “it gets a little bit out of hand . . .”

Haise waited for a laugh eagerly, but Hide could only stare in horror.

“You made a pun.”

“Yeah.”

“You made a terrible pun.”

“Yeah.”

Hide stared at him a beat longer, before the laugh burst out of his mouth in what was probably the least attractive, slobbery, explosive way he’d ever had the pleasure to enact. He threw his head back, howling with laugher. Haise was laughing too. They weren’t even drunk; what was this?

“Oh, man,” Hide laughed, wiping the tears from his eyes as laughs continued to bubble out of his throat. “That was so bad.”

“I know, right?” Hide could almost not even hear the shyness in his voice. He was smiling, albeit with a red face and sometimes-shaky voice, but Hide felt like he was growing on Haise the way Haise had been growing on him.

No, Hide assured himself. Haise wasn’t Kaneki. He had to be rational: keeping up two lives, living them so separately, so differently, and so well—that wasn’t a human feat. It couldn’t be done.

Haise was Haise.

Kaneki was Kaneki.

They sat themselves down in the murmuring of the cinema, the lights dimming as the trailers and advertisem*nts began to play. In snatches, Hide glanced at Haise’s profile. Maybe they were similar. Maybe they were full of coincides.

But Kaneki was all about bright lights, late nights and dark, passionate violence. Haise was . . . Haise was bad puns and notebooks, early morning lectures and whispered phrases.

If Kaneki was a ghost, like he kept saying, then Haise was an aged, nostalgic photo.

Once Hide actually got caught up in the tense, suspenseful and scary as f*ck movie, he forgot all about his lifestyle troubles and was jumping out of his skin at every jump scare. The popcorn went everywhere. He resisted the urge to grab Haise’s still, calm arm so bad. No, he couldn’t give the punning mastermind that pleasure. Hide would be strong here.

He would— HOLY sh*t WHAT WAS THAT f*ck—

Every time the music would lower and Hide would get caught in that painful climb in tension until suddenly BAM jump-scare. If he kept this up, he’d die before 30.

The next jump-scare was about the girl getting thrown around the house and damn he swore he flew an inch into the air.

He nearly jumped again when Haise’s hand reached for his own, and Hide gladly accepted it, squeezing probably too hard. The instant after, he felt so embarrassed he felt his face turn on the stove to, like, 100 degrees Celsius. He glanced across to Haise, who was calmly watching the movie, the bright, moving screen glowing off the lenses of his glasses.

He caught Hide looking and looked away, face red.

Embarrassed but too afraid to do anything, the two of them watched the sh*t-scary in silence.

Hide was too afraid to move when the credits started rolling, already poised to take the next jump-scare any second, but none came. Surely, there’d be that girl jumping through the screen to scare the departing audience and—

Nope. No jump-scare.

“Hide,” Haise whispered, face still red. When Hide didn’t move, he muttered it again, but sharper. “Hide!”

“No—don’t hurt me I’m too young to die!” Hide squealed, jumping from the sound. Despite this, he noticed how tightly he was still gripping onto Haise’s hand.

What did they do about this?

They both stared at their joined hands for a few long seconds. Hide’s eyes traced the curves of Haise’s thin fingers, the way his nails looked so perfect it was illegal. Did he even chew his nails? No? Wow. That was a skill.

In comparison, his hands screamed “village kid”. Tanned, used to being shoved into the dirt in the hunt for grubs, the nails worried away by university stress, pen callouses and everything else under the sun.

“Um,” Hide said, clearing his throat. “I guess there’s no rush.”

“Need a hand?”

“Oh my God, Haise!”

Haise laughed softly and stood, gently prying his hand away. He stretched, reaching up like a cat. He’d draped his coat onto the empty seat in front, and without his usual baggy top Hide saw just how small he was in a simple shirt, buttoned up to the throat.

He adjusted his glasses, watching the end credits. “So, Hide,” he said, “good film?”

“I am never picking a movie for us to see ever again,” Hide whined, pulling on his ski jacket. “I full on died.”

“It must have been a . . . grave mistake.”

Hide was silent for a very long second.

“I will commit murder, you know.”

Haise laughed it off, shrugging on his coat and buttoning it up. “What can I say? I’m a pretty punny guy.”

“Haise, are you high again?” Hide asked curiously. Haise’s smile didn’t change.

“Nope.”

“Are you sure? You’re acting pretty trippy right now.”

“I swear, I have not had a single puff from a joint since that last time,” Haise said, pressing a hand to his heart. “I have not ingested any alcohol, either.”

“You’re quite bold after seven, aren’t you?” Hide wriggled his eyebrows. Haise’s face, which had already been pink, turned red to the tips of his ears. Hide gave a quiet laugh.

“It’s cool, man. We should do this again. How’s next week?”

They’d made it to the exit of the cinema, and the bright, outside light on Haise’s face was suddenly revealing to him deep bags under Haise’s eyes that Hide hadn’t seen. He didn’t see any discolouration, but—

Haise moved past that pocket of light, and the bags disappeared. Hide must have been on edge.

“I actually work on Fridays,” Haise admitted. “I asked to have today off, but sometimes . . . sorry, Hide.”

“Don’t sweat it!” Hide laughed, grinning to stop Haise feeling bad. He knew by now that Haise would be overly guilty about the whole thing.

Haise smiled gratefully. Hide, suddenly remembering the notes of cash in his pocket, waited for Haise to look away. Surrounded by the departing movie-goers, he slipped the money into Haise’s pocket without the boy noticing.

“Maybe another time? Weekends aren’t that good . . . Wednesdays I’m free,” he went on, seemingly oblivious.

“Wednesdays are good for me, too!” Hide yelled. “Let’s see another film next Wednesday! And we have Creative Writing last, too—or, I do, at least.”

Haise smiled. “Creative Writing is my last lecture, too.”

“Yeah!” Hide pumped the air. “What movie do you want to see? We can come here again. Another horror? Wait, maybe not . . .” Hide ran a hand through his hair. He was flustered and talking fast. He was sure his face was red despite the chill that lingered through the opening and closing doors of the cinema lobby.

Haise’s smile was positively serene. “Maybe something with a lighter note next time.”

Hide nodded, feeling the gratitude settle over him. At last, someone who quietly accepted how bad he was with tension and jump-scares. “That would be good.”

Haise smiled. “So . . . um, I shouldn’t be out too late. Thanks for inviting me.”

“It’s cool,” Hide said, grinning ear to ear, and he meant it. He was happy. He was so happy that Haise had come with him to watch Hide creep himself out and also watch a movie about ghosts and hauntings and sick effects.

Haise was also not a gang member. That was something he was so happy about. He felt certain about it. No niggling suspicions. No nothing. Haise was a pure cinnamon roll of a person that didn’t have a bad bone in his body, Hide was sure.

“See you at school on Monday, yeah?” Hide said, pushing the door open. Haise nodded, wrapping his scarf around his neck and burying his face into it against the cold.

“Yeah.”

“That new guy is pretty weird,” Hide said absently. “Like, he can speak fluent French. How weird is that?”

“Ha, yeah,” Haise agreed. “What was his name? Tsukiyama? He’s kind of creepy.”

“I guess . . .” Hide remembered the ice he’d seen behind Haise’s eyes that morning.

Maybe those niggling suspicions weren’t so dead and gone, after all.

Haise shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t think he’ll bother us that much.”

“Or you hope so?”

Haise shrugged. “You caught me.”

Hide smiled easily. “Okay, then. I’ll see you Monday, okay?”

Haise saluted, before exclaiming, “Yessir!”

Hide laughed as they parted ways.

When he first met Eto, he knew he was off the rails. Fresh out of hell and burning with the rage of the Almighty. Burning and burning until he knew there would be only ashes left.

That’s what he was.

Ashes of a long-dead flame.

It was midday, and he was sitting alone in the bar. Helter Skelter, it was called. He was sipping his black coffee, trying to flush out the taste of iron in his mouth when she appeared in front of his table, as nimbly and silently as he liked to believe he was.

She was short in frame, but her dark hair was long and wild, making her look almost bestial, or as if she had some form of otherworldly knowledge. She could have been a sorceress if Kaneki didn’t know better.

He knew better.

“Hello,” she said, standing. Her hands were clasped behind her back, making her seem much younger than she was. If it wasn’t for the sharpness to her gaze, Kaneki could have thought she was his age or younger.

“Hi,” he said back. His coffee was nearly empty. He considered pretending to drink from the empty cup so he could avoid conversation.

Something told him she’d see right through it.

“You’re new,” she said. “You’re also very old.”

Kaneki, in all his emptiness, felt a chill down his spine. What did she know? Did she know everything? Or was it simply that she could see right through him?

“You’re young,” he said, smoothly, “but you’re also too old.”

Her mouth parted in an ear-to-ear grin. “Oh, that was good,” she said. “I’m Eto. Call me that. Nothing else. I lead a gang that teamed up with GLG called Aogiri. We’re mainly between the Eleventh and Thirteenth wards.”

“Good for you,” said Kaneki dully, sipping his cup to empty. “I’m Kaneki. Just stick with Kaneki. I’m a self-made contract hit-man. I got a job with GLG because the owner thought I was cute.”

Eto grinned, sitting herself down. “Say,” she said slowly, “what does Hell look like?”

Kaneki couldn’t even bring himself to feel surprised. Instead, he organised his face into a small smirk, filing muscles into the right tensions. Looking her in her green eyes, he answered.

“It looks like Hell,” he said. “For all eternity.”

Kaneki turned on his phone, standing under a streetlight in the quietest street he could find. It was nearly twelve. Tucking away his second phone, he waited for the relic to turn itself on.

Maybe he should upgrade.

It went into the technological equivalent of cardio arrest as it loaded all the missed calls. Kaneki sighed. It seemed like quite the events had happened whilst he was away.

Uta (6)

Touka (4)

Ayato (1)

Itori (8)

Unknown (12)

That was interesting. Who would know his number? He clicked on Uta’s messages first to see how bad it was. Uta usually gave a pretty good indication by how much background noise Kaneki could hear. The quieter, the less important.

Uta was a pretty ironic guy.

“Yo, Kaneki.” It started bad. He could hear the commotion of Helter Skelter from here. “Itori recently got some news from Yomo. Apparently V’s been stealing away all the noticeable and profiled members of the stronger gangs. First was Rize, now’s that girl who was with the CCG . . . Ihei? Yeah, her. She’s gone. And a bunch of other ones, too. Call me when you get this. Itori wants to talk.”

Sighing, he waited for the next to click over.

“Hey, Kaneki. Uta again. Itori just roasted me about you not answering your phone. Anyways she says that apparently some V members were spotted around that guy . . . Tsukiyama? Yeah the one who hired you to be his bodyguard. He’s here, don’t worry, but she wants you to know. Call us.”

Itori was lying. She baited him like that, sometimes. The V members were always around Tsukiyama, but he knew that Tsukiyama had been home all night tonight after Kaneki had seen him to his car after—

No. He just knew.

The next recording clicked over.

“Okay, third message. God, what are you even doing? Even a f*ckin’ gang bang doesn’t last this long. Wait—are you actually gang banging? sh*t man—ow, Jesus Itori, fine—look, Itori says to get your arse over here.”

God, how would the next three go? He watched his breath form clouds in the cold air as he waited. Staring up into the dark sky, he saw the first particles of snow begin to fall.

“ . . . yes, sir. Thanks. Okay, my man K, you’ve got to stop with the two phones business. We just received news that Big Madam has disappeared off the face of the earth. Crazy, right? That bitch couldn’t disappear if she fell in the ocean. But yeah. sh*t’s getting bad really fast, now. Itori wants you to come in.”

Every one of the calls was full of noise. The bar was busy. When the bar was busy, it meant the streets weren’t safe. Kaneki watched snowflakes fall and dissolve onto the asphalt.

“I’ve f*cking called you five times. Jesus. Look, the CCG just went nuts. We have the entire First Division in the ward. Everyone’s here. Banjou’s worried about you. Jeez, Rize would be really handy around now.”

Kaneki bit at his lip. Just hearing her name sounded unpleasant, as if it rubbed the wrong way against his eardrum. He tried to melt the snowflakes as they fell in front of his face. Maybe a blizzard would start and swallow him up where he stood.

He doubted it.

“Ah, jeez. We can’t find Eto? sh*t. Kaneki, you have to get here now. I’m not being that worried friend, but your double lifestyle can wait for now. The doves are everywhere. People want to leave, but Itori is afraid it’ll give the place reviews if they leave and get caught on the way home. Hurry up and be the ferrier.”

It had come five minutes ago. Kaneki sighed heavily, dialling Uta’s number.

“Hey,” he said.

Hide was walking home when he noticed it.

The notes had made their way back into his pocket. He stared at the two thousand yen note in his hand. How? When? Why?

Oh, he was not going to stand for this. He was barely five minutes away from the cinema. He’d literally just put his hands in his pockets as the snow started to fall, and he’d found the money there.

He spun around and jogged back. Nope. This was a date. He wouldn’t let this slide. If it had been a dinner, Hide would have paid. Hide had invited him, so it was his responsibility. Dammit, Haise, making this so hard.

He blinked the snow out of his eyes, the cold air burning at his throat. Haise had gone the other way, so surely—

“You’re Kaneki?”

This time, Kaneki was sitting at the bar, leaning onto it and resting his head on his hands. His rage was dwindling. He was a pile of ashes at the bottom of the abyss. He regarded the man who had approached him: tall, with dyed-purple hair and an outlandish dress sense that could only come from money and a closed social life.

Kaneki sat up and nodded, turning around on the bar stool. “Yes. Hit-man, bodyguard or whatever you want, really, for hire. You are?”

“Ah, I’m Tsukiyama Shuu,” said the man, doing a small flourishing-bow. As he straightened, he began, “I’m not really here to hire your services, but—”

“Oh,” Kaneki said. “Then, if you’ll excuse me—”

“Wait!” Tsukiyama commanded, and Kaneki felt the slight burn of annoyance. It must have showed on his face, because Tsukiyama became apologetic. “I’m sorry. I simply meant to say that I know someone connected to you, and I was wondering if I could . . . hire you for a discount?”

“You just said—”

“I was going to say I was looking for them in relation to my father,” said Tsukiyama. “He’s aging, and he’s involved deep into the underbelly world. He’s not as strong as he used to be, and I want him to be protected. But, as I was saying—”

“You don’t strike me as the type to be needing a discount, thought,” Kaneki said, leaning back on the counter. “I can smell the money from here.”

Tsukiyama’s lips twitched into a wry smile. “Well, I suppose . . .”

“Enough. I don’t care. Who’s your ‘connection’?”

“It’s this woman,” said Tsukiyama. “We’ve been friends for ages, but our lives have diverged over the years to very different spectrums.”

“No need to write me a poem, just tell me,” Kaneki said, reaching for a cigarette. “Did she become Cinderella and you became the Stepmother but with drugs?”

Tsukiyama laughed heartily. “My, that’s a good joke. Actually, her name is Kamishiro Rize.”

Kaneki held the lighter to his cigarette too long, burning it down to the wick.

Rize had remembered him, too.

Hide did not believe in many faiths.

He didn’t believe in faith.

He didn’t seek God or divine retribution.

He wasn’t exactly an atheist, he was just . . . Hide.

But standing on that corner, looking at the man in the side street, he prayed to God that it was a mistake.

Chapter 12: The Nature of Daylight

Chapter Text

If someone had asked him as a child if he was happy, he would have said ‘yes’. Of course he would have. If he had said no, he would have been seen as ungrateful. He couldn’t ask for anything more than what he had. He had a mother, a house, a family.

Wearing long sleeves in summer didn’t bother him. Being bullied didn’t really bother him, either. They would always be there, desperate to hurt him. But he was okay with that: to be wounded rather than wounding. Instead of the one hurting others, he was the one getting hurt.

“Nice people are happy with just that.”

Doing nice things for others made you happier too, they said. So he tried to be kind; he tried to put in the extra mile for others. He had to make sure they were happy first and foremost, because he was certain his happiness would follow. He was certain.

He was sure that if he made his mother happy, that if he pleased her, he would be happy too.

It was only when he grew older that he began to lose faith. He had never been happy. He was surrounded by despair and pain. What a laugh. When his mother died, he hated himself the most.

Because he had failed her.

She had become the one getting hurt when that was meant to be him. God, what had he done wrong? All the times Aunt Asaoka came asking for loans, all the times the kids ruined his books at school, all the times they wrote crude messages on his desk in the mornings—had it all meant nothing?

He had been so sure that by trying to please others, he would try to please himself.

He had failed to please others.

He had failed happiness.

He no longer deserved it.

Hide had grown up in what he affectionately called ‘the hairy armpit of nowhere’. A small cluster of houses surrounded by rice fields and mountains and highways, where he would lie awake and listen to freight trains kilometres roar past, their echo passing over acres and acres of empty paddocks.

Every night, his mother would tuck him into bed. They’d talk about their days. He’d tell her about beetles and friends and how school was, what he wanted to do tomorrow, what he was thinking of. She’d sit there calmly, stroking his hair and watching with soft eyes.

His mother had always seemed too old. There were lines around her eyes and shadows in the hollows of her cheeks that seemed to reside there permanently. Despite this, she was always gentle and smiling.

When Hide got older, he began to realise that she was always afraid.

She loved his father. They were always out manning the fields, sitting in tractors or even just wading through the crops. He could still imagine her in crystal clearness: wide-brim straw hat against the blue sky, wearing a baggy ‘house rag’ t-shirt and shorts above gumboots.

It was like she’d lived there her whole life.

When he was around twelve, the conversations began to change. She would sit beside his bed in the dark and ask him how he was, and he would talk about how he suspected a teacher to be doing something with another teacher, or he thought that someone had hooked up or whatever. It seemed like any observational skills he had struck chords in her she didn’t like, because she began to lecture him every night about how to survive.

“Your rationality isn’t always the truth,” she often said. “Often, we’re just desperate to believe something that we warp our perception around it. Rationalise it. Make peace with it. Don’t talk yourself out of your suspicions, ever, Hide. Ever.”

As he got older, these bedside conversations became less common. His mother was always tired, and he was always up late working. Eventually, they stopped all together.

The damage was done, though. Hide knew he’d grown up to be just like his mother. He was always watching, always eager to know. He was always suspicious, always analytical. Her words were always in the back of his mind.

Don’t do drugs, stay in school, stay out of trouble, look after yourself.

“Look after number one.” That was her favourite phrase.

As far as Hide was concerned, he had no reason to ever want to look out for anyone other than himself. Everyone was distant. They had been that way since he had first observed how deep and detached their lives were to his. No matter how much he reached out, no connection ever seemed to stick.

“I want to go to high school in Tokyo,” he said one night over dinner.

He’d never had a bigger argument.

He decided to go to the local high school instead, about forty minutes away by bike. Work was boring, teachers were from the city doing their first five-year period to earn a teaching license, so they were all young and hip and desperate to impress the students at the start, but quickly learned that enthusiasm didn’t get good grades for their students.

When he got his grades back at the end of the year, he saw he was eligible for a place at Kamii. He could sit an exam to get in. He was that smart.

Of course, they’d had another argument.

At the end of it, his father didn’t really care where he went. Hide knew that he wanted him to pursue a better-paying career than farmer, which Hide was grateful for. His mother, on the other hand, seemed to detest the very thought of entering the capital.

“You will not,” she repeated for the umpteenth time that night, “be going to that damn city.”

Hide had fallen silent not long after. He didn’t enjoy arguing, which always surprised him. That, and any argument with his mother surely failed.

In the gap between school exams and entrance exams, there were two kinds of people: ones that studied like mad, and ones that partied.

Hide partied.

As much as his mother looked unimpressed with his behaviour, she couldn’t complain. It meant he was grounded in that place for the rest of his life. He could only receive snatches of her disapproving glare when he came out of his room in the afternoon for breakfast, reeking of beer and smoke.

Looking back on it, he did a sh*tload of dumb crap.

His father had a different view to where he wanted to go. Hide remembered it clearly, the way he had sat him down at the table whilst his mother was out buying groceries.

“Hide,” he said, voice gruff, “do you still want to go to Tokyo?”

“It doesn’t matter, Pops,” he said, laughing it off. “I’ll just stay here. Ma will be happy with that. I’ll just be that bad smell that ruins the crops all the time.”

His dad didn’t appreciate his humour.

“Your mother is very . . .” he gestured with his hands, unable to formulate a word. “Paranoid.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hide said, sighing. “But it’s because she’s always worried.”

“Of course. She knows the horror of that city better than anyone.”

Hide nodded, mute. It was true: his mother had openly expressed what a vile place the capital was. She’d grown up there until she left at age twenty to travel around the country to try and escape that claustrophobic place, where she met his father at a fresh produce market.

The story was so mundane that Hide couldn’t help but laugh about it.

His dad shook his head. “Don’t let her stop you. I saw your grades. You could even apply for a scholarship and get it. You’re an adult, Hide. Don’t let your mother order you around forever! Even Takashi is going to that silly university.”

“Yeah, because his uncle is a rich businessman!” Hide sighed, heavy. He wanted to go, he really did. But the idea of making his mother worry was heartbreaking. Could he really do that to the woman who raised him? To the woman who shared with him her deepest fears for him and how he always had to look after himself?

“Hide,” his father said, dead serious. “A train ticket to Tokyo won’t cause tears. If you get that scholarship, not even she would have it in her heart to deny you the chance.”

Hide chewed at his lips. Would he even like the city?

“Just go,” his father said. “If you fail, you come back. If you don’t, then you start a new life.”

In the end, Hide listened to his father.

He’d gotten up early to board the train that morning, and his mother called him once he was rolling away from the platform, the sun barely risen. He’d spent the last ten minutes staring out the window in terror that she would come running up any second to drag him home by the tips of his badly-bleached hair.

“HIDEYOSHI NAGACHIKA!” she’d screamed. From there, it dissolved into angry crying with mutterings of ‘damn son’ and ‘idiot’. Hide could have sworn he cried at the same time. He wasn’t that embarrassed; there was no one else on the train.

“Hide, be careful,” his mother said. “Tokyo is dangerous. You don’t know what’s there.”

“I can look after myself,” he said reassuringly. “I’m a big boy.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she said. She sighed, clearly exasperated that she’d woken up with her son running away and her husband in on it too.

“Just . . . beware of anyone with the last name ‘Washuu’, all right? They’re a bad lot. Don’t you ever get involved with them, okay? Ever.”

That was probably why Hide had never told her he got a job at the CCG.

He’d passed the exam brilliantly, got a two-year accommodation scholarship where he ended up rooming with another scholarship student who was a year older than him: Nishio Nishiki.

Takashi had been hardly good company, the parties hadn’t been nearly as wild as the ones he was used to, but with more shady deals. Classes were stressful, he was always broke and he lived off coffee and instant ramen.

It was everything Hide had expected and dreamed for.

Except for that one time he tried to be a saving grace, discarding his mother’s core values in the heat of the moment and in his newly-discovered freedom. A young girl was being hassled by a taller guy with slicked-back blonde hair with dark circles around his eyes. Did the guy even sleep?

“Come on, ‘Nami,” he purred, bending down into her face. She was a high-schooler, dressed in her uniform. Leaning back on the wall, books clutched to her chest, staring at her toes.

Hide had wanted to save her instantly.

“Naki, please leave,” she whispered.

“You know you owe me,” he continued. He was so creepy Hide had to jump in. He saw here ‘Naki’s eyes were looking, and he could see where ‘Nami’ was wishing herself: away.

“Hey, man,” Hide said, sticking on his thousand-watt smile. “I think maybe you should lay off.”

When he saw Naki’s eyes, he noticed their unnaturally red colour, like rust. A shade of red a few hues too red for normal, which was only made worse by the red veins in his eyes.

“Oi,” said the man, straightening. “Mind your own business.”

He was taller than Hide, but not by much. Surely, Hide’s country upbringing could help. He’d wrestled kids and cows to the ground. Some good-for-nothing was okay, right?

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he said, still grinning. “I just wanted to maybe think now wasn’t the best idea.”

Yeah. Hide had the crap beaten out of him.

As Naki stalked off, the girl he had saved rushed over, tossing aside her books and pulling out her phone. Hide watched her through hazy vision as she yelled into the phone, asking for an ambulance. She seemed practiced at it. Surely not. She was too young.

Hide was ushered to the hospital with a concussion, several missing teeth and a ripper shiner. f*ck, his mother had been right. Look after number one, huh?

He didn’t regret what he’d done, though.

He never saw the girl again. Instead, he was visited by Amon who asked questions about the man—Naki. It was there Hide found out about the deep, shady gang worlds of Tokyo. It was a pretty crazy place.

“You’re a pretty smart guy, Hide,” Amon laughed good-naturedly. “You should work for us.”

“Can I?” Hide asked. “Like, really? Come on, man, I’m broke as f*ck.”

Amon laughed again. “All right. I guess we could use a part-timer.”

Bright silver eyes. Empty, empty, empty. Who the f*ck was empty? Was Hide empty? Was Haise empty? Was everyone alive in this world empty?

“You chose f*cking Creative Writing?” Nishiki laughed at Hide’s book list. “I can’t believe you! I know you wanted Journalism, but why didn’t you do, like, Legal Studies? That definitely suits you more.”

“You wound me, Nishio!” Hide cried, gasping his chest in mock-hurt. “It’s almost like I’m trying to please my mother! Ah, woe is me!”

Nishiki snorted. “Suit yourself. Don’t come crawling to me when you wish you did medicine, though.”

“I would never go back on my choice! I am too young to regret!”

“And how many stitches did you get that time, again? Oh, look! Trashika got beat up again! Oh, no!”

“It was one time, man,” Hide said. “One time.”

Nishiki laughed. “When the sh*tty country hick tries to be a city boy.”

What did this mean? What went on from here? Was time moving? Snow was falling, so something was working. Gravity worked no matter how f*cked the world seemed to be. God, what was happening?

“I hope you’re not making trouble,” said his mother on the phone. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Maaaaaa,” he groaned out. “Stop thinking so badly of me.”

“I’m just speaking from observation, kiddo. You’re a handful.”

Hide sat cross-legged on his bed, his laptop propped on his pillow and his textbooks to his left. Everything was within reaching distance. On the floor in front of him were his coffee and a cup of instant ramen.

“I’m very diligent,” he said, reaching for his ramen, which was still steaming hot. “I’ve only had one exciting thing.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

What? That he got a job at the CCG? That he got beaten up?

“I . . . I joined Creative Writing,” he said. That would do. “I thought of you.”

“Hide,” his mother pressed. “Don’t do things just because I like them.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to study medicine,” he said, balancing the cup between his crossed ankles. “And it doesn’t seem that hard.”

“You just take your Forensics seriously,” she said. “You probably need to work, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Yes, be sorry. You ran away from a perfectly good farm, boy. Your father and I have been forced to interact openly. Isn’t that so weird? Like, he actually talks to me now.”

Hide laughed. Maybe he felt a little bit homesick when he spoke to his mother like this.

“I should get working,” he said. “I’ll call you soon, okay?”

“Love you,” she said. “Make some friends! Get good grades! Come home in the summer and help out, you lazy bum!”

“I will,” he promised.

He hung up.

What were ghosts? What were spirits? What were regrets? Why was it that he couldn’t move? Why was he so rooted to the spot? What had frozen him so suddenly? And sh*t, why did he feel betrayal in every cell of his body?

Hide watched, frozen like his whole body had turned to ice. In the side street stood Sasaki Haise, holding a phone to his ear. He was dressed the same. He looked the same.

But Hide knew.

Snowflakes fell. Hide felt his breath hammer in his chest, felt the blood roaring in his ears, but he could not breathe.

He could not breathe.

It seemed as if every molecule of his body ached with betrayal. It hurt.

It really hurt.

“Hey,” said Haise, into his phone. He wasn’t aware of Hide at all. Hide felt like a ghost, like he was seeing something he shouldn’t be.

“Yeah, I got them.” Haise’s voice was empty and tired. It was so, so tired. “I’ll be over soon. Don’t let anyone else disappear.”

He lowered the phone, hitting the ‘end call’ button.

Time seemed to freeze around them. Hide stared, eyes so wide they stung, but he didn’t dare blink in case he missed something.

Haise stared at the screen of his phone for a long second. Slowly, his shoulders sagged and he sighed. He slid the phone into his pocket and rubbed at his face, pulling and tugging at the skin, brushing off all the powdery make-up Hide now knew he wore.

He ripped off his glasses and tossed them onto the asphalt. Hide heard them clatter, but his eyes remained fixed on the boy in the lonely side street.

Haise’s hand reached up and pulled of his beanie angrily. Beneath it, his hair was a shock of pure white.

Hide’s eyes stung.

Haise held his beanie in his hand above his head, arm shaking with emotions Hide couldn’t begin to fathom. He watched Haise’s eyes squint as the boy chewed at his lip angrily, before his hand stopped and he let the hat fall numbly from his fingertips.

He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and leaned his head back. He took three long breaths, and Hide studied the shape of his moving ribcage. Even from there, Hide could feel the other boy sinking in exhaustion, in frustration, in anger.

In despair.

Haise dropped his arms and stared up at the sky for a long moment. Hide watched snowflakes kiss at his cheeks. He watched them sit on the ends of his delicate, translucent eyelashes.

Hide could see, now. He could see it all now from the unfavourable angle of the streetlamp: the sharp hollows beneath his cheeks, the darkening of the skin around his eyes. His lips were chapped and bitten. He was the very image of exhaustion.

His name was Kaneki Ken.

He straightened, shaking his arms out as if psyching himself up. He watched Kaneki gather up his dropped glasses and hat, shoving them into his pockets. He walked with confidence, now. He was not the meek Haise Sasaki. He was the notorious Kaneki Ken.

Don’t talk yourself out of your suspicions, ever.

Sorry, Ma, he thought numbly as he watched Kaneki disappear down the street. Everything inside him was humming like a struck cymbal; piercing, the sound filling up a space but it meant nothing more than a crash. His fingertips were tingling from the cold.

His eyes stung, and he wiped at them. Slowly, Hide let himself collapse against the fence behind him, rubbing at his eyes.

He hadn’t signed up for this.

He hadn’t signed up for this at all.

Chapter 13: When [He] Went Away

Chapter Text

Her hand reached out as if to touch him, but then stopped. She stared down at her feet, sinking her teeth into her lip in frustration. “Are you . . .” her voice shook dangerously. “Are you really Kaneki Ken?”

A tie to his past. He should hate her. He should get rid of her. He should cut all ties. Start again. He was someone else now.

He should.

But he couldn’t.

“Yes,” he whispered. The idea, the concept that he had been not like this before . . . how had he even lived before? The idea was distant, impossible to him. It was like he had been trapped like this since the day he was born.

Maybe he really had been ‘reborn’ on that table.

“It’s me,” he said. “Kaneki.”

She looked up at him, eyes watering. Tears were spilling down her cheeks. Everything was so expressive and passionate about her. She had rage, a desire to live the way she wanted and she didn’t accept it any other way.

It was beautiful.

“What did they do?” she demanded, clenching her hands into fists at her sides. From beneath the messy bangs of her hair, he could see the redness in her cheeks, the way she gnashed her teeth. She felt anger. Anger for him. Anger with justice. A sense of moral values. She was filled with justice and fire and good intentions.

He was just flames eating away at the oxygen in his lungs.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It was my own fault.”

He walked past her, leaving her seething about his own injustices. How could someone so filled with honesty be a key player in their lives, so filled with deceit?

“Are you just going to accept it?” she demanded, whirling around. “You’re just going to accept what happened? Aren’t you angry? Don’t you have something to . . . to say? To do about it? How can you just . . . doesn’t what they took from you matter? At all?”

He sat himself down on the chair, feeling his bones sink into it. “What of worth could they possibly have taken from me?”

“Idiot!” she screamed. She stared down at her feet, hunched over in anger. “How dare you say that about yourself! Don’ you know what you did for people? For me?”

“I could do nothing for you,” he said. “I was weak and useless. All I did was have sad conversation with you and get Anteiku burned to the ground.”

Touka’s arms shook. “That conversation,” she spat, “gave me a reason to keep going, you moron!”

He watched her leave the room in a hurry.

He wished he could understand how she felt. Every feeling seemed to stop in his gut and never reach any higher. His new stomach, his new heart, his new lungs—they didn’t have the capacity to feel emotion.

Or maybe it was just him.

Hide lost track of how long he stood there, face pressed into his hands. The snow was icy, and he felt his feet beginning to numb. He hadn’t dressed for a night out in the snow. He’d dressed for a movie date with a cute bookworm kind of guy that so wasn’t a bookworm—in fact, he was actually a criminal. To what extent, Hide wasn’t sure. A dealer? A killer? sh*t, who was Kaneki Ken?

Moreover, what the f*ck did he do now? Was he meant to go after him and embrace him and shout about how he would accept his true love no matter the cost? Who did that? Was that what he was meant to do? Was this true love? Yeah, he thought Saskai Haise was probably the most gorgeous kid he’d ever met, and Kaneki was Kaneki, but . . .

Jesus, what a time to be getting cold feet.

Conversely, what if he just went home? What if he went home and decided to forget about this whole thing? What if he went to class on Monday and thought that hey, maybe he was wrong about the whole thing and it was just a bad, bad dream. Yeah.

Or what if he just pushed Haise out of his life? That’s what his mother would say, dammit.

Hide took a deep breath. No. No, he wouldn’t allow this. He had to find out. Even if the truth was so horrifying that he ran away and moved back to his farm where the gangs would never reach him, he would find out who Kaneki Ken was. He would find out why he went to Kamii under a fake name with makeup and a disguise. He would find out why he lived that life. He would find out what he did. Why he did it. What his goal was.

He would find a way to save him.

Hide shuddered. He was so doomed.

He started in the direction he’d seen Kaneki going. He’d been on the phone with someone who Hide guessed was his employer. This was the job he had on Fridays. Hide could only guess with a heavy heart what it entailed.

He felt the shivers in his system, but not from the cold. They seemed to tingle with the fear and dread that built up in every channel of his body, to the tiny fibres of his muscles that trembled.

How long had he been there, slumped against the wall? He had to find Kaneki. He had to find him now.

Thin, Hide, think! Where were most gangs located? The dodgy district? Where was the dodgy district in Tokyo, sh*t! He wished he’d paid more attention to what Takizawa and Akira had been arguing about. Where would he go?

The 24^th ward.

Yes, that was where Akira had been adamant about. She was certain something was happening there, and had contacted the 24^th ward branch of CCG. He remembered, thank God!

He began to wind his way through the smaller streets of the University Sector, looking for a main road to take him to where he had to go. It was at times like these he wished he were a local since birth, so that he could find his way around this maze.

He heard the whistle of a bus going by, and stumbled onto a main road. The lights were reassuring, and he looked up and down the road still bustling with people on a Friday night.

A shock of white hair jumped out at him down the sidewalk.

He started after it, any worries shoved into the farthest recesses of his mind. There was no use regretting anything now. He had to do it. How else would he deal with this problem if he didn’t know what he was dealing with?

If Kaneki were a high-profile member, then he would be on the lookout for people following him. If this was the case, then Hide had to be on guard. He knew his hair and its garish shade of fried-hair-orange, would stand out. On top of that, he was wearing a fluoro orange jacket. He had not planned for this.

He shrugged off his jacket. Surely, it was reversible or something?

Nope.

“Tch,” Hide muttered. What else could he do? He dug through its pockets, looking for anything that would help him. Surely, there was a bag or something he could put in like a puffy jacket, right?

Nope.

Dimly, he recalled his mother’s disapproval of bright colours.

Okay, he thought with exasperation. No coat!

He tied it around his waist, making sure to stay with the crowd of people. Under the canopies of umbrellas and the general eccentric crowd of Tokyo’s patrons, he couldn’t be standing out that much. Besides, he doubted Kaneki would be looking anywhere below face-level.

Still, he had to be careful.

He locked his eyes on that head of glowing white, watching him duck through people with the ease and grace of someone practiced at the art of disappearing. Breathe, Hide commanded himself. He knew he had to sideline anything else he was thinking other than follow. If he didn’t, he’d just be putting himself in danger.

God, sometimes he was weirdly grateful for his mother.

He kept following down the street, following Kaneki around corners and tried to figure out where the alleys that the boy cut through would lead. Most of them were shortcuts that Hide took the next alley to get to. Every time he did, his nerves went into haywire. There was nothing safe about the district they were heading into. It was increasingly dodgy.

Eventually, Hide watched Kaneki enter a bar called “Helter Skelter”. Like Akira had suspected, they were in the 24^th ward. Hide swallowed. Okay, so now he knew where Kaneki went. What now?

What now?

Hide scanned for a place where he could watch without being seen. He ended up on the other side of the road, next to the opposing buildings. Rolling around rubbish bins so that he could crouch behind one and look through the gap between it and the wall next to the nearest building, he hid. Any second now, Hide was sure someone from the staff body would come out and yell at him.

God, Kaneki could live there. He could maybe not come out until morning. Maybe he wouldn’t.

Then, Hide heard voices talking in the entrance of the building he had crouched next to, and an instant later three men in grey, CCG uniform were walking in front of the gap he’d stopped in.

Hide swallowed hard. If they found him, if they reported him to Akira and Amon . . .

No, surely they wouldn’t. That would be so weird. As if they knew who he was.

Even so, Hide made sure to stay extra still until they were gone.

If the CCG were there, it meant something had been happening around the area. sh*t, was his phone still off from the movies? Jesus, Hide! How stupid could he be?

It was too late to turn it on, anyway.

If Kaneki took longer than half an hour, Hide told himself, then he’d head on home.

Kaneki rolled his shoulders as he entered the bar. It was bustling with people. Itori must have been having the monthly get-together or something. He rubbed at the back of his neck. He’d had the feeling of being followed since he’d left the—

Since he called Uta. Since he called Uta, he’d had that feeling.

Upon entering, he was immediately swarmed by Itori, who promptly yelled at him for the next five minutes straight with the usual ‘where were you?’ and ‘do you even have a job?’

“Sorry, Itori,” he murmured. “I did say that I couldn’t come in, though.”

“Yeah, but what of value takes that long?” She’d ditched her usual black dress in favour of a puffy jacket and pants against the cold. Her hair was pulled back in a bun. She’d been out, recently. Surveying the area, probably. She was one of the few key members that didn’t have her face known. Kaneki was fairly certain that no one even knew she existed.

“I dunno,” Kaneki shrugged. “I’ll go get changed. Who’s up first?”

“Uh, that rich idiot from Ward 1. You know how he is.”

“Do you remember his name?”

“Consider it payback. You don’t know it either.”

“He only has to know me,” Kaneki shrugged. “Tell him to get ready.”

Standing in the changing room, Kaneki took extra time to get rid of the makeup Touka had dressed him with earlier that evening. He knew there was a reason, but he’d put it in the ‘other’ area of his mind. It was for the best. When he was working, he couldn’t afford to think like . . . that.

Happy with how sickly he looked without layers of concealer, he changed into his usual gear that he always kept there: black jeans, black turtle-neck, neck scarf. This clothing was much better suited to him. He felt ready in those clothes. By day, his make-up was his costume. By night, he had his mask.

“I’ll make you a mask one day,” Uta had told him. “I’ll even model it off that scarf of yours. It suits you, that design.”

Kaneki didn’t really need any more masks.

He jogged down the stairs, seeing his familiar client wrapped in warm clothing. He had drawn a scarf over his own mouth and nose, and wore some dark glasses. Kaneki knew the deal: walk him two hundred metres away from the bar to his chauffer. Because of Itori’s policy, no one was allowed to be seen ‘arriving’ at the bar for security reasons.

It was probably the only reason that they hadn’t been found out, yet.

“V is everywhere,” Itori warned him. “I told Ayato and Touka that you wouldn’t let them out, and, well, they weren’t happy. I sent them home. I think if V didn’t see them with any members, they’ll be fine.”

Worry twisted in Kaneki’s gut, but he swallowed it. What Itori knew was his disadvantage.

“Understood,” he muttered. Turning to his charge, he did a brief bow. “I hope the usual will suffice, sir.”

“You won’t charge extra?” said the man, curious if not unimpressed. His coat was voluminous over his slim frame, drowning him out. Kaneki gave a thin smile.

“Their killing of me is only a bonus.”

Hide felt like he’d been there forever when the door to the bar finally opened. He saw a tall man that seemed to be rather large—or maybe that was just his over-garments—and Kaneki, dressed in his dark clothes. So Kaneki worked there, after all. Or maybe he lived there, too.

Hide watched the pair progress down the street. Around here, there were little to no crowds for Hide to hide behind. sh*t, what did he do?

Once they were past, he crept out of his hiding spot to the mouth of the alley, staring down the road until he saw what he suspected was their destination: a dark car parked on the edge of the busier road that this one intersected with. Hide swallowed. He could hear snippets of their conversation, but he needed more. He had to follow them. Was Kaneki going to accompany the guy home? Was he going to kill the guy? What was happening?

Hide looked up and down the quiet street, save for the hustle and bustle behind closed doors and fogged windows. The snow had begun to build up as a thin film over the ground, barely anything that would help him or be a disadvantage.

Slowly, Hide undid the jacket around his waist. He couldn’t afford to be fluoro orange now. He set it on the bins beside him, planning to come back and get it later. It was cold, but he had begun to grow used to it.

Hide set out a mental plan: as they got close enough to the busy street, Hide would go to their side of the road. Until then, he would creep along behind them, hiding whenever he could. Something told him that Kaneki would be very observant as he did so.

He leaned out, and when he was certain Kaneki and his partner has passed sufficiently, he crept along the shadowy wall, carefully overstepping the stairs to the next alley, where he waited until he felt comfortable again. Rinse, repeat.

His chest felt tight from forcing down his heavy breathing. sh*t, if he breathed too much, would Kaneki see that cloud of warm air leaving his mouth?

Once again, Hide watched them grow ever closer to the busier road. God, that place looked so much safer, now. From where he was, Hide saw a line of similarly parked cars along the side of the road. They’d parked next to a restaurant.

Was Kaneki just . . . walking them to their cars?

That would mean that Kaneki was simply ferrying patrons from the bar he probably worked at to their own respective chauffers. It was a service. Kaneki was a temporary bodyguard. That had to be it, right?

Kaneki stopped, holding open the door for his customer to climb into the car. Once the man was seated, he handed Kaneki something Kaneki assumed was money. Hide breathed out. For whatever reason, it hadn’t been happening before Kaneki started, because his partner got in the same car.

Hide watched Kaneki walk all the way back to the bar, alone. His client drove off.

Within a few minutes, Hide saw Kaneki make the same walk with someone else. This time a woman. The way she walked, that familiar kind of elegance, reminded him somewhat of that woman he had met in the bar. What was her name? Jeez, he couldn’t remember.

Kaneki walked the same way. Deposited her in a car. Received payment. Rinse, repeat.

Why? What use would there be in doing this? Hide was stumped. Could it be because of the CCG about? Was that it? Was he escorting known and dangerous criminals to their cars?

Was he guarding dangerous criminals?

What did that make Kaneki?

Biting his lip, Hide took the window of time from when Kaneki went into the bar to when he exited with another client to move along the street. He lost count of how many times he moved up a block. He lost count of how many times Kaneki ferried someone else new and equally dangerous. Nothing had happened. So, what was going on?

As he neared the end of the street, Hide decided to cross the road. There, he rearranged bins quietly and quickly so that he was essentially sitting in a small box nestled against the dumpster from the restaurant on the corner. He’d made sure no cars had seen him when he moved.

He crouched and waited for Kaneki’s approaching footsteps. This time, he could hear their conversation: another man.

“Has anything happened out there yet?” Itori asked as she readied another departing guest. She’d tidied up and changed outfit: make in her usual dark garb, she looked like the gang-operating bar-owner she really was. She looked positively scheming.

“No,” Kaneki admitted. But he had felt that same prickle on his neck, the same tingle down his sides. Someone was watching his every move.

He suspected V.

“But I’m sure there’s people out there.”

Itori hummed, giving the client a kiss on the cheek in departure. “Until next time, Mister.”

Kaneki didn’t remember this one’s name, either.

Someone from the rich section, the part Tsukiyama used to be part of before the CCG tore down his family home and arrested every servant in his house. They used to gather together and watch petty criminals face off dangerous tasks. They always died.

Kaneki thought of the time itori had him infiltrate the place. That had ended well, hadn’t it?

“A pleasure to see you again,” said his client. He offered Kaneki a cigarette from an ‘up market’ label. He winked at him. “I heard you smoked.”

“I do, yes,” Kaneki said, accepting one. He lit it with a quick flick of his lighter, eager to have his hands empty. The familiar distaste filled his lungs. It felt no different to the ones he usually smoked from the convenience store.

He didn’t say that. Instead, he said, “Thank you.”

They progressed a few steps in silence, before his client started up again. “I was talking with one of the Madams earlier,” he said, “and she was wondering what it took for you to do private business. What is it, pray tell?”

“I don’t do private work, my apologies,” Kaneki admitted. “I work only through the GLG.”

“Shame,” said the man. “We'd really pay you well. People of your kind are . . . difficult to come by.”

Yeah, just because those two only worked for Kanou. He was a prized commodity, after all.

“I understand,” said Kaneki numbly. “If I ever decide to work privately, I’ll let you know.”

A flash of movement caught his eye: something on the rooftops. Someone was here. Had they been the one setting his nerves off all along? He wasn’t sure.

“We’re being followed,” he said quietly to the ‘Mister’ with him. “I suspect it’s V. Let’s slow our pace so they don’t get to your car.”

Concern began to enter the man’s chubby face. He nodded curtly. “I agree. I do hope you’re . . . well, armed?”

Yes, I have two arms at the moment, Kaneki resisted the urge to spit. Dealing with these kinds of people set him on edge. He knew what they’d do to him if they had the chance. Just for pleasure. Just like that f*cking psycho—

There was a rustling of fabric in the alleyway beside them. Kaneki stopped.

“Mister,” he said levelly, “I think there’s someone there.”

That was the place. His nerves had been screaming about it. The alleyway behind the restaurant. Every hair on his body stood on end from that place. Something was here.

“If we continue quickly, don’t you think—”

Kaneki spun the instant he heard the struggle. A darkly-clothed figure was pressing a gun to the Mister’s head, ready to shoot. In an instant Kaneki pulled the man’s wrist away towards his feet, where he fired onto the concrete beside him.

Kaneki grabbed the V member’s hand and twisted, before kneeing the man in his twisted joint. There was a tight whimper of pain before Kaneki grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the alley wall behind him, cutting off any scream he could have done.

“Stand off the road,” Kaneki commanded. “There may be more.”

His client hurried into the shadows behind him. Now Kaneki knew what was coming. A request. “Show me how to . . .” fill in the blanks. Something was coming.

His client closely examined the suffocating man. Now that his hood had fallen off, he was simply a man in his mid-twenties, too skinny with dark hair. He must have been dragged into V after causing too much trouble.

“This is V, isn’t it?” Mister said, pinching the man’s chin. Kaneki watched his eyes bulge dully. It took around three minutes to suffocate someone from this method, but he would lose consciousness in around fifty seconds.

“It is,” Kaneki affirmed.

Mister spat at the man’s feet. “Mongrels. Took the beautiful Rize away from us. Itori even told me they’d been copying her technique as a message to us! They make me sick!”

Kaneki loosened his grip ever so slightly. He saw the blood rush back into the man’s face as oxygen entered his blood stream. Kaneki felt distant. Had he really become so used to being this . . . soulless?

As if someone like him had a soul.

“Teach them what Rize really does,” commanded Mister, stepping back. Anger was flowing in his voice like a vicious undercurrent to a river, tearing through the rocks at the bottom. “Use him as a message to V.”

“With all due respect, Mister,” Kaneki said evenly, “I do have clients after yourself.”

Kaneki heard the hit coming before he felt it. A vicious backhand across the cheek. It stung.

A little.

“Are you refusing my request, Kaneki?” The man leaned forward, breathing into Kaneki’s ear. Kaneki kept his eyes trained on his victim. He wouldn’t look. Maybe today, he didn’t want to kill so badly. Maybe he wanted to think about terrible horror movies and—

No.

“Kaneki,” said the man angrily into his ear. It was almost a growl; low and smooth, but reverberating with anger. “Are you familiar with a girl called . . . my, I believe she goes by the name ‘Nami’ to us, yes? So, Kaneki . . . what if I told you that, well . . . I know where she goes to school every day? What if I told you that?”

Kaneki dropped the cigarette he’d forgotten he was clenching in his free hand. It was like a switch. An off-switch to himself.

“As you wish,” he said. “But please, stand back. It’s messy.”

“As you wish,” Kaneki whispered. “But please, stand back. It’s messy.”

Hide held a hand pressed against his mouth as he watched the situation unfold. From where he was behind the garbage bins, he saw Kaneki’s back and the taller, larger man he was escorting. What did they mean? Rize—that had been the name of the woman he’d met, he was sure. The one that was a ‘straight-up, open serial killer’.

Hide could have screamed.

His nerves were fried. First, from the movie. Then he’d seen Haise’s true identity, and now—

Oh, God.

He could only watch in silence as in a violent, hurried away, Kaneki angrily pressed his mouth against his choking victim’s, paused for a moment, and then tore his head away angrily.

Hide heard the splash of blood before he saw it.

Kaneki reached up and took the muscle from his mouth. Holy sh*t, the guy had bitten off the man’s tongue. Over his shoulder, Hide could see the bloody maw that was the victim. Hot tears seared his cheeks. What the f*ck was Hide looking at?

Kaneki threw the man onto the ground, where he writhed with air and then choked on the blood in his mouth. Kaneki, now turning sideways, had a similarly bloody face. He spat the blood from his mouth—terrifyingly, in Hide’s direction.

Hide felt like he was watching a pure nightmare.

Next, he watched Kaneki pull a small blade from his belt and then sit, straddling the man’s hips and pushing him into the ground. With his armed hand, he slit the man’s neck open.

Kaneki sat there for a few moments, completely still, before he was satisfied with how utterly dead the V agent was.

He stuffed the disembodied tongue into the man’s gaping second smile.

He stood and wiped his hands on his pants. “There. It’s done.” Smooth. Empty. Soulless. Hide couldn’t think. What the f*ck? What the f*ck? What the f*ck?

“You seem to know how she does it quite well, the lovely Binge Eater.”

Kaneki didn’t reply. “I’ll see you off now, Mister. Just for your notice, I’ll charge extra for that.”

“But of course!” said the man, following the stoic Kaneki out of the alley. “I would think no less!”

As soon as they were gone Hide stood. He had to get away. He had to leave. He couldn’t bear to look at the brutal murder that had just taken place. What the f*ck was happening? People received therapy for less than this!

He couldn’t care about stealth. He had to get away. sh*t, how had he got here? Where did he go? He felt like he was boxed in: Kaneki, Haise, murder, gang, Kaneki, Haise, murder, gang.

What the f*ck had he done?

He stumbled down the road. Nothing seemed to click in his whole body. In the distance he saw that stupid glow of the fluoro jacket he’d left. He ran towards it, feeling like his legs would give out any second. He needed it. He needed it. He needed that stupid nod to normalcy. He needed something not stained in blood and murder and deceit and—

“Hide?”

Hide froze. Everything turned to ice. Every cell froze in its tracks. He felt like his body was breaking, like every system was shutting down until he just stopped right there.

He turned around slowly, and saw the bloody face of Kaneki Ken.

Chapter 14: Lifeforms

Chapter Text

Hide watched Kusumi cry beside him on the canal. The sun was setting, and he had an arm over her shoulders. In their little pocket of nowhere, he held her in silence.

She’d been dumped by her boyfriend, Takashi.

Her sobs were always quiet. She was a deeply quiet person, Kusumi. She used to be boisterous, but after her mother’s remarriage, she’d grown distant. Hide had his suspicions, but he had long realised it really was just crushing loneliness.

“Thanks, Hide,” she muttered against him. “You’re always here for me. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” said Hide, smiling brightly. The more happy things she had in her life, the better. Hide thought that every time they were around each other. If Hide had gone to Tokyo Central High School like he’d wanted, he wouldn’t have been here to comfort her at that moment.

She sat up, rubbing at her eyes. “It’s so dumb,” she admitted. “That I’d cry over an aresehole like him.”

Hide grinned. “He is a douche, isn’t he?”

Kusumi gave a sharp laugh. “Yeah,” she agreed. She slowed her breathing, leaning back and tilting her face into the golden rays of the setting sun, as if she were trying to suck up its warmth through her pristine pores.

“Will you stay here?” she asked softly. “Stay here with us? It will be a cloudy place without you, Hide. Tokyo’s sun never shines through the pollution.”

Hide threw himself back, lying on the steep slope of the grass. “I want to go,” he admitted. “Ma doesn’t like it, though.”

“Mm,” she hummed. “Your mother’s right. Tokyo is full of bad people.”

Kusumi had gone to grade school in Tokyo before her family split. Her mother took custody of her and moved back to where she’d been from, the country. It made integrating into a country environment very hard for Kusumi, and as such she’d struggled to make friends.

She had, though. Hide was glad.

They’d met at the bus stop one night on the way back from school. She only needed it for a few stops, not the distance Hide usually took during winter.

“What’s your name?” he asked one day, trying to not look like he was hitting on her. “Mine’s Hide. I’ve been here forever. You’re newish, right? From Tokyo? Must be a change, right?”

Kusumi started crying before she could respond.

Hide remembered fondly how bad he’d freaked out, thinking he’d done something wrong. In the end, they ended up becoming best friends shortly.

She was, as Hide liked to say, a connection.

But it felt like even she was always an arms length away.

“You should stay,” she said, dropping back to her elbows as she watched the sun set. Her lashes were long and dark, like her hair. “Without you and Takashi, there will be nothing here.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Hide laughed. “I have to actually sit the finals, first. You do, too. Hey, maybe you could come with me.”

Kusumi laughed. “As if someone like you would fail the tests. Even if you did, the Federal Police or something would come and drag you in—maybe even the CCG! Imagine that!”

Hide sighed contently. “Yeah,” he murmured into the stillness of the memory. “Imagine that.”

“Hide,” said Kaneki, voice ringing like an empty glass. “What are—what are you doing here?”

His face was covered in blood. It flowed over his chin, down his neck, over the front of his clothes. Blood, blood, blood. Someone else’s blood.

Could he have done that to Hide back then when they’d first met? Was that what he’d been thinking at the time?

Surely not, right?

Right?

Hide tried to force words from his throat, but failed. Nothing would come. Nothing word form coherence. He was lost in shock.

Kaneki reached out as if to get his attention, but then stopped. He must have seen the blood all over his hands and decided against it, dropping his hands to his sides.

His nails were black.

Were Haise’s nails black too?

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Kaneki whispered. “You’ve been following me since . . .” his voice dwindled, as if he was scared of the thought.

He could kill a man in cold blood but couldn’t deal with Hide following him?

“What are you?” Hide said sharply. It came out hard and accusatory, but he wouldn’t have it another way. Kaneki shrunk away from his words.

“I—”

The reaction started it. Hide realised, now, that it hurt. He’d cherished moments with Sasaki. He’d thought they meant something. And now, despite any rational fear he was burning and seething with anger. Was this what it meant to not hold someone at a distance?

Hide wanted none of it.

“You—you f*cking—just, the guy, and . . . you . . .” Hide balled his fists. In contrast to his anger, Kaneki straightened and turned around. Hide could only stare at those broad, dark shoulders.

“No one asked you to accept this,” he said. His voice, like Hide always noticed, was smooth and even. Absent of feelings. Absent of guilt. It sounded like it came from an empty, empty vessel with someone whispering at the far side. “No one asked you to come.”

Hide bit his lip. He wanted to scream, or shout, or anything.

Kaneki sighed. He pulled out a cigarette, and Hide watched the plume of smoke trail into the dark sky in front of him. “The last thing you’d want is some comfort from a man covered in blood,” Kaneki said. “If you leave now, I promise that no harm will come.”

What was he asking of him?

“If you turn around now and go back to that student life, no harm will come to you,” Kaneki went on. “I’ll leave it, your life. I’ll have never been part of it. I won’t interfere. It’s fine; sell me out. I don’t mind. You can be a normal student with normal friends and normal parties. I won’t take that from you.”

“What?”

“Just . . . please leave, Hide.” Kaneki held his cigarette but had yet to take a drag from it. It just stayed in his pale hand, still and creating smoke. “You saw it, right? This life I lead. It won’t benefit either of us if you linger here.”

“Who is Sasaki Haise?”

The words were out of his mouth before Hide could stop himself. His hands were shaking. Everything was shaking. “What about him? Do you believe in ghosts, Kaneki? I do. I believe in them because every time I see you I’m looking at one. You’re just . . .” Hide was so angry, and he felt so bad. He was guilty. He had no right to critique Kaneki’s life, but every bubbling, thick, ugly thought came to his mouth and he kept talking.

“What’s the point of having a living, breathing, perfectly healthy body if you’re so dead behind the eyes?”

Kaneki made no response. Finally, he sucked in the smoke from his cigarette. He held it for a few long seconds before he blew it out. Hide felt like his anger was being blown away like that smoke. God, he was so useless. Complaining to a f*cking serial killer that they had no feelings. How could they? How could he try and deal with liking Sasaki Haise if the boy was just a ghost? Kaneki was a ghost, too; Ghost boys and ghost people.

Everyone was a ghost long dead behind beating hearts and breathing lungs.

“What is the point?” Kaneki agreed distantly. “But you know, Hide, ghosts are real. We make them every second of every day. A decision you make can cost someone else’s life. Every second of every day, Hide, part of you dies. When you get old that you don’t fear death because every part of you is already long gone.” His voice was empty. It wasn’t even bitter.

Kaneki looked over his shoulder. His eyes were flat like the surface of the moon; scarred and distant and only visible when the much more noticeable sun was out of the sky. They were dead and cold, without oxygen or atmosphere, just a chunk of lifeless rock floating around Earth. Cold and alone.

“It’s fine. I doubt I was worth your time, anyway.” Kaneki started across the road, his cigarette stuffed in his mouth. “Thanks for what we had.” He waved over his shoulder.

Hide balled his fists. This was so f*cked up.

“I swear, you—” Hide glared at the ground. “f*ck it! Fine then, Kaneki Ken. Have it your way. I’ll go back to my student life! I’ll go back to the CCG! And you know what? I’ll f*cking wait for you to come back, you hear me?”

Hide stormed off. He hated himself. He hated himself so much. Someone had died and here he was caring about the killer, holy sh*t. That one, tiny part of his brain was still whirring, desperate to find a reason, to paint Kaneki in the right colours to make him a human being again. It was trying so hard, and Hide gave in. He wanted Kaneki to be painted in those colours. He wanted Kaneki to be good and beautiful and he wanted to f*cking love Kaneki Ken. He wanted to.

But it was so, so wrong, wasn’t it? To love a monster?

Hide shrugged his coat on. Men and monsters, what was the difference anymore?

“I won’t be coming here anymore.” Kaneki sat at the bar of Anteiku, sipping his warm coffee. “My Aunt found out that I’ve been here. I’m always late for deliveries because I come home late. She . . .” Kaneki’s hands were shaking violently. God, he was so scared. He was so scared.

Yoshimura gave a reassuring pat of his shoulder. “You can hide here, Kaneki.”

Kaneki searched his eyes for a lie, before glaring into his cup in frustration. “You don’t understand,” Kaneki insisted. “She knows this place. That’s why . . . that’s why I’m running away.”

He wished he’d done this sooner.

Yoshimura was silent for a pensive moment while she dried glasses. “Where will you go?”

“I don’t know,” Kaneki admitted. “Anywhere but here.”

“Hide here,” Yoshimura said without looking up. “She’ll come looking, but she won’t find you. I can guarantee that.”

Breathing was so f*cking hard.

“I can’t,” Kaneki wheezed out. “Her connections are . . . powerful.”

“How do you know I’m not?”

Kaneki, against his better judgement, allowed a slim smile. “I don’t.”

“Learn to trust in others, Kaneki,” said Yoshimura. “I will promise you—I can swear on my life that you can stay here in peace. I’m sure Mrs Ryouko’s will is the same.”

Kaneki’s smile disappeared.

What about Hinami? What about the little girl that he had been teaching how to read while he was here? What about that poor lapse of judgement that led to such an unnecessary and painful attachment for her? Didn’t she know?

Regardless, he wanted her to stay safe.

Living at Anteiku was . . . it would be a dream.

He was terrified of dreaming.

Dreams always led to nightmares.

“I . . . I can’t,” Kaneki said. Alone in the empty café, he felt small and open. His emotions were laid bare. He was so, so scared of tomorrow.

If only tomorrow would never come.

Yoshimura sighed. “I see,” he said. “It’s your choice. But, if you ever want to return . . . you can always come here. No matter the time. Here, have a key.” Yoshimura reached onto the keychain he kept hooked under the cashier and handed Kaneki a small, unused silver key. “Remember. Any time.”

Kaneki didn’t even feel ashamed that he was crying as he accepted the key. He’d never received this kind of compassion before.

“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you so much.”

The rest of the conversation was a blur, but Kaneki distinctly remembered them taking a photo together. For Hinami, he’d told himself, so that she could remember him when he was long gone, a body floating along the canal.

It seemed the most plausible.

It was what came after Kaneki never remembered. It seemed that in between those careful, warm moments, the heat became excruciating and his blood became cold. Before he knew it, Anteiku was in flames.

That was when he was nabbed.

It was the last time he ever saw Anteiku standing.

“Hey, Trashika—” Nishio called him from the couch, but Hide slammed the door and walked right into his bedroom. No socialising. No happiness. Nothing. He wanted to lie on his bed and be angry at everything.

He tried to slam the door, but Nishio caught it before he could. The taller man stood in the doorway, bespectacled gaze unimpressed. “It’s three in the f*cking morning, what have you been doing all night?”

Hide wanted to punch something. Mainly himself.

“Stuff.”

Nishio leaned against the doorframe. “Huh. Could have sworn I’ve never heard of them at Kamii. What were you really doing, Hide? You reek of the 24^th ward.”

“Leave me alone, Nishio,” Hide sighed as he flopped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t want to deal with anything right now. Just a few days ago, he’d been having the time of his life naively throwing around suspicions—f*ck, yesterday he’d been having a grand old time. Amazing how a few seconds can change one’s perception so quickly.

Nishio shrugged. “Well, next time you plan on getting involved with the f*cking gangs of Tokyo, come in more politely. Also, stop being so f*cking spoiled.”

“I’m not—”

Nishio silenced him with a raised hand. “You are. Don’t deny it. Go to sleep, Bitchika.”

Hide stared at the dark ceiling.

What was he even doing? Ugh, he must have been so desperate. He wanted to do something to relieve this pent-up, frustrated energy in him, but he couldn’t. He was tired of moving. Tired of doing.

Lying there angrily seemed like a great plan, after all.

Five minutes later he decided it wasn’t.

He sat up and paced along the room for a solid few minutes, disregarding any noise he would have been making. Sometimes he wished he worked out so that he had something to do with all this energy he had.

Typing wouldn’t do it. He needed a book.

He dug out an old spiral notebook and flicked on the lamp. At his desk, he began to write. He felt so stupidly childish, writing a f*cking diary about the boy he had a serious problem with.

No, he was going to study Kaneki’s problems.

In High School, he’d written an extended essay on Psychology. Originally he’d planned on studying Criminal Psychology and Forensic Science, but somewhere along the way his goals had changed and he ended up with Journalism and Creative Writing. Maybe he’d swap next semester or something.

Or he just picked a fourth subject like Haise.

Thinking about him in a remotely positive way made him angry! sh*t!

Hide ran his hands through his hair angrily. It was three in the morning, and he was full of energy. Work tomorrow would be so much fun.

He started writing.

1. Doesn’t display typical traits of psychopathy
2. Doesn't display typical sociopathic traits

That was a start. Hide had to get those two lines off his chest: whatever Kaneki was, it was atypical. Some part of his brain began to acknowledge a thread of multiple-personality disorder, but it didn’t seem like Kaneki was unaware of Haise. Was Haise aware of Kaneki?

Hide ran through a list of reasons for this, and found nothing of value. There were a lot of holes in Haise’s story, however. Haise was—Hide was fairly sure of it—a conscious coping mechanism Kaneki had designed as well as a civilian identity. Or perhaps it had originated as a civilian identity and slowly grown into a therapeutic lifestyle. Maybe that was it.

Could it be a form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?

Hide opened up his laptop, now curious. Sure, Kaneki didn’t really look healthy but he didn’t look like he would die at any second—

Hide paused, reading the results of his search:

“PTSD can often be onset by … the witnessing of traumatic events.”

Well, crap. Maybe Hide wasn’t in the clear.

Hide shook his head vigorously, as if trying to shake the images out of his head. He couldn’t think like that yet. He couldn’t dwell on those memories too long or they would fester and wound him from the inside.

“The best thing to do is forget scary stories,” his mother had told him.

God, he was thinking about her a lot, lately.

Maybe when this current tumultuous time calmed down a little, he’d reach out. Then again, if he ever did get involved in CCG fieldwork, he’d be witnessing those things on a daily basis. Hide swallowed. Akira had mentioned the undercover work she’d been sent to do as part of her trainee program, and some of it was terrifying even to Hide.

If Akira could do it, then Hide wouldn’t accept less of himself.

That’s great, Hide. Move on.

Ordering himself, he continued his research. As far as he could see, modest clothing didn’t seem to be any indication of a PTSD sufferer. Heightened guilt, loss of sleep, jerky movements, increased anxiety—some of these were ticking Haise’s boxes.

Why were none ticking Kaneki’s?

Angrily, Hide scrawled down: PTSD?????

Good. Now he’d remember.

He got up and paced some more. Maybe it was dumb of him to try and classify Kaneki and Haise into a single psychological disorder. He wasn’t an expert. He didn’t have any right to do so without the facts. He was making assumptions, and as his humanities teacher in High School had taught him again and again: “assumptions are the enemy of attaining knowledge.”

Fine, then.

But if Kaneki wasn’t a typical psychopath, then why could he so easily murder people? He had killed— Nope, Hide told himself, not going there—but he had done bad things, and he did lead a bad lifestyle.

Hang on—white hair. What if it wasn’t bleached?

Hide sat himself down in his desk chair again. He’d read about it in his European history class, that one French queen whose hair went white in the days before her execution—

Mary Antoinette Syndrome is the sudden whitening of the hair.

Hide was worried, now. Why were there no ‘official’ cases of the syndrome?

Research says that, due to stress, stem cells can often leave the hair follicles in order to repair other parts of the body, causing hairs to lose their pigment and turn white. Stress, the product of cortisol, can be found to damage the hippocampus (responsible for episodic memory). Chronic stress can cause premature brain aging.

That supported the theory pretty well, but the amount of stress someone would have to be under would be phenomenal. Marie Antoinette’s hair was said to have turned white over ‘three days’ (according to folklore), that it was probably the product of continued stress over the state of her country, since the king was a pretty big numbskull.

No, Hide was getting distracted. He always did this when he researched anything.

Could that . . . be possible? He knew it was genetically possible to be born with very, very, pale hair, and various constructions of faces caused parts of hair to have no pigment—but really, was it actually possible? Or was it a statement piece?

If it was dyed, well, it was fairly consistent. Hide had seen the guy most days of the week and not seen a single root poking through—although, he did wear a beanie—but his hair was white to his eyelashes. Surely no one had that level of dedication when dyeing their hair.

Hide rubbed his face angrily. Now he was becoming less angry. This wasn’t good.

Jesus, was this a breakup or something?

Hide groaned and threw himself onto his bead. He left the tab open on the computer and studied the way its artificial light lit up the room. What was his life? What was anything?

Why was Kaneki Ken so . . . complicated?

It should be simple: Kaneki Ken is violent serial killer. Done. Hide would push him away and be done with the whole business. But Haise . . . it wasn’t part of Haise. Was that intentional?

Kaneki had tried to not kill the man, Hide remembered, but still had when threatened. It wasn’t like he’d been put under much pressure, anyway.

So Kaneki had connections. Someone in school. Someone he cared about.

“I know where they go to school.” Sure. Kaneki didn’t want any issues so he did as asked and got more money for it. He doubted the guy felt any worse for it.

Hide massaged his hand. Hadn’t he held Haise’s in it earlier that day?

Hide sighed, finally letting himself be exhausted. The world was screwed up, he decided. Everyone was screwed up. Everyone in their own little way.

Or big way.

Or very large way.

f*ck it, Hide decided, and pulled the covers up over his filthy clothes.

They’d met a while back. Kaneki had been sitting at the counter in the early hours of the morning when a woman and her daughter came through, soaked to the bone from the rain. Yoshimura had him gathering towels instantly, but Kaneki already knew their problems ran deeper than being cold and wet.

The little girl dried herself off with hands that were either numb from the cold or from shock. Probably both.

The whole affair had been distant.

The next time he came, the girl’s mother was sitting at the counter. She looked ragged and exhausted, but for whatever reason she treated Kaneki kindly.

“Thank you for last time,” she said. “I didn’t introduce myself; my name is Ryouko. You?”

“Kaneki,” he replied. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Silence.

Kaneki made himself a coffee. Yoshimura wasn’t manning the counter.

“Hey, Kaneki,” said Ryouko slowly, knitting her fingers together in thought. “If . . . if I were to disappear, would Hinami be all right here?”

The saddest thing Kaneki ever realised was that when people talked like that, they weren’t hypothetical.

“Yes,” he said. The answer came easily. “She would be safe here.”

The woman tensed and hung her head. “And . . . would you look after her?”

“Of course,” Kaneki said. He meant it. “I promise you.”

She smiled at him, relief in every inch of her face. It was beautiful in a condemned, melancholic way.

When he came next, Yoshimura was at the counter with Hinami in silence.

Ryouko was dead.

Chapter 15: Nescience

Chapter Text

Hide picked up the call. “Ma?”

“Hide!” she cried into the phone. “We’re at the station, where are you?”

“The train’s slow,” he said. “We’re stuck in the snow, I think.” It was true: the train had slowed considerably since he’d boarded. After a train out of Tokyo, a change over to the prefecture line, and then finally a train that would take an hour to where he had to go, and now it was slowing down. He was meant to be there twenty minutes ago.

“That’s terrible,” said his mother. He could hear the wind whistling into the speaker. Guilt was already worming the way up his gut. His parents were out there waiting for him.

“Hey, if the weather is too bad I can meet you at home—”

“Oh, they just made an announcement,” she said. He heard her say something to his father, who said something back. The wind was sharp in the speaker.

“We’ll be in the waiting room,” she told him. “Don’t even think about telling us to go home, Hideyoshi. We’ve even brought tea.”

Hide thought of them fondly: two farmers layered up in their snow clothes huddled around a hot thermos of tea.

“Okay, I’ll see you then.” He hung up.

He missed them. He’d really missed them, he realised.

Sitting through all his classes alone had really done a number on him. He hadn't realised just how much he relied on Haise for company. When he sat with Takashi, they barely spoke despite Hide’s best efforts. Takashi was just . . . Takashi.

Exams came and went. Haise didn’t come once.

Christmas holidays rolled around and Hide packed his bags and bid his two-week farewell to Nishio before jumping on the first train out. Even four hours on the train wouldn’t stop him.

He’d taken this train many times. He recognised the landmarks and watched them eagerly behind the curtain of falling snow. The walls of the carriage whistled and buckled from the wind, cold air seeping through the doors, but Hide wanted out. He’d tried sitting, standing, walking and even running, but nothing had worked. He felt like a kid again, coming home from his week away.

Except he’d been away for many, many months.

He’d go home and he’d go to his old, trashy, teenage room, which he’d left messy and unwelcoming, booby trapped to keep his mother from reading anything sensitive of his, which was literally just that one crappy magazine he’d bought as a fifteen year old and found no interest in but never threw away. He’d do it now, as a responsibly university student, he decided. He’d toss it into the bin and move on with his life.

Looking for something to do, he scrolled through all his open messages. Most of them were to his classmates, telling them happy holidays and telling Akira and Amon that he was away and he’d bring them back treats from his grandparents (because they always made too much food) and then he saw the message from Haise, who had been texting him from the movie theatre.

Haise: hey im here ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ

Haise: okay I guess im early no biggie

Haise: wow r u sure u wanna see this film i think ur gonna crap ur pants

That was it. That was the last message that he’d received.

Jeez, Hide felt like someone had died. No one had died. He just knew a little more now.

Was that any different?

He went back to pacing the carriage. The only other patron was an old man whom Hide assumed was coming back from town. He’d fallen asleep, slumped forward with his chin on his chest. He looked kind of content in that blob-like, sleepy way.

Hide leaned against the wall, staring out the window. He could see the lights of the tracks in the distance, but no sign of the station. Dimly, Hide began to draw smiley faces in the fog his breath made on the glass.

His parents—bless their souls—would be incredibly invasive. He couldn’t hide anything from them, ever. How would he keep the whole Kaneki thing under wraps? How would he keep the CCG quiet? Look, he should just say that he worked in the local convenience store if they asked. Surely that wasn’t too suspicious for them.

On the topic of Kaneki—

Hide slumped onto the chair. That was how it started, wasn’t it? The whole problem. He’d think, and then Kaneki is . . . and would end up angry and muttering and researching everything like a madman. So far he’d compiled a list of things worth investigating.

Not that he would, right?

He strained his eyes for the station. Kusumi would be here, in this town. Everything that was simple and positively dull would be here. There would be no need to tend to the open crops in this weather. They’d all be gone already. His life would be herding the chickens at the crack of dawn out of the hatch to collect eggs.

He tried not to be too excited about it.

Kaneki wondered what Hide was doing.

The weather outside was cold and miserable. Even with heaters turned on and armed with hot drinks, the air remained frosty.

Maybe if Touka would talk to him it would seem less made of ice.

“She hates you at the moment,” Ayato warned him, “because apparently you were a ‘giant, sh*tty, f*cking idiot’.”

That had been several weeks ago. It was always a marathon with Touka: whose resolve would buckle first? Normally he would have apologized to her, but this time he didn’t. He didn’t want to.

Besides, it wasn’t like he needed her to paint him up daily anymore.

“Ayato, can you pass me the instant coffee?” Touka was standing at the stove, making breakfast or scrambled eggs. Kaneki didn’t feel like eating, but he knew that with Touka cooking he wouldn’t hear the end of it until he’d licked the plate clean.

“Get it yourself, dumbass,” Ayato muttered, struggling over his homework. Even if he was a lout at times, it calmed Kaneki to see him working at the kitchen table. His dark hair was a mess and his eyes were red from the cold he’d awoken to.

Kaneki wondered what it would be like to live in anything that wasn’t run-down, cheap and in a bad neighborhood. Still, for two young adults and a minor, it was pretty good. Even if Kaneki was never in during the night.

“Oi dipsh*t,” Touka snapped over her shoulder, dark eyes sharp and sleep-deprived early on a Monday morning, “give me the f*cking coffee.”

Kaneki sipped at his own drink.

Domestic civility at its finest.

“I’m working,” Ayato growled, “unlike someone over there!”

“Do you want to cook the f*cking eggs, huh?” Touka snapped around, slapping her tea towel on the table. “I asked you nicely. What’s with you?”

Ayato glared at her. “I’m busy.”

Touka growled. Angrily, she snatched the jar off the coffee table herself, pointedly not looking at Kaneki. “Be that way, dickhe*d.”

“Leaned from the best,” Ayato muttered onto his page.

“It’s a form of ‘rain’,” Kaneki supplied softly as he struggled with kanji. “Think of Takatsuki Sen.”

Ayato gave him a sour look but said nothing. Ayato always seemed to be angry, these days. Kaneki knew he meant no harm, but it made him wonder. He knew the siblings were close, but now that Touka had finished school and was going to university in a few months, he’d grown distant.

Kaneki was no longer well-versed enough in human interactions to figure out why. It wasn’t like Touka would talk to him about it, either.

So dead behind the eyes, that same voice reminded him. What’s the purpose of having a healthy, living, breathing body?

Kaneki grew tired of that train of thought before he could fully follow it. He turned his attention to his coffee. “When’s Hinami coming back?”

“Friday,” Ayato said. “She’s coming with a group from school. Touka’s going to get her.” He was beginning to calm, as if the very mention of her name had a profound affect on him. Hinami had got an Arts scholarship to a boarding school, and so she was never home. Kaneki was happy about that. Any distance from this business was good distance.

He could hardly believe he’d been the one to teach her how to read and write.

Hardly. But he could.

Because he had.

“Ayato, is her room clean? I know you’ve been dumping sh*t in there,” Touka said, dividing the eggs over three plates. “Clean up all your art crap. The girl has to sleep in there, you know.”

Ayato grunted but gave no further indication of having understood. Seeing him bent over a grammar question, Kaneki questioned himself as to whether he should help.

Ayato wouldn’t appreciate it.

Touka smacked the plate of eggs down in front of the both of them. “Eat,” she said to neither of them.

Kaneki picked at it hesitantly; acutely aware of how Touka glanced at him when she thought he couldn’t see. Inwardly, he sighed. Food tasted like nothing, just the oily, gelatin texture across his tongue.

He ate it quickly and pushed the plate away before washing his mouth out with black coffee. Coffee, in all its bitterness, he could at least taste somewhat.

“I’m heading out tonight,” Touka said.

On a job? Kaneki wondered. Unusual for her on a Monday. Usually, Kaneki worked Mondays. And Tuesdays. And Wednesdays. And every other day of the week.

Obviously sensing the confusion at the table, she clarified: “On a date.”

Oh. Kaneki and Ayato shared a silent look. A date.

“Do you want to learn?” Kaneki had asked one night. He always felt like he had to whisper in the vast emptiness of late-night Anteiku. The younger girl, Hinami, regarded him with large eyes.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, please.”

He looked over the book she was reading. Normally, it was read by someone half of her age. “Have you ever been to school, Hinami?” he asked softly.

He knew the answer before it came. “No,” she admitted. “I . . . it would have been hard for me.”

Kaneki understood. No one liked to be the school ghost because they had to pretend their criminal parents didn’t exist. The kid with no story. No past. They were just there.

Kaneki knew the role well.

“It’s fine,” he said gently. “You know the basic hiragana, right?”

Hinami nodded eagerly, listing them off fluently. Kaneki nodded, thoughtful. “Can you write them?”

“No.”

“Okay,” said Kaneki. “Why don’t I make you a sheet to practice them for me, and when I’m here next time you can show them to me, okay?” He took her notebook and precisely drew in every simple character. “This one is ka, this is ke, ko, ku . . .”

He lost track of time teaching the little girl how to read. When he got back, his aunt slapped him across the face and dragged him by the ear to his room. “No food,” she snapped. “Don’t go to school either, you piece of crap.”

Kaneki listened to her, of course. He didn’t set a foot out of that door except in the quietest of moments to slip to the bathroom. He could be the household ghost too: A faint, meandering spirit. His aunt had realized now that school was the only escape he ever received from this place, and she hated it.

It also meant he fell behind, so those perfect tests were hard to bring home. She was winning in every direction, even the way her own son never worked at all. He was winning too.

But Kaneki had energy, now. It didn’t matter how tired he was. He would teach this girl to read.

He spent all day dedicating a whole notebook to writing practice for her. He’d teach the girl everything she needed to know. She could go to any school she wanted if she had the grades. Kaneki would send her there. Dammit, he would send her there. He’d promised her mother that he would look after her, and he would educate her. He would save her from this life.

He stuffed the book into the front band of his pants when he left, pulling his jumper low to hide the square shape beneath the fabric. His aunt didn’t notice. So he did it again, and again, and again. She never noticed. Of course she’d never notice. It wasn’t leaving that bothered her. She knew he would come back. He always did.

Where else would he go?

“Hide!”

The woman was petite, with long, grey hair and the same angular eyes, but blue instead of brown. Her skin had paled under the winter sky, revealing her face full of freckles. She was running towards him, arms out in her hulking winter clothes, his father not far behind. In an instant he was swallowed up by her embrace.

He could have cried.

His father rubbed his head affectionately. “Welcome home, Hide,” he said.

His father, Nagachika Kousuke, had Hide’s nose: that sharp, elfish point to the face. His eyes were dark and warm, like a kindling flame. His skin was always dark from having lived out here his whole life, his dark hair turning grey under his beanie. He gave Hide his signature smile, which Hide had coined from him. He let him take his bags.

“It’s good to be back,” he told them.

“Oh, don’t give me that!” yelled his mother excitedly. She took his face in her hands and kissed every inch of it in a way only a mother could get away with. “I’m so glad you’re all right. How’s school? Hard? What about your roommate? Are they mean? Do you have money? Do you have a job? Do you—”

“Give him some space, Yoko,” his father chided. “The man needs air!”

“Boys don’t need anything other than their mothers!” she protested, looping her arm through his. “Did you come prepared? We’re completely snowbound at the farm. All the animals are in. It’s crazy!”

Hide smiled. This was the life he was used to: soft edges and mud, early mornings and tired nights. He could live this way.

“So, tell me!” said Yoko, nudging him in the ribs. “What’s gone on in your life? What’s the city like, after you left me?”

Hide was grateful she didn’t get angry. No, that would come later.

“It’s busy,” he admitted. “Full of weird and wonderful people.”

“It would be if you lived there,” his dad pointed out. Hide punched him in the arm, but he laughed it off. It was easy with his parents. After everything in the city, he couldn’t care less about embarrassing parents at all. Rather, he wanted them to be protective and embarrassing and recount stupid baby stories. It was stupid and comforting.

He felt like he needed it after the stuff he’d seen in the city.

They headed towards the truck, one of the few mechanical monsters capable of plowing through the snowy roads and mud of the fields. Hide had learned to drive in that thing, and even after the affectionately dubbed “Hurricane Hide” had passed through it, it chugged along.

Kousuke tossed the bags onto the backseat without much thought. “Hop in, hop in,” he said. “Don’t get us frozen solid, woman!”

“Be quiet,” his mother laughed. Sitting in the back seat, Hide regarded his parents interacting, as if Hide wasn’t there. It would have grown on them slowly, Hide knew, but now they went about their lives without him.

He felt his heart sink to the tip of his toes, despite himself.

He had become a stranger here, too.

The summer was Kaneki’s least favorite time of year. He walked out of Anteiku, hesitant. Any second, he could change his mind, rush back in and say, “Please, please take me in!”

But, at the same time, he couldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

He slung on his small backpack. It had his pitiful savings, a notebook, a pen, a public transport pass and his student ID. That was him: Kaneki Ken in a bag.

The heat was oppressive even in the night. Thick, muggy air beat down on his brow. Cicadas screamed into the empty space. He felt sweat already gathering down his back and forehead. His hair was matted to his face already despite only just leaving the air-conditioned interior of the cafe.

The next time he checked over his shoulder in hesitation, Anteiku was already out of sight.

It was weirdly liberating, walking from nothing to nothing. Having nothing in front of him, nothing behind him, nothing to bridge the gap that he was walking through. He was just a lone boy drifting between street lamps.

He used to love cicadas. He’d sit at his bedroom window, when he lived with his mother, and listen to them. For hours. Back then, their screams had been songs that drowned away the sound of his muffled crying. He’d loved them. Still, he loved them, but their songs had faded from his naïve mind. They were just screams, now.

Because why wouldn’t you scream when you were in the dark, surrounded by more screaming people?

He used to love those cicadas.

But they were from Before.

He came to realize, not much long after, that it was probably because he’d been listening to those screaming insects that he hadn’t noticed people come up behind him. He hadn’t noticed them stand behind him, gathering, ready to pounce. He hadn’t noticed at all.

He only noticed when hands were on his neck and his head was being slammed into the ground.

Again

And again

And again.

The same night his Before ended was the same night Anteiku went up in flames. He remembered lying on the ground, barely conscious, feeling the heat but unable to open his eyes. Blood had caked on his lids and his skin had swollen shut. The heat was burning. Burning him to his core.

Hinami, he’d thought. He’d failed Hinami. He’d failed Ryouko. He’d failed Yoshimura. He’d failed that girl he met only a day ago, whom he had hoped the best for. He’d failed his mother. He’d failed even his aunt. He’d failed happiness. He’d failed himself.

He was such a failure.

What was the point, he thought at that time, to continuing on? What was there for someone like him?

That was the end of his Before.

Chapter 16: Pacify [Him]

Chapter Text

“Nish*tty-o,” Touka greeted him as she walked in. The youth hardly looked up from his phone, waving her over.

“I thought you had a date tonight,” Nishio said, still looking down. “Why arrange something with me now?”

“My date isn’t until later,” Touka told him, sitting down. “I wanted to talk about Kaneki.”

“Here we go,” Nishio sighed, putting his phone in his jacket pocket. He looked up, adjusting his glasses back. “Do you know he showed up at Kamii the other day? No one told me he went there!”

“He’s been going there as Sasaki since the start of the academic year,” Touka told him. She hailed over a waiter, asking for a cappuccino.

“Who’s this Sasaki kid, anyway? What about ID? Kamii is tight as f*ck about those things.”

“Chie Hori made the card,” Touka said. “Sasaki is that kid from last year that he was sent to clean up. You remember him, yeah? The one that shot Kaneki?”

“How do I remember everyone that’s killed him?” Nishio grumbled. “Okay, fine. No one ever told me. Cool. I don’t care. What do you want to talk about?”

“Who’s the kid he’s been hanging out with?”

Nishio’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. This could be coming from any angle, if it was Touka. She wanted to do it for Kaneki’s benefit, but benefit had many forms.

“Why?”

The waiter delivered Touka’s coffee. “Thank you,” she told him, taking a sip. Her face was unreadable when she looked up at him again.

“Why do you think?”

“Did Uta put you up to this?” Nishio leaned on his hand. “If they have, I told you: I’m leaving. I can’t afford to screw around you gangs. If this is—”

“I haven’t talked to Kaneki about it, because you know how he is,” Touka cut him off. She looked down at her hands, clasping and unclasping on the table as she spoke. “He looked better for a while, but . . . I don’t know. Something’s happened and he’s even worse than usual.”

“He hit the switch again, didn’t he?”

Touka nodded gravely. “He sure did. Nearly everything is switched off, even when Hinami is coming home soon.”

Nishio sighed. “I thought that when I left I’d be free of this.”

“You can’t f*cking abandon him, Nishio,” Touka snapped, glaring at him with those intense, violent eyes. “Like it or not, you owe him too.”

Nishio looked away. Slowly, he sighed. “I think the guy found out about Kaneki. His name is Hide. A few weeks ago he came home at three in the morning in a great fuss and shut himself in his room. Some people are like that, but not Hide. He’s the kind of guy that’s always glued to a group of people.”

Touka breathed out, long and low. “Tell me about him.”

“Works at CCG.”

“Okay, not good.”

“He does Creative Writing with Kaneki.”

“Sasaki, but yes.”

Nishio muttered something to himself. “He’s only Sasaki when I’m talking to his face.”

“Fine. Go on. He works at CCG, does Creative Writing, what else?”

“He’s from the country. Smart kid. Too smart, I might even say. He’s on a scholarship.”

“Jesus.” Touka knew how hard it was to get a scholarship at Kamii. Nishio nodded in agreement.

“He’s much smarter than me. I think he’s suspected for a while that Kaneki and Sasaki are connected, but I guess it shocked him. Real bad.”

Touka hid her expression while she drank her coffee. Kaneki had done some f*cked up sh*t, but was there anything in particular that would screw up someone as intelligent as Hide? Especially if he’d suspected a connection between the two.

“I heard Tsukiyama joined the Creative Writing class,” Nishio said. “But I haven’t seen him on campus since, like, a few weeks back.”

“Yeah, because Kaneki stopped going to Kamii,” Touka said. “Just stopped. Idiot had something good in his life and then decided that he’d f*cked it up too bad and decided to hit the bail button."

“Jeez, I didn’t realise Tsukiyama had that much of a thing for the guy.”

“No,” Touka said, “Kaneki is Tsukiyama’s bodyguard whenever he’s out, remember?”

“Um, no?” Nishio looked sour. He pulled out his phone again and started texting someone—Touka assumed Kimi. Touka glanced at the clock on the wall, seeing her time tick away.

“Mirumo assigned Kaneki to Tsukiyama so he could go to night school. Tsukiyama sat the mid-year entrance exams and got into Kamii instead.”

“Okay,” Nishio said. “So Kaneki’s screwed him over as well?”

“I don’t think Kaneki’s even thought about anything other than going out at night for several weeks,” Touka admitted. “f*ck, what would do this to him?”

She remembered Kaneki coming home, his front covered in blood, his eyes glassy and empty. His face was bright red around the chin, like it’d been scrubbed clean. The neck of his jumper, always zipped up his throat, was soaked through with water, but he still carried the metallic scent of blood wherever he walked. Touka could only imagine what had happened.

“Is this Hide guy . . . a curious person?”

Nishio shook his head. “You have no idea.”

“Where is he?” Touka stood. It was time for her date.

“He went home for Christmas break,” Nishio told her. “He won’t be back for two weeks.”

“Dammit,” Touka cursed. She pulled out her phone, receiving a text from Yoriko: im here babe <3

“When he gets back,” Touka said, “I want to talk to him.”

“If Kaneki’s decided to distance himself, then maybe—”

“Kaneki probably thinks this 'Hide' sees him as a monster,” Touka said. She stood. “Don’t tell anyone about this.”

“Who would I tell?” Nishio said, raising an eyebrow. “I quit, remember?”

“Dumbass,” Touka muttered. “I’m counting on you, idiot.”

“Way ahead of you.”

Walking into his family home, Hide was instantly welcomed by his grandmother. “Hideyoshi!” she laughed. “Look at you! You’re so big!”

“It’s only been a year, Grans,” he said, grinning. “How’s Pops?”

“Asleep,” she grinned. Even she had the same grin of his father. They were all alike, the Nagachikas. “Lights out. Kaput.”

Hide snickered. “Typical.”

“Be nice, Hide,” his mother chided. “Dinner’s soon. Clean yourself up, okay?”

“Yes, do. Then we can talk.”

God, Hide loved his grandparents. He snuck into his old bedroom, and copped nostalgia like a punch to the face.

The curtains had been thrown open when his parents aired out the room recently, but it still smelled stale and old, like it had been quietly abandoned for the rest of the year. His bed was perfectly made, his cupboard bulging the same way it had been when he left, bloated from the humidity present even in winter. On his desk were the figurines he hadn’t moved since he was fifteen and outrageously pubescent and geeky, reading manga day and night. On the walls were a mix of Japanese movie posters and fancy American ones.

This was the Hide he’d left behind.

He sat himself down on the foot of his bed, listening to the howl of the blizzard outside. Even in here, the smell of wet soil and animals came through the wood. Fresh air seeped through the cracks. He couldn’t smell even a wisp of smoke. It was clean, country air.

What had been thinking when he left this room? What had been the last thought he’d had in here?

He didn’t know. It didn’t seem important at the time.

“All right, that’s enough,” he told himself. He stood and shook out his arms. He had to be a happy, happy kid now. He was. He was away from that city with its complicated people. For the next two weeks, he would be here with his family celebrating Christmas.

He wouldn’t even think about what was waiting for him when he got back. Nope. Not once.

He tossed his coat onto the bed and stretched. He scrubbed at his hands with warm water, washed his face, pushed his hair off his face. Yes, he’d take his holidays and use them as holidays.

“Hide, hurry up! Dinner!”

“Coming!” he called.

Amon Kotarou had never realised how much they relied on their part-timer. Even if Akira had given him a fancy title to make him like the job more, they were always relying on him to throw around ideas. That was the way it always was, having someone as intelligent as Hide in the mix.

That was why, when the Hirako Squad called for a meeting with themabout the violent attack that had occurred, he wished Hide had been there for an opinion.

A group of six lay dead in an alley. “A small gang,” said First-Class Kuramoto. “They appeared to be making the same Ice we’d found distributed by the GLG on separate occasions. Recently, we’ve also been finding them in the hands of Aogiri.”

Amon thought about the information Hide had brought back after that somewhat failure of an undercover mission: Aogiri were gaining power.

“From base speculation, I would guess that they must have switched their loyalties and the Ghouls went after them.” Kuramoto pushed forward a folder of images. “These are from the scene. Five of the six were killed by knifework: three with slit throats, one stabbed through the neck, and another’s kidney stabbed. The sixth was killed by a single gunshot wound to the head.”

Amon looked at the photos. Compared to what he’d seen, they were clean kills. Beside him, Akira scanned each one with an expert eye. “How many people do you suspect did this?”

Itou knitted his fingers. “Miss Mado, I’m sure you already have your suspicions.”

Akira smiled thinly. “Most of the stab wounds have an upward trajectory; they were done by someone shorter. These men are all tall, so that limits our options. The one stabbed through the throat definitely goes upward”—she flicked between the autopsy picture and the scene picture—“and another one has a downward slant. He was found face down, so I guess he was being held down on the ground. If they were quick, someone smaller than them could have done it.”

“Correct, as always,” said Itou, smiling. “So, how many people?”

“One,” Akira said with finality. “My guess is that he killed the five first, and the sixth one saw the scene. He was found near the entry to the alleyway a fair distance away on his back. If he was running forward, the momentum of a bullet through his head would throw him back. Moreover, it also has an upward trajectory. The shooter was probably still sitting on the man he killed on the ground. What type of gun was it?”

“We haven’t had any formal analysis yet, but it’s from a small handgun.”

Akira nodded. Amon already knew which direction this was pointing in.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Amon said heavily. “Kaneki.”

Itou shrugged. “Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t.”

“Oh, it’s him,” Akira said. “He’s been inactive for a while, but it’s him. Six men in the space of a few minutes. Smaller height. He’s an estimated 5’8”, right? These men are all over six foot. It all makes sense. Any other evidence found?”

“None,” said Itou.

“It’s him,” Amon said. He suppressed the urge to sigh. He’d met Kaneki twice, and both times it mystified him. He knew that he wasn’t meant to try and understand a murderer, a drug dealer no less, but he was just so different it stumped Amon. After all the people he’d put away as part of the job, Kaneki seemed . . . different.

He wasn’t sure if it was a good or a bad thing.

“It’s an unusual spot for him, isn’t it?” Itou mused, gathering his things. “He’s usually around the 20^th ward, but he ventured quite far out this time.”

“People move,” Akira said. She stood. “Keep us posted. Because he’s technically from our zone, we should be informed.”

“I will,” said Itou, giving a lazy salute. “Good work!”

As Hide was getting ready for bed, he heard a knock at the door. “Come in,” he said, pulling his pyjama shirt over his head. His mother smiled at him from the other side of the door.

“Are you too big for bedtime stories?” she smiled.

Hide almost laughed. “I thought I’d be the one giving you a bedtime story, granny.”

“Psh. I’m young still. Now, get under the covers,” calmly, she closed the door behind her. As Hide settled, she remained still for a moment longer. “So, what’s made you so sad?”

“What?”

Hide swallowed hard. Surely, she hadn’t noticed. Maybe he’d just had a sad thought. He didn’t feel too sad, so why . . . nah, he probably just gathered tears in his eyes from the bad cooking. Yeah, that must have been it. Or when Pops tried to be funny and spilled his sake all over the table. Hide had cried up from laughter.

It was silly for him to jump to the Kaneki conclusion.

Slowly, Nagachika Yoko sat herself down in Hide’s desk chair. “Don’t try and hide it. Did you meet someone and break up? Did you fail something? Miss someone? You can tell me. I’m your mother, and I’m worried about you.”

Ah, she had noticed.

Actually,Hide resisted saying, I ended up having a thing for this guy that ended up being a killer, and I work for the CCG, and I ended up in this fight where I got beat up like, only a few days after moving, and I actually tripped on LSD recently and I still feel kind of bad about that.

“Uh, no? Nothing’s wrong,” Hide assured her, lying through his teeth. “Maybe I’m just overwhelmed by how homesick I was!” he cried mockingly, placing a palm on his chest. “Such feeling!”

“Hide,” said his mother, voice grave. “Be serious.”

Hide pouted, looking away. “Maybe I, uh . . . didn’t do too well in Journalism . . .”

He hated lying to his mother.

“Hide!” Yoko cried, grasping his shoulders in relief, startling him enough to look at her. “Thank goodness, I thought you’d actually gotten hurt! I don’t care about how well you do in Journalism, Hide. Don’t stress yourself out about it. Your scholarship is for Forensics, right?”

“Yeah . . .” Hide rubbed the back of his head, grinning. “I just got a little worried about it.”

Yoko smiled. “Good. If you’d told me something bad had happened in the city, I’d probably lock you in this room so you don’t run back to it.”

Hide couldn’t tell if she was joking. He felt a cold sweat roll down his back, forcing his smile to stay in place. This wasn’t good.

She stood to leave. “It’s fine. Just move on and do better next time.”

As she started to exit, closing the door, her sharp eyes stared right into him, burning with intelligence.

“Also, don’t lie to me ever again, Hideyoshi. Sleep well!”

Closing the door, Hide realised just how obvious it had been that she'd see right through him.

Chapter 17: Minus Even

Chapter Text

“A greater power may take the man from Hell, but nothing may take the Hell from man.” When he was younger, he had read that line. Naively, he had connected it to his life: his aunt, his uncle, his school, his losses. He thought that he was in Hell. Surely, he was.

That’s what he had believed.

He had been wrong.

Hide found himself sliding back into his old life easily. By the time Friday morning came, he was already awake at 5 in the morning and layering up to visit the chicken hutch. Despite his mother seeing right through whatever lie he assured her with, she was tolerant of him in the house. He knew that when it got closer to his departure, she would probably trap him in his room like she had threatened him. His father would be powerless this time.

His gumboots beat through the snow that was building up around the house. The hay on the hatch’s floor was damp and probably beginning to rot. He’d have to clean it later, when the sun rose properly and the ice began to melt.

He threw open the hatch door and began the arduous process of taking eggs from grumpy morning chickens. He’d almost forgotten how it felt to have to lift sleepy birds up from their nests. He hadn’t however, forgotten when it felt like to have them peck at him despite the daily routine and the way one would freak out and wake up the rest of them.

Nope, he’d never forget that.

When he walked in with his load of eggs, his mother was awake and getting ready to make breakfast. “Morning, Hide,” she said, chirpy like a pre-dawn bird. “Got all the eggs?”

It took all of Hide’s self-control not to be awkward around her; ashamed that he was lying about everything she’d wanted to know. “Yep,” he said, dumping the basket on the bench. “Anything else need to be done?”

She shook her head, lighting the stove with a match as the gas whistled. “Your dad’s already headed out. However, if you could pop down to the market and buy some stuff for tonight, it would be good.”

Christmas in a country town was a hard task. Everyone around was traditional families who didn’t celebrate the Western holiday, unlike Tokyo, who geared up in tinsel and red and green lights, along with hoisting giant trees in city squares. Here, people had a produce sale for any travelling families on holidays. That was about it.

Hide guessed the only reason his family celebrated it was because it was an excuse for everyone to come together, and his mother liked it.

Maybe she had fond memories of it. He didn’t really know much about her childhood.

“I sure can,” he said. “Got a list?”

“On the table,” she said. She cracked an egg into a bowl and began whisking whilst the pan heated up. “No rush. We have until tonight, anyway. Don’t accept anything old, you hear me? You tell them Nagachika will come after them if they sell you yesterday’s goods!”

Hide was relieved when he ferried himself out the door. He rubbed his hands against the chill that was beginning to seep past his layers of clothing. From beside the family car, be pulled out his old bike, checking to make sure everything was in older. It looked sad and disused without him.

He wasn’t sure if the snow had been cleared from the roads yet, but if he was honest, he didn’t mind all that much. It must have been nearly six, because the sky was lightening. He knew the sun wouldn’t be up for at least another hour, but the light was enough to easily navigate until he reached the main road. Maybe by the time he reached the local morning market, it would be daylight.

He swung a leg over the bike and rolled down the hill.

It was night, and Touka could feel the fire on her skin even from this distance. The stifling humidity carried the bitter embers towards her. She was running. Her throat burned from breathing in the hot air. She’d discarded any packages. She didn’t care about it at all. What was happening to Anteiku?

What about the boy she had met, Kaneki? What about the manager? What about every find memory she had that was safe and happy? What about that?

As she approached, her heart sank and shattered on the heating bitumen.

Anteiku was burning.

A roaring, flaming mess of agony. Whether it was the building’s, hers, or something else in the air around it, she wasn’t sure.

It marked the end of something she had come to cherish.

Something came flying towards her, and she was too shocked and numb to react. It threw her down onto the ground, and she realised it was a young girl with mousey-brown hair. Hinami. Hinami, thank God, Hinami was okay.

She sat up and grabbed Hinami’s shoulders. The younger girl was crying, and Touka saw angry burns on her hands. Touka stroked her hair, crying in both her relief for Hinami and despair for herself.

“Hinami,” she sobbed, “thank God, Hinami. Thank God.”

Everyone was lost to her. Her parents, the manager, the kind Kaneki, the passing child authorities. Everyone was lost.

But not Hinami.

Not her brother.

“Hinami, Hinami listen to me,” her voice was thick, but it surprised her how strong it sounded. She had to be strong. “I’m going to take you to the hospital. I’m going to tell them that I found you here, and I’m going to tell them that my brother and I are in danger. I’m . . . I’m going to let them take us, Hinami. We can’t live like this anymore.”

Hinami, crying, nodded. This was it. Touka would change her future. She had to think of a story for Hinami. She had to do so many things.

In the distance, she could hear the fire brigade coming. She grabbed the bag she’d thrown down with tonight’s lot and tossed it into the burning flames. She didn’t care if it burned at all. She didn’t care.

She waited. An Ambulance came with the fire truck, and she hustled Hinami onto it. They were adamant there was someone else, but Touka insisted they leave.

The manager was already dead.

Kaneki was silent as they both cleaned their apartment. He’d been silent all day, and it was starting to worry Touka. She knew that now of all times was the worst to press it—right after a job—but she needed to make sure he was okay. This wasn’t normal, even for him. She’d seen him become like this once, and, well, it wasn’t pretty for either of them.

“Have you cleaned the bathroom yet?” she asked softly. Kaneki nodded. Ayato had taken charge of organising their things, Touka had taken the kitchen and Kaneki did the rest. The whole place smelled like a mixture of lemon-scented detergent and faintly of bleach. It reminded her of a hospital.

Touka checked the clock. “She’ll be at the station at four o’clock, and it’s nearly two. Do you want a shower first, or can I go?”

“You go,” he said. His voice was quiet and raw. Touka swallowed hard but didn’t press it. She knew any argument from here would only dissolve into her one-sided anger. She quietly hoped and prayed that Kaneki would get better by the time Hinami came.

Quietly, she hoped.

“Okay, well, you guys can make some lunch for yourselves or something.”

Kaneki nodded. “I’ll make sure Ayato eats.”

That’s not what I meant, Touka wanted to say, but she just nodded. God, since when had she become so powerless? She wanted to scream, but she knew it was worth nothing. She had to be gentle, but gentleness never seemed effective. Why was Kaneki so content with running himself this dry? She studied the hollows under his eyes, the way his lips had become chapped. sh*t, had he slept all week?

He waved her off, forcing a smile. Touka could have screamed. “Stop worrying about me. It’s fine.”

“Alright,” she said. “But you need to eat something as well, okay?”

He was silent for a beat too long. “Yeah.”

She swallowed hard. It was only a short walk to the bathroom where she could lock herself in and make all the faces she wanted to scream from. She could sigh into the steam and mutter to herself all her frustrations.

Only four paces across the room. Surely, she could make it that far. Definitely.

It was amazing how hard four steps could be.

She’d walked thousands of them in her life—millions, maybe, but these four could have been the hardest. How many more steps could she withstand?

She kept her eyes trained on the door until she reached it and threw it open. She didn’t look behind her as she shut it and locked it after herself. She knew that she would have seen the emptiness behind those silver eyes and she would stop too long to wonder how someone who had become like that had given her strength at all.

The train into Tokyo city was busy. Amongst the seats sat a small group of uniformed students. A small ways off sat a girl in similar uniform, her pale brown hair cut short with a fringe. She’d sat a small bag on her lap and held a suitcase between her ankles to accommodate more space in the tiny carriage.

In her scarred hands she held a photo. The edges had been worried at and discoloured, and there was tape over a tear down one side. She looked at it, long lashes casting shadows over her large, doe eyes.

“Tokyo Central Station in two minutes.”

Hearing her station called, she began to shuffle, unzipping pockets to place the photo in.

The photo was of a young man with black hair smiling nervously into a camera with an older man behind him, smiling gently. It was an old photo she had committed to memory. It was a smile she had not seen for a very long time.

She slung her bag over her shoulder and checked her phone for messages.

Nee-chan: how far r u? I have everyone here

She smiled, typing back: it says 2 mins so excited ^.^

Quietly, Fueguchi Hinami hoped that Kaneki had healed since she had left, even a little. She wondered how his degree was going; she wondered how his exams went. It wasn’t like they texted a great deal, but she hoped he was thinking outside the confines of his job.

Sensing they were close to the station, she slung on her backpack and stood, picking up the bag from under the seat. Awkwardly, muttering ‘excuse me’s and ‘pardon’s she made her way to the door where she was ready to jump out and meet the people she hadn’t seen in months.

The sun was rising when Hide finally reached down. It was marked with a buzz from his phone as all of the messages he hadn’t been able to receive suddenly appeared in his phone with the addition of service. He continued his way down, deciding not to check them just yet.

“Is that—Nagachika! Oi!”

Hide gripped the brakes and swerved to see who had called. To his surprise, a girl with bright hair was waving to him from the bus top.

Kusumi.

“Kusumi!” he cried, pedalling towards her. “Long time no see!”

He’d barely dismounted the bike when she rushed over, catching him in a hug. He chuckled. “Surely, I’m not that special.”

It was comforting.

“You have no idea how boring this place is without you!” her hair was loose beneath a knitted beanie. She’d thrown on a puffy jacket against the cold, and her hands were safely tucked away beneath some colourful mittens Hide knew her mother had made her. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d be back?”

“Sorry.” Hide grinned lazily. He leaned on the handlebars. “It can’t be that boring anyway, right? Having no more Takashis around really will ruin the fun, won’t it?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Kusumi groaned. The cold made the tip of her nose glow bright red. Hide grinned. He didn’t realise how much he’d missed the people here until he was back with them. He regretted not taking the time to try and strengthen their friendship. It was too late now.

Too late. Everything was too late.

“So, what’s the city like? Is it as sh*tty as I warned you? It is, isn’t it?” her eyes were bright. Hide was glad she was doing so well. He grinned.

“Well, depends where you go. There’s certainly no shortage of interesting people.”

“Interesting people are everywhere,” Kusumi reminded him. “Like here. Old ladies can be fun.”

“Yeah, if you want to shorten your lifespan,” Hide joked. “How are you? Are you doing any courses, or school? Just tell me everything I’ve missed, since my mother is still kind of angry with me, I think.”

Kusumi gave him a soft slap on the arm. “I’m angry with you, dummy.” She tried to pout angrily, but ended up grinning.

“I go to the university a few towns over. I actually live in the dorms there and come home on weekends. I’m studying Business Management. Then I can take over Ma’s shop.”

“Nice,” Hide said. “Are you on your way to the market? I can give you a lift.”

“Yes, please!” Kusumi said, sitting herself down on the back of the bike. “I was waiting for the bus, but we can go. Onwards!”

Hide laughed as they sped down icy roads, disregarding any means of safety. God, he’d missed this. He’d missed this so much. It was dumb to convince himself he’d been distant. He’d been so close with everyone. Why would he have thought otherwise?

“So have you met anyone?” Kusumi pried as they slowed down around a corner. “I know you won’t tell your parents if you have, so tell me!”

So she did know him better than he’d thought.

“Maybe I did,” he said lightly. He swerved around the corner and slowed as they reached the marketplace. The early-morning fog was only just starting to thin as the sun melted the ice in the air. “Or maybe I didn’t.”

“Oh,” Kusumi giggled. He could nearly hear her wriggling her eyebrows in her voice. “Do tell. I want names, I want places, I want dates, I want—”

“It’s not a thing,” he said quietly. “It didn’t go anywhere.”

Kusumi must have heard the solemness in his voice, because she was quiet for a long moment. Hide listened to the sound of his rolling wheels, the spokes clicking as they turned.

“So what’s their name?” Kusumi started again. Hide started to protest, but she jabbed him in the ribs with a sharp fingertip. “Nope. I don’t care what you say. What’s their name?”

Hide pouted. It couldn’t do much harm, right?

“Sasaki,” he murmured. “He’s in my Creative Writing Class.” Was.

Kusumi laughed. “Typical! Meeting a guy in the class you don’t even like!”

“Kusumi,” Hide whined. “Stop making fun of me.”

“Silence, child. Why didn’t it go any further?”

Hide bit back every sharp response he had on his tongue. Kusumi was just trying. She didn’t mean any harm, and Hide knew it. The only problem was that she didn’t know the half of what was happening.

“He, uh . . . had a lot on his plate,” Hide said. I guess that’s one way of putting it.

“Oh, so he decided he didn’t have time for you?”

“What? No, that’s not what happened.” Hide focused on the bike. If he kept going like this, he’d probably end up agreeing with Kusumi despite her not knowing the full story. He shouldn’t.

“Then what did happen?”

Hide swallowed. When in doubt, play it safe. “Um, I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Oh,” Kusumi lapsed into silence. She remained mute until they’d reached the marketplace. Hide rested his bike against the wall, where Kusumi stood silently beside him, watching the whole procession.

“So, was it your fault, or should you try again?”

“What?”

Before Hide could react, Kusumi had pulled the phone from his pocket. “I hope you haven’t changed your password,” she said, grinning. Hide could only watch her numbly as she fluently keyed in his password, which he’d told her last year. She grinned devilishly.

“Hey now, that isn’t—”

“Sasaki Haise, right?” Kusumi grinned.

Hide began to reach for his phone. “Don’t—hey, cut that out. It won’t go well—”

Kusumi ducked under his arm and jogged away. “You still have his number, so you must still like the guy.”

Hide started after her. “I’m serious, Kusumi. Don’t text him—”

“He’s so cute, though! He sends you emojis! He even knew how bad you are with horror movies!”

“Kusumi, seriously, don’t—”

She evaded him once again. “Me-rry-Christ-mas-Ha-i-se. Sent!”

She tossed him his phone, and Hide caught it too late. The message was already sent.

Oh, God. How was he meant to tell her about this? Kaneki probably didn’t even use that other phone now that he didn’t go to school anymore.

But what if he did?

He sighed. “I swear to God, you cause me so much trouble.”

Kusumi struck out her tongue. “You can thank me later, Hideyoshi. I want to see selfies of you two!”

Hide really hated all these secrets.

Kaneki had almost forgotten his routine to getting ready: Clothes, hair, hat, glasses. Touka’s makeup session. The feeling of small brushes painting his face somewhat similar colours to his own pale skin to mask how much like death he looked got stranger every time. He hated it a little bit, the whole business.

It made Touka happy, though, and he didn’t hate Touka.

“Done,” she said. “We should head down. Her train will be here soon, and we need to get to Tokyo Central first.”

For the first time in several weeks, ‘Haise’ turned on his phone.

He saw a message:

Hide 0715: Merry Christmas Haise!

Chapter 18: Organs

Chapter Text

“Hey, do you still like me?”

Kaneki studied her face: angular, elegant, cunning. It was everything she valued.

“I don’t hate you,” he admitted. “But neither of us are good people.”

“You make me so sad, Kaneki!” Rize whined, pouting.

She didn’t tell him he was wrong.

She didn’t tell him he was a good person.

Of course he wasn’t. Whilst she killed people, he sold them the tools to end their lives. Any factors before the deed never mattered.

“You know,” Rize admitted, “ think I hate you.”

Kaneki tried to be sad. He really did.

He just didn’t care anymore.

“What? No tears. How dull.”

It was dull, wasn’t it?

Kaneki studied his book. Ironic, wasn’t it? To escape his suffering, he lost himself in worlds where other people suffered.

Escape suffering with suffering. Replace despair with deeper despair.

Replace pain with cruelty.

“I wonder what the ghost of your today will look like, tomorrow,” Rize mused, studying her hands on the table’s lacquered surface. “I wonder what mine will look like.”

“I can guess,” Kaneki murmured. Rize laughed. If Kaneki were to describe her laugh, it was like the twinkling of a dripping faucet in a bathroom where someone lay drowned to death in the bathtub: Surrounded by death.

“Likewise, Kaneki,” said Rize. “But one day, that pretty little mind of yours will break. Don’t be sad, it happens to all of us.”

“Like you?”

Rize’s grin turned sharp. “Mine didn’t break, Kaneki. I merely sharpened it.”

Christmas and New Year’s at Hide’s home was always an affair. The house was filled to the brim with loud, boisterous and grinning Nagachikas, laughing and drinking. Hide found himself in a room too old and too young to properly socialise with.

As such, he sat himself on the decking outside and checked his phone anxiously. Ever since Kusumi had sent that text he’d been hovering over it, both waiting for and terrified for a reply. The more distance he had from Kaneki, the smaller the whole ordeal became. He knew it wasn’t good to think that way. He knew it, but he couldn’t help it, and it was terrifying.

And then Kusumi had just gone on the wavelength that Kaneki was actually not a serial killer and was actually just Sasaki Haise, the delicate dorky dude with big glasses and a small voice. f*ck. Hide never seemed to move past that point in his thinking. He wanted Sasaki to be one thing, and he wanted Kaneki to be one thing, but they were neither of those things.

Hide froze as someone sat down beside him on the decking. He looked towards the culprit, and saw none other than his mother.

“Now, busy evenings are the best times to discuss private matters,” she said, smiling. She knew Hide had to leave in seven days, and she wouldn’t let him out before he told her everything.

Hide swallowed hard. His hands were about to shake, but he couldn’t afford to let her see.

“I guess,” he said, forcing a shaky smile. “Where’d you hear that?”

“It’s common sense,” she said, flipping a hand loosely. She held a cup of tea in her free hand, which steamed into the cold air. “So, spill. I know your mouth is full of lies, Hide. I mean, unless you tell me you became best friends with someone called Washuu, it can’t be that bad.”

Washuu. There was the name again. Why was his mother so insistent about it?

“Who are the Washuus?” he questioned. “I don’t know any, but who are they?”

“Very bad people, Hide,” his mother said flatly. “To get involved with them is to sign a one-way deal to Hell.”

Hide let out a long breath. “Okay, well, that’s good because I’ve not met any.”

“Good start. Move along, now.”

Hide watched the landscape in front of him; rolling hills, misting clouds, the quiet bickering of the chicken hutch, the further murmurs of livestock and the whispers of running water. Now would be a great time to run.

“Ma,” he said, slowly. “What would you say if, like . . . I got a job somewhere . . . that you don’t like?”

“Don’t let your mother make all your decisions, Hide,” she laughed. “Did you get a job in a strip club? As a stripper? Sorry, I don’t think your cut out for it.”

“Ma!” Hide yelled, face reddening. “No, I mean like the CCG.”

She gave him a generous, pensive moment. He watched her lazily lift the cup of tea to her lips and regard the darkness. Lowering it, she sighed and said, “Did you get a job at the CCG?”

Hide studied his hands. “Yes,” he said. “I work there part-time as a delivery boy.”

“Hmm,” Yoko sighed. “I see. So this is what you were so ashamed of. I can see why you’ve had that tail of yours between your legs. I don’t like the CCG, Hide. It’s corrupt. Full of government funding and angry, bad people. It’s also a one-stop shop of Washuus, but as a delivery boy I guess you wouldn’t have anything to do with them.”

Hide didn’t speak. His throat felt dry and it stung badly.

“Quit. You’ll do better.”

“It’s not that simple,” Hide said. “They pay me a lot. A lot, Ma.”

“Work two other jobs. Be a stripper, I don’t care—but don’t go and do sex for money. That is not a job I’ll accept you doing. If I find you doing that—”

“Relax, relax, I don’t want to.” Hide said quickly, waving his hands. “I just . . . you always said that the CCG was bad, and . . . well, it was pretty terrifying.”

Yoko sipped her tea calmly. “So long as you don’t become an Investigator, I suppose I can deal with it.”

“If I may ask, what’s so bad with the CCG?”

“Pah,” Yoko spat, “what isn’t bad about the CCG, Hide?” She eyed him suspiciously. “They justify what they do by saying its to keep the peace from crimes too dangerous for the police to take, but really they just kill people. You would have noticed how they hate to arrest people? How many cases of ‘self-defence’ have you seen so far?”

Hide felt his stomach sinking. He had noticed it. So many criminals killed in self-defence, maybe one in a hundred being arrested.

“You’ve noticed,” said Yoko, downing the rest of her tea. She placed it on the wood and crossed her legs under her.

“I can’t just quit, Ma,” Hide protested. “The pay’s good, my co-workers actually give a damn about me—”

“Everyone betrays you, Hide,” said Yoko bitterly. “Humanity’s loyalty is limited to one’s own survival. Don’t ever forget that. You have to look after yourself.”

“Number one?”

“Exactly.” The steel in his mother’s eyes didn’t fade. “You know that, so why? Why keep it up? There must be other jobs you can do.”

Hide was silent.

“You’ve got more on that tongue of yours,” said Yoko slowly. “Something that’s tying to the CCG.”

Hide’s mouth was dry. sh*t, his Ma was smart.

“Will you tell me, or are you going to let it come and bite you on the arse?”

Hide swallowed. Now or never. If it were never, he’d be locked in his room.

“Maybe, I, uh . . . like someone.” Like, not liked. Jeez, he was such a wreck.

“Someone at the CCG?” his mother raised a sceptical eyebrow. The silence stretched between them, and he could basically hear the connections forming in his mother’s brain.

“Someone connected to the CCG. Favourably? Unfavourably? Give me some answers, Hide. I may be a great detective but I’m your mother.”

Hide let out a pent-up breath. He contemplated running. Just standing up and sprinting into the cold. He could do it, right?

“I think . . . they’re a good person,” he said slowly, every tiny, hopeful rationale he’d been brewing tumbling off the tip of his tongue. “But they’re involved with a bad lot.”

“The world may be grey, but people are defined by their actions. If they’re with a bad lot, they must be a bad person.” Hide’s mother was as unforgiving as always. Hide swallowed. He’d dreaded this so much.

Kaneki’s actions weren’t very redeeming.

“If they’re involved with the gangs, stay away. Gangs means drugs, and dealers—”

“Have no soul,” Hide finished. God, his mother was so opinionated. But it wasn’t her that made him sick. It was because she was probably right, and Hide was hopelessly stuck.

Yoko nodded in a silent agreement. “Jesus, Hide. If I’d known you’d get so deep into sh*t, I’d have come after you on the next train. Cut your ties. Now. Don’t waste any more breath on them.”

Hide didn’t think he had any breath.

“No, they were smart enough to leave,” he said before he could stop himself. “That’s why . . . I think they’re not all bad.” What was this, the schoolgirl hope? Senpai can’t be too cold just because he’s rejected me 100 times! He must just have something else on his plate!

Yoko shook her head, clearly disappointed. “Respect their wishes. Leave them be. If your best interests are really at heart, then they’ll not give you any trouble.”

Hide sighed. “I guess.”

“Don’t be so stubborn,” Yoko said lightly. She stood, stretching like a cat. “You never know. Maybe they are a good person, but if they have something to hide then there’s a limit to how good they are.”

“Intense as always,” Hide internally cried. His mother could only smirk.

“What you don’t lose, you regret. Don’t try and run away from something you can change.”

Standing on the platform, Touka wondered what had gotten into Kaneki. In the space of maybe an hour, something had shifted, and he seemed nearly happy again. Sometimes she wished he’d open up and tell her what was going on.

Beside her, Ayato shifted uncomfortably. She resisted the urge to grab his hand and squeeze it. He was nearly taller than her, and he doubted that he’d like to be seen with his smaller sister holding his hand. She knew he was uncomfortable because the CCG knew his face, but he hadn’t found any desire to wear a disguise like Kaneki.

Besides, Kaneki had taken any crimes away from Ayato’s name.

“I think that’s her train,” Kaneki said, looking out. Even under layers of makeup, Touka could see the way the skin was unhealthy in his eye sockets. Despite a brightening of attitude, it seemed his poor lifestyle choices remained.

Touka wished someone would hold her hand, dammit. She couldn’t hold Ayato’s, and Kaneki was freaky about touch.

They watched the train slow to a stop, and Touka felt her anticipation boiling. She hadn’t seen Hinami in months, and she’d got the text a minute ago and she was so excited to see her dear, sweet Hinami again—

The doors opened and people burst out, but there was no sign of Hinami.

Touka scanned the crowd, but she saw no head of pale-brown hair. “Do you see her?” she prompted the boys on either side of her.

Kaneki lifted the glasses off his face for a better view. “No, I don’t—”

“I see her!” Ayato said, grinning. He dashed off before Touka could stop him, leaving her lost behind.

“Dammit,” she swore. “Where’s he go?”

Kaneki grabbed her hand and pulled her along behind him, following Ayato’s path.

It took Touka a tense second not to pull her hand away. Kaneki didn’t do physical touch. He didn’t really do much of anything in the ways of talking or interacting at all. His hand was warm and rough on hers. Was that really Kaneki?

She studied the line of shoulders, the way he held his head, the sagging of that pathetic beanie on the back of his head, hiding those white locks that served as a permanent reminder of what he’d lost.

“He looked better for a while, but . . .”

His gaze followed Ayato’s movements in the packed station, and she saw the calmness that had settled over his face.

“Tell me about this guy he’s been hanging out with.”

Was this really the Kaneki she knew? Would the Kaneki she knew ever take her hand, follow the path of her sneaky brother and lead her towards Hinami at a station full of crowded people the day after a job where he had slaughtered six men? Could he hold himself up despite all the thoughts that were flying through his head? Could he really be so secure about himself when Touka wasn’t?

He glanced over his shoulder at her, and for once there was something other than despair etched into his features. She couldn’t tell what it was, but it was something different. Something better. Like relief.

I’m sorry, he seemed to be saying.

“Idiot,” she whispered to herself.

“Touka!” she heard a familiar voice yell. Hinami released Ayato, whom she had enveloped in a hug, leaving his face pink, and rushed towards her. Her hair was longer, clipped back, her fringe combed off her face. In her uniform, Touka could hardly believe that only a few years ago she’d let Child Authorities take them.

Touka stooped and threw her arms around the younger girl, burying her face in her hair. Hinami was taller, fuller, brighter and happier. God, what a day.

“I missed you,” Hinami whispered into her shoulder.

Touka held her at a distance before reaching up to squeeze her cheeks. “Jeez, at this rate you’ll make me cry. Look at you, dummy. So emotional.”

Hinami’s eyes were red and beginning to water. Touka wicked away the tears with her thumbs. “You silly duffer.”

Hinami grinned, showing off her perfect smile. Touka felt her heart melt. God, how lucky was she to have Hinami in her life?

Hinami turned to Kaneki, who gave her a smile. Hinami, only being sensitive when she felt it, tackled him into a similarly intense hug. Kaneki rubbed her head affectionately, saying something Touka couldn’t hear over the bustle of the train station.

“We should go,” she told Ayato, who nodded, picking up Hinami’s bag. His ears were still red, and Touka couldn’t help but grin. No other girl would have the nerve to approach his salty, salty arse.

She turned back and saw Kaneki smiling and handing Hinami his glasses. She put them on and made a face at him.

Maybe they weren’t such a broken home, after all.

Hinami knew it was coming. At five-thirty, Touka sat them down for take-away dinner before Kaneki left for a job, and Touka went to work her shift in Helter Skelter until twelve. Ayato didn’t have work this week, thank God. She hated being alone in this apartment.

“Tell us about school,” Touka said, handing her the takeaway they’d ordered.

Hinami smiled. “They elected me Student Council President.”

“Really?” Touka said in surprise, grinning ear to ear. “That’s amazing!”

Ayato nodded mutely beside her. He was uncharacteristically quiet, Hinami noticed.

Hinami grinned at Touka and said, “I was really surprised! My friends were the ones who ran the campaign, and I wasn’t even expecting it.”

“It’s natural,” said Kaneki, soft voice carrying in the room. “How could they not?”

Hinami felt the worry on her shoulders lift every time he spoke. Something had changed in his life, and he was the better for it. She wanted to ask him what it was before she left.

“I didn’t think so. I thought I was too quiet, and people didn’t like me. But then my friend was like, ‘don’t let your doubts rule you! You write the newsletter every week!’ And I sort of just followed her after that.”

Touka smiled. “It’s good to have friends like that.”

“Speaking of friends, how’s Yoriko?” Hinami grinned, breaking her disposable chopsticks. “Did she get her degree?”

Touka went red, staring into her food intently. “Y-Yeah. She’s fine. We’re fine. Everything’s great.” Touka laughed nervously, shoving food into her mouth as an excuse to stop talking. Lost, Hinami looked to Ayato for answers. He shrugged and mouthed ‘dating’.

“You’re dating?” Hinami cried, jumping to her feet in excitement. Touka’s face was still red, but she nodded, chewing quickly on her food. Hinami grinned, wanting to run over and give Touka yet another hug. “Finally!”

Touka spluttered and looked like she could faint at the table. Kaneki watched the scene with a mixture of tentativeness and fondness.

“What about you, Kaneki? Have you met anyone?”

“Well . . .” Kaneki poked at his food, pensive. “I don’t know.”

“Yes,” Ayato supplied. “He has.”

“A-Ayato!” Kaneki huffed, ears going red. He turned his attention to his plate of food.

Hinami watched the three of them in awe. What had happened without her?

“What’s their name?”

Kaneki didn’t answer, quietly eating. Hinami watched with pride as he ate away the food on his plate. The worry she’d been carrying grew lighter and lighter. He was eating, he was smiling, and he had someone.

This was a start.

“What about Ayato?”

Ayato froze, chopsticks shaking in his hand. Touka gave him a sneaky sideways glance, smiling evilly. Ayato glared at her. “N-No. No, I haven’t.”

“I wonder why,” Touka said, grinning toothily.

“Shut up, stupid,” Ayato grunted, eating his mouthful. With his mouth full he continued, “As if you can talk. Why didn’t you come back home the other day after your ‘date’?”

“Ayato!”

“Honesty,” grinned the younger Kirishima. Hinami couldn’t help it: she laughed.

She loved her family: made of broken pieces, stuck together with the wrong glue, missing parts here and there, but still full of raw, good intentions. They were a family.

She loved them.

As he was helping her clean up, Hide gathered his courage and dared ask one of the many things he’d always wanted to:

“Hey, Ma, why don’t we ever have your family around?”

“Dead,” said Yoko easily. She was rinsing dishes in the sink. “That’s all there is.”

“But surely there’s someone,” Hide said. She’d said the same thing for years, and no matter how many times he asked, he never saw any pain in her eyes, only annoyance. As much as it felt insensitive, he wanted to know.

“If there is, I don’t want to have anything to do with them,” Yoko said. “What’s gotten into you lately? Curious?”

“Sorry,” Hide said automatically.

Yoko gave him a gentle look over her shoulder. “Don’t be. I’m just an old, bitter woman. In actuality, my family probably has heaps of connections, but I don’t want to go near them.”

Hide wanted to ask more, but he felt put in place. So many times he’d asked, and so many times he was even more mystified. It was like he’d always heard: the greatest mysteries are the ones we think we know the most about.

He fell into a rhythm, silently drying and putting away dishes that his mother washed. They didn’t speak. His father had drunk too much and had collapsed in bed, completely spent. Yoko had fussed over him before dismissing it entirely, despite his offers to help. She was like that, sometimes.

“What are you going to do next semester? You leave next Friday, don’t you?”

Hide nodded. “Yeah. I was actually thinking of taking up Criminal Psychology.”

“Typical,” Yoko sighed. “Well, when you’re part of a late-night murder drama, call me.”

“There’s more job opportunities than being that one extra on a bad soap,” he insisted. “I could work for the police. Or the CCG.”

“You already work for the CCG,” Yoko said. “A delivery boy is too much, already.”

“I won’t quit,” he said quietly, shelving a plate.

At the sink, his mother shrugged. “I thought as much. Fine. Go do your thing. If you can keep your grades up, I guess I can’t complain. But you be careful, you hear me? No bad people with good intentions.”

Hide winced. She’d remembered their conversation perfectly. “Okay,” he said. “It’s a deal.”

“Good.”

Hide wasn’t sure if he was lying, this time.

He had seven more days on break before he caught his train back to the city. What would he do when he got back.

“Maybe I should join a club,” Hide mused. “Sports, maybe.”

“Yeah, because you’d be good at that,” his mother joked.

“You wound me,” Hide said, dramatically looking away. “Such pain, mother!”

“Oh, be quiet,” she laughed. “Do what you want. You were good at karate when you did it. Start doing that again.”

“I was taught by Yoshino in the Community Center,” Hide winced. “He said ‘wow, good kick!’ to every kid in the class and never hosted another lesson.”

“Maybe you’re good at karate, then,” said Yoko. “It’ll be good to learn some basic self-defence.”

Hide internally sighed. “I guess.”

“Oh, stop being a pushover. Do what you want, I don’t care. Do what makes you happy. And stay out of trouble. Don’t go to parties. Have extra locks put in, too. Maybe even hang some shoes on the door for good measure.”

“Ma, that’s too far.”

“You never know,” she said.

Hide laughed. “Yeah, I guess.” They both knew he wasn’t going to do many of the things she’d just listed off.

Yoko pulled out the plug to the sink. She wiped her hands on a tea towel. “We’re done.”

“Oh. That was quick.”

Yoko leaned on the sink, giving him a warm, motherly smile. “You’ve grown up so much, Hide. I’m sorry I’m such a worrywart, I’m just terrified of losing you.”

Hide reached out and took her hand. “Don’t you know? Fools never die.”

His mother smiled. She reached up and kissed his forehead. “Merry Christmas, Hide.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Ma.”

Lying in bed that night, Hide checked his phone again and found no response.

The fifth day he checked, he received a text:

Haise, 1 JAN 0001: Happy New Year, Hide.

Chapter 19: Spanish Sahara

Chapter Text

When Kaneki awoke, he found himself in a room surrounded by sleeping bodies on metal stretchers. Through the slivers his eyes had opened, he scanned the room from his prone position.

He tried to sit up, but pain exploded from his abdomen, and he fell back. The trolley shuddered and squealed, echoing in the static room.

Lying on the cold metal table, all he could think of was the smell of burning and the way every fibre of his being hurt.

He had to escape.

He pressed down where it hurt: to the left of his stomach, trying to hold it in place. He could feel wetness seeping through his flimsy hospital gown—they’d taken his clothes, too—that was warm. His blood. Had he really been beaten up that badly? But then . . . where was he? Why was he there?

Don’t think about it, he told himself harshly. He was running away, wasn’t he? Now he had somewhere else to run away from. He had to leave now.

Trying to hold his abdomen in one piece, he let his right leg slip down first, stretching until it scratched at the floor. Biting down hard, he let his other leg down too. The trolley rattled and rolled, but nothing stirred. He leaned against it hard, desperately trying to hold his body together. He felt like it would fall apart, like some part of the fire had gotten under his skin and was killing him. He could see spots, and blood roared in his ears.

I have to run away.

It didn’t hurt. Physical pain didn’t hurt. That’s what he told himself as he dragged one limb after another down the room, leaning on each trolley. Still figures didn’t stir, ranging from middle-aged men to girls who were probably younger than himself. God, had they been abducted?

Don’t think about it!

He hated himself. He hated himself so much.

At the end of the room was a metal door. Kaneki began to pray that no lock was there. If he was locked in, he was stuck. He had to run. He had to get away. Maybe he’d be running across the streets of Tokyo in a f*cking plastic dress, but he didn’t care. He could—

He couldn’t go to Anteiku. Not anymore.

The hot tears seared his cheeks and he progressed forward, his free hand lurching out and grabbing the knob. It turned.

Thank God! He wanted to scream.

He couldn’t.

Warm air rushed at him like a wind, and only then did he realise how cold it had been in the room. Why were they there? Why?

Stop. Move.

Don’t think about what isn’t yours.

Leaning on the door, he pulled himself through. Blood was seeping through his fingers, and he could hear droplets falling. sh*t, what would he do? Where would he go? Was there any exit?

The corridor he had entered into was dark and empty.

No matter.

He slumped against the wall, breathing heavily. The pain was growing, eating up his nerves and blood until he’d bleed to death on the ground. sh*t, was he going to die? Was this it? What would happen now?

He didn’t want to die.

“Move!” he swore at himself, forcing a leg to take another step. He was starting to lose feeling in his arm that propped him on the wall. sh*t, was he losing blood now?

No matter.

He dragged his sorry arse along the wall, not daring to look back. It was like everything faded from his mind, lit with the intense splashing of pain and blood. He couldn’t afford to look behind him. He’d be consumed. Why had this happened? What had he done wrong? What warranted so much pain?

“Yo, one of the patients is missing.”

The words rebounded against the walls of the corridor, reaching him. There was a turn not far ahead. They wouldn’t see him if he made it there—

“I see him! Son of a bitch is trying to escape!”

sh*t! Kaneki swore, trying to move. He was crying freely now, but he couldn’t feel his breathing at all. It was soundless apart from the distant huffing of breath and tides of blood rushing around in his head. He had to get away, he had to get away, he had to get away—

Something grabbed him by the hair and wrenched him back, slamming him down onto his skinny back. The air left his lungs in a great ‘whoosh!’ and he couldn’t move. He stared up at his assailant, but spots were dancing in his vision. Everything looked dark and demonic. He must have been in Hell, right? He must have.

“f*cking little sh*t,” the man spat on the ground beside him. Kaneki felt the air in his lungs, rushing in and out. He had to run. He had to run now. The man would take him, and he would die.

Seeing his struggling efforts to escape, the man pressed his heel into Kaneki’s wounded side.

He screamed.

“Are you sure you have everything?” Yoko was relentless as they stood at the station, waiting for the train with both dread and anticipation. Hide grinned, layered up the throat in his warm, bright clothes.

“Yes,” he repeated. “All packed and ready.”

Ever since he’d replied the text, he couldn’t stop himself from needing to do something. One of those things had been packing.

Yoko huffed into her scarf, and his dad grinned at him, ruffling his hair. Hide almost felt like he hadn’t spent enough time with his dad, so guilty of facing his mother. The older Nagachika didn’t seem to mind.

“Look after yourself,” his dad grinned.

“Will do.” Hide saluted.

Yoko grumbled and reached into her pocket before producing a single yellow envelope. “Because you’ve made me so worried, take this.”

“What—”

“Don’t open it!” Yoko hissed as Hide began to reach for the edges. Hide blanched, hands frozen where they were holding the now off-limits envelope.

“It’s a letter. Hide, promise me you will never open it unless you are in the sh*t. After you told me everything you’d gotten yourself into, I had to write that up I was so worried. Don’t even try opening it and then finding an identical envelope. If you’ve already read it when you need it, it won’t count.”

“I’m going to pretend I understand,” Hide said, already trying to figure out what form of sorcery could bind him to the contents remaining confidential. It was probably something deeply moral and heart-warming, only to be opened in his darkest hour.

“This isn’t a laughing matter,” Yoko insisted. “I swear to God, Hide.” She pointed at the letter angrily, saying, “if you ever have a bad run-in, if you ever need help outside of what we can give, this is what you need. You must never, ever open it, or it won’t count. It is of the utmost importance that you don’t know what’s in here.”

Hide swallowed. He glanced towards his dad, who had a similar firmness in his gaze. Wow, what was this? A eulogy speech? Despite what his mother said, it couldn’t be that bad, right?

He put it in his bag. When he was home, he’d think about it.

Yoko gave him a sharp nod. “It shouldn’t mean anything if you stay safe.”

“Right,” Hide said, thoroughly confused. Behind him, his train whirled into the station, throwing snow into the air.

In a few months, he’d be back for summer break, he told himself. He’d be back.

He’d be fine.

If Kaneki were honest, he should have expected it.

He should have.

But he didn’t.

He straightened off the corpse. Until a few moments ago, he’d been straddling the guy, who had been struggling like mad. Kaneki didn’t know his name. He didn’t need to. It was amazing how fragile life could be in the wrong hands. One movement and life could bleed out. Life could spray like a fountain onto the attacker.

Kaneki was sure he’d been thoroughly painted in death’s red rainbow of violence.

He stepped away, pulling out his phone. He’d been sent the instructions.

1. Complete initial objective

He could tick that box. He was surrounded by three dead men. What next?

2. Retrieve

‘Retrieve’ was Itori’s way of saying ‘abduct’. The owner was around here. A youngish guy with choppy dark hair, distributing what his girlfriend made. That was, until the girlfriend had taken herself to Helter Skelter and asked them to kill the guy. She gave no reasons, but Kaneki was familiar with the determination in her eyes. Hate under a fancy disguise.

It didn’t really bother Kaneki what her motive had been. They’d been causing trouble to GLG by interacting with Aogiri. Aogiri, who was probably about to take on V and slaughter half of the city’s gangs. Kaneki wondered who would die, this time.

The men had been guarding a doorway. It was a ticket to his entrance. He crept in, looking around. In the distance, he saw a single light on. They’d planned an attack. What would they do, hide in the shadows whilst he stood in the light for them all to see?

What were they going to do? Kill him?

He could have laughed at the hilarity of it.

He followed the hallway down, giving any dark doorways a glance into. It seemed like the guy was either terribly underprepared, smug, or just stupid. Did he really not believe his girlfriend would send someone to get him?

“It’s not him I care about,” she’d said, sipping a drink, “I just want the ‘business’ to crash. That’s the only way to destroy him.”

“How many pieces do you want of him?” he’d asked.

“As many as you can bring me.”

As Kaneki had suspected, the room was empty. It was a kitchen, small, the yellow glow of the bulb illuminating the old, floral pattern on the tiles around the stove, on the tablecloth on the round table in the centre of the room. It seemed like a moment from another time.

Kaneki heard him approach for a solid three seconds. Either he was untrained, or he was overconfident.

He spun around, seeing the knife coming at him. Kaneki grabbed the man’s wrist and slammed it into the table, causing him to cry out in pain. Remarkably, he kept the knife in his hand and leaned back to head-butt Kaneki in the face. Kaneki ducked away, but in that time the man had prepared a punch with his free hand.

Was he trained?

Kaneki jumped onto the table, releasing the man’s wrist. The legs of that pathetic dinner table to buckle, and they gave way. Kaneki jumped back off it, kicking the table in the man’s direction. He watched the taller, skinnier man backed into the doorway that table was far too wide to get through, and disappeared.

Kaneki realised that he was surrounded by other doorways. Where would he run?

This time the man was flying at him, foot outstretched in a well-aimed kick to his lower back from behind. Kaneki didn’t have the time to evade it and took it, slamming him into the table’s flat surface.

Play dead.

It was an art he had refined.

He heard the man creep up behind him, trying to figure out whether Kaneki was really out. Of course he wasn’t, and everyone knew it. Now it was a moment to see if the man really had the nerve to kill someone with his own hands rather than his girlfriend’s creations. Would he do it?

When he was close enough, Kaneki didn’t care.

He slammed his arms onto the ground and shot his legs out behind him. They connected with the man’s to give a satisfying, wet crunch sound. The man fell back, and Kaneki dived on top of him, grabbing the wrist with the knife and prying it free.

Looking down, Kaneki wasn’t sure why his girlfriend even cared. The weak would die on their own.

“What’s your name?” Kaneki asked. Behind the fabric of his mask, his words felt like they were someone else’s.

“My name—sh*t, did she send you after me, that bitch—”

Kaneki slammed the butt of the knife hard into the man’s nose. He screamed, gripping at it. Kaneki watched with nonchalance from his spot on the man’s stomach as blood began to drip out between his fingers.

“Your girlfriend did send me,” he confirmed dully. “You’re going to die.”

Kaneki grabbed him by the collar and slammed him down hard, repetitively until he was knocked out. He stood, hoisting the man over his shoulder like a sac. He’d really broken the man’s legs, Kaneki realised. Maybe Uta would fix him up later, before his inevitable death.

Kaneki carried him out into the dark where the air was still heavy with the scent of blood. It almost sounded like rain puddles when he walked through the mess he’d left.

“My, you’ve been busy, Kaneki.”

Kaneki tried to be scared.

He wasn’t.

He turned slowly; grey eyes watching the looming figure of the man emerge from the dark, arms outstretched, still fashionably sharp in a suit and tie. Furuta Nimura.

“No rest for the wicked,” Kaneki supplied, smiling thinly. “Speaking of which, I could have sworn you were dead.” I killed you.

Furuta gave a tight shrug, making a show of pulling on a pair of bright red gloves. “You may be cursed with the inability to die, but there are some of us that have very good healing as well.”

“So, if I were to fill you full of lead, would you die?”

Furuta smiled. “Would you?”

Kaneki’s good humour faded. “You led my men and me into a trap. I thought you died, but clearly I was wrong. Shame. Unfortunately, I don’t have the time to kill you right now.” Kaneki wanted to leave. The more distance between he and Furuta, the better. He had things to do, and Furuta’s evasion of death was provoking that familiar burn Kaneki tried his best to stifle: hate.

He turned. “I trust you can die on your own.”

“Say, Kaneki, what’s seven less than one thousand?”

“I have no idea,” Kaneki said, walking away. “Absolutely none. Don’t you know? I’m terrible at mathematics.”

The morning after Hide arrived brought with it its own share of surprises.

“Yo, want to come to a party?”

“I literally get back from home yesterday, and you want me to go out with you?”

Hide had been awoken by Takashi’s call. On the other side of the line, Takashi laughed. “Yes, I do. Satsuki will be there! Come on, it can’t be that bad, even if you hate parties.”

Hide mulled it over as he walked to the bathroom to brush his teeth. It didn’t seem like a bad idea.

You could even see Kaneki—

“I’ll go,” Hide gave in. “What time?”

“I can pick you up in my car, no biggie.” Oh yeah, Takashi had a car now. He’d got it for Christmas from his uncle and had been sending Hide photos of it all week. Hide hadn’t checked once.

“Sweet,” said Hide. “Can’t wait to see your ride.”

“You have no idea,” Takashi said. Hide could tell he was grinning. Even if Takashi felt distant sometimes, it was surely just Hide’s imagination. Like Kusumi, he’d just misread it all. He was just wrong, right?

“I’ll see you tonight. You remember where my dorm is?”

“Of course!”

Hide hung up, finished his morning routine and made himself a coffee, which he promptly filled with sugar and milk to tone down the taste. He sent a text to his parents, saying he’d made it home fine.

“Are you doing anything this Wednesday?” Nishio asked, walking in.

“No?” Hide tried, caught off-guard. “Why?”

Nishio ran a tired hand through his hair as he started the kettle again. “I know someone who wants to meet you. She’s . . . interested in you.”

“Hmm. It wouldn’t be that fair to her, though.”

“She doesn’t want to date you. God. Look, are you free or not? It counts as dinner.”

What was significant about Wednesdays? Who was this ‘girl’? Was it related to Nishio?

“What’s her name?”

“Touka,” Nishio said. It wasn’t a lie—of course not, why would it be? Hide wanted to slap himself. He’d been around his mother for too long. Nishio wasn’t a bad guy.

“And what does she want with me?”

“She wants to talk to you about the Creative Writing course.” Hide watched him push his glasses back smoothly. A practiced movement. “She wants to go to Kamii, you see.”

Lies?

“Sure,” Hide said, grinning. “Where is it?”

“A place called not far from here. She’s offered to pay for dinner, so you don’t have to worry about spending your single-yen coins.”

“She doesn't need to,” Hide said, waving him off. “I’m a big boy. I can pay for it myself.”

“Sure,” Nishio said slowly and sarcastically. “Well, I’ll tell her. Keep your Wednesday free. Don’t you have work on Wednesdays?”

“Nope,” he said. “All clear.”

“Good,” Nishio huffed, pouring himself a black coffee, “she’ll be happy to meet you.”

Kaneki sat at the bar, sipping the drink Itori had forced on him. “It’s Saturday!” she’d said. “Have a party!”

Kaneki didn’t feel like celebrating.

He’d nearly pulled out his gun and filled Furuta’s head full of lead in that alley the other day. Whilst he knew the rational option supported his actions, he couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t. He wasn’t scared, so why? Why let it go? What was stopping him?

“What’s into you today, Kaneki?” Roma asked from her side of the bar. Kaneki gave her a low look, studying her childish face, crescent-moon hairclip and the way she wore her uniform precisely and neatly.

“Nothing.”

Roma very surreptitiously crept away. Dimly, Kaneki wondered why she kept the act up: he could basically smell the blood on her hands from this distance, yet she pretended to be shy around the people of the bar.

But isn’t that just like you, Sasaki?

Kaneki finished his drink. So what if he was?

“Does Uta have any other jobs for me tonight?” he asked her, and Roma shook her head quickly, smiling impishly.

“Nope. You’re free.”

“Good,” said Kaneki, slipping off the stool. “See you tomorrow.”

The gun felt hot, pressing against his ribs through the fabric of his jumper. He should have taken it out and emptied the barrel. He could have, so why didn’t he? Furuta was different, and different meant dangerous. For whatever reason, Furuta hadn’t died when Kaneki had been sure he’d slit the bastard’s throat for endangering his men.

Was Furuta like him?

No, Kaneki told himself angrily. No one was like him.

The Garden was connected to V, who was currently under way destroying half of the city’s gangs and rendering them unable to fight back, all the while hiding the bodies. Destroying the evidence. Even the stench of blood and death faded after a time. Houses could be cleaned, bodies could be burnt.

Sometimes Kaneki felt like it was a city run by ghosts.

No. Rize was connected to V, and Rize displayed no signs of his ailment. Furuta wasn’t like him, but he was resilient to death. Was V trying to make people like him?

Or had Kanou been trying to make people like those in V?

Kaneki breathed out into the cold air. Snow had melted off the sidewalk, leaving a wet film over the asphalt and concrete. Everything seemed to be sweating and cold, grey and dark. It suited him.

Kaneki checked his phone again. He studied it, and wondered how the other phone was doing. As Sasaki Haise, what kind of life would he lead? Would Sasaki have filled Furuta’s skull with lead and copper bullets?

Watching a car speed by in the quiet street, he already knew the answer.

“f*ck, it’s cold,” Hide swore as he climbed into Takashi’s brand-new car, descending into the heated air. Takashi laughed at him, and Hide took a moment to study the other passenger: Satsuki. Her long dark hair had been combed straight, her fringe styled perfectly. She wore a tight, beige top and a fancy dark skirt.

Hide felt like a pauper in the car, very suddenly.

“I heard you went back to the country to see your family,” Satsuki said, trying to make friendly conversation. “Takashi says you went to the same school.”

“Hmm? Yeah, we did. Fun times. You should have seen the sh*t he did,” Hide supplied, grinning cheekily. Takashi snickered at the wheel.

“As if you can talk.”

Hide let himself relax into the seat, contributing only occasionally. He regarded the passing world, and thought for a second that he saw a dark figure with a head of glowing white.

Hide smiled to himself.

He was probably mistaken.

Chapter 20: In the Midst of my Life

Chapter Text

Hide rubbed his arms to keep off the cold. True to Nishio’s word, he’d been dragged to dinner that Wednesday night. “Eight o’clock, and we can’t be late,” he’d said seriously. “She’ll never shut up if we’re late.”

Hide had been stressed about getting there on time, but apparently he shouldn’t have worried.

Checking his phone, he saw that it was drifting towards ten o’clock at night. They’d arrived at eight o’clock sharp, and the mysterious girl ‘Touka’ had yet to show up. Damn, Hide was sure he’d heard the name before.

He’d taken a breather from the loud café to enjoy the cool air. Tiny flakes of snow were falling again, tonight, glowing in the ray of light cast by the streetlamp. The weather wasn’t bad, it was just that he couldn’t help but wonder why someone would be so late to something if they were so fussy about others on time. There had to be a reason, he was sure.

He slumped against the brick wall and breathed in the air. It was as fresh as the city got, and he could still smell the smoke seeping out of the building’s pores as the night came, like the entire city took a moment to breathe in the stillness.

Hide pulled out his phone and checked it. Futile. As if there’d be anything.

Bored, Hide paced up and down the front of the café. He was sure Nishio was watching him, but Hide didn’t really care. His ski jacket glowed orange in the dark, and he would have been more worried if people weren’t looking at him, right then.

As he reached the far end, he studied up and down the street it was on. No cars went by in the dark. In the distance he heard the rattle of the subway. A pedestrian crossed at the lights, their umbrella held above them to keep them dry from the snow. Quiet. Civil.

Breathing.

Dimly, Hide wondered what kind of person this ‘Touka’ would be. A girl, interested in Kamii. Why would she ask him? She’d have to know Nishio, but who did Nishio know?

Hide had no idea.

Hide slumped against the wall, trying to relax. He was so bored! He could have been doing anything right then—he could have been at a club or a party with Takashi, even—but instead he was stuck outside, thinking about things that probably shouldn’t be considered. Like a text. Or a letter.

Or a boy.

Hide heard a conversation travel down the street, and as he looked towards it, he saw two youths in dark clothes, smoking. One had dark hair, and the other had a beanie.

Even under it, Hide could see bright ends poking through.

Oi, was that . . . ? Hide didn’t stop before he started. Dark clothes, light hair, beanie, smoking—who else, right? What chance!

Wait.

Hide stopped, foot about to step onto the road. What would he think if it wasn’t Kaneki? Even worse, what would Kaneki think if it was Kaneki? Argh, so many problems!

He should go for it. Stop being such a pushover, his mother would say.

Hide had hesitated too long. By now the youths were clearly visible, and Hide knew it wasn’t Kaneki. His hair was blonde, yellowish, and he was taller and stockier than Kaneki. His black-haired partner and he were engaged in a grumbling conversation that Hide didn’t really care to be part of.

Hide stopped. Turned. Walked back. Checked his phone: 22:00. Sighed. Turned. Re-entered. Sat down.

He and Nishio didn't talk. In fact, Nishio looked incredibly pissed. He was mumbling under his breath, probably about being left so late. Hide wasn’t sure if he wanted a conversation, but he was a bit nervous about approaching a thundercloud.

That was when she swept in:

Touka.

She was wearing a waistcoat and skirt, tights and a bowtie. A work uniform. Her hair was short, combed over one of her eyes in a way that framed her face, like a throwback to an emo phase turned fashionable. Her dark hair seemed wispy in the right light, like she was older than she looked.

But she looked younger than Hide.

Hide pieced together her features like a puzzle, trying to remember where each part had come from: the small nose, the large eyes, the delicate lips so expertly painted with make-up. Something about her was eerily familiar, and Hide couldn’t tell why.

Touka sat herself down at their table without so much as uttering an apology for her lateness. She hailed a waiter over for a coffee before turning to address the situation. Her eyes went straight to Hide.

Dark eyes. Dark, purple eyes like glowing amethysts. Hide was certain he knew the face—but from where?

“Have we met?” she asked, shrugging off her coat over the back of her chair. “You seem really familiar.”

Her voice resonated in his brain, but Hide couldn’t f*cking place it. Where had he met her before?

“You keep us here for two hours, and then you won’t even apologise?” Nishio looked pissed. Hide wanted to shrink away, but instead painted on a smile and started.

“Now, now, Nishio, that isn’t—”

“My shift went overtime! Fight me!” Touka snapped angrily, glaring at him. “Some of us have jobs, hobo.”

“Excuse me? What, did you think that was a good enough excuse to leave us here? I have work, you know. I actually have prospects and commitments, unlike your little gang.”

Touka bristled, snarling at him angrily. “What would you know? Okay, fine, I’m sorry, wow. Don’t get your boxers in a knot.”

Nishio looked like he could have gone for more, but let it slide, biting his tongue. “This is Touka,” he said, fuming. He didn’t look at Hide, instead staring into his drink as he prepared to chug the thing. “She’s a bitch.”

“Nice one, Four Eyes. Did you practice that on Kimi?”

Nishio lunged, but Touka swung back on her chair legs, out of his reach. She grinned, almost savagely.

It was weirdly beautiful.

She laughed, giving the waiter a pat on the arm when he delivered her coffee. She ignored Nishio, turning now to Hide as she sipped the foam off her beverage. The tension on the moment broke fast enough for a match to have lit when her eyes turned cold, boring into him.

“What’s your name?”

There was no warmth in that voice. Crystal eyes turned sharp and deadly, ready to pierce him. Hide felt the weight of his phone in his pocket. There was no way she was coming here to ask about the Creative Writing Course.

“Nagachika Hideyoshi, but you can call me Hide.” Smile. Play dumb. He couldn’t let them think he was a danger, or he could be killed. sh*t, he wished he was holding his phone. Like this, he couldn’t get help.

But, like this, they also couldn’t make a scene.

“So, Hide,” her voice lilted over his name, like thick poison, being dripped into his victim. In this case, Hide. “Are you sure we’ve never met?” Her eyes were sharp and intelligent. But behind them . . . glowing behind the dark depths of her eyes, he could feel the anger from here. Rage, deep in her soul. She must have detested Hide, but why?

“I feel the déjà vu too, but I honestly have no idea.” His voice was light and bubbly. He felt sick. He felt sick. “Maybe we were once lovers in a past life.” He forced cheekiness onto his face, in the way he grinned lopsidedly. Touka smirked but gave no indication of further amusem*nt. Hide knew he was in danger. He was in a lot of danger.

“Anyhow, I asked Nishio here for you to tell me about Kamii’s Creative Writing course,” she said, sipping from her coffee. The steam blew into her face. The statement was not a mere conversation starter, though, it was an order. For him. To start talking.

“Yeah, he said that!” Hide’s face ached. Everything was so, so fake and he was terrified to drop the act. “It’s not a bad course, but I’d probably enjoy it more if, like, I actually liked Creative Writing.”

“You don’t like creative writing?” Touka asked, thin brows raised in question. There was no innocence to her confusion, though. Her eyes remained on him, watching every twitch in his face. Analysing him, watching for anything that he could be killed over. sh*t, he was so f*cked. “I would have thought you couldn’t help yourself, being fluoro orange in a city like this.”

Hide laughed. It felt strained; pushing against the top of his lungs like had no air in them. “I actually did it because my mother loves writing,” he admitted. Instantly, he regretted the choice. If Touka knew he had a mother, she had something to threaten him with. sh*t, sh*t, sh*t. “But the professor is really good. He’s like, super into the ‘get along with everyone’ vibe, so we do a lot of peer-editing. It’s actually really helpful.”

“That’s nice,” Touka said, pulling her lips into a smile. Hide studied the way the gloss had been perfectly applied, completely smooth as it reflected the light in the room, the soft blush of pink applied only to the centre of the lips. Makeup had been perfectly done all over her face, in fact, from the tip of her eyelashes to where the skin of her neck disappeared into her collar, everything was smooth and finished. He swallowed. He began to feel like he was being suffocated by her presence, by the weight of the danger.

Nishio had led him to this.

Who was Nishio, then?

“Do you have any friends in your class, Hide?” Touka asked, leaning heavily onto her hand. Her nails had been perfectly manicured as well, painted in that shiny beige colour, each cuticle the perfect horseshoe shape around oval nails. It reminded him of Rize.

Rize, who had been in the club that night.

The club, where he had danced for too long, meeting and parting with people, meeting and parting with Kaneki.

Yoriko, that was the name of the girl he’d met. She’d taken him to her table, where he’d met—

That’s where he had met Touka.

“Yeah, I actually sit with a friend of mine, Takashi,” he said easily. Now wasn’t a good time to broach the subject of past meetings. “I used to sit with another one of my friends, but he’s been ill lately and hasn’t been able to come.” Lies. So many lies.

“Oh, that’s a shame,” said Touka. Sincerity coated her words like nail polish; perfect and flawless, but Hide knew well enough that there was a nail underneath that, and even lower tissues filled with intricate lies and nerves that were waiting to be set off like a bomb. A perfect cover, but Hide knew it was fake. “I hope he gets better soon.”

He wondered if she knew his façade was fake as well.

“Me too,” he said, smiling politely. “But it’s a really good course, so—”

“What’s your friend’s name?”

Her voice betrayed nothing, but from the way her hands reached out too quickly for her drink again betrayed her eagerness. She was impatient. Impulsive.

Powerful.

“Haise,” Hide said, unwilling to give out Kaneki’s full persona name. Who was Touka? Who was Nishio? He remembered the day Nishio had come home, disturbed by Haise’s presence. Why? Were they enemies of Kaneki Ken? Did they suspect Sasaki Haise of a crime? Did they know that Sasaki was dangerous?

Or were they his friends?

Kaneki wouldn’t send friends to kill him, would they?

“Oh, yeah?” Touka said into her cup as she lowered it, dark eyes staring past its rim into the wall beyond. Hide waited for her to say something else, but they drifted into silence. He watched her place her cup down into the saucer neatly.

“Hide,” Nishio said, his deeper voice jolting Hide, “could you put your phone on the table, please?”

Hide was tempted to say he’d forgotten it, but he knew Nishio had been there whilst he checked his texts. Slowly, Hide complied, placing the item on the table close to him. They didn’t voice any disagreements, so he guessed it was good enough.

“Wow, what is this? James Bond? Am I actually being drafted into the Secret Service?” Hide joked, laughing nervously. He hoped they couldn’t tell how hard his heart was pumping, how on end his nerves were. It was starting to feel the same as the night he had followed Kaneki on that stupid decision of his that he still regretted. If he hadn’t gone, maybe things would have been different to the situation he was in right now. He’d much rather be plagued by curiosity than have a gun held to his head, like now.

“Have you known Haise long, Hide?” Haise’s name came fluently from her lips, like she was used to saying it. Her dark eyes glinted as she eyed him up and down, focusing on the way his elbow rested on the table, his hand laying calmly and still. Under the table, his other hand was clenched to stop it from shaking. They were connected to Kaneki, he was sure. But how?

“I met him at the start of the year,” he said, shrugging. “We had to be partners for some peer-edits we did. He was a pretty cool guy so I hung around with him. Why do you ask?”

Touka shrugged, fine shoulders shifting the fabric of her dress shirt. “Just curious. Do you go to parties or anything? Like, is that big at Kamii?”

She played the role well, the innocent student. Hide hoped he played his just as well. Stick with it, get out, lock yourself in the room. Barricade the door. He was certain now that Nishio was a threat to his safety.

“I go to parties way too much,” he laughed, “but most of them are external. Everyone is so serious at Kamii, it hurts me inside. Haise was just the same. I had to beg him to come and see a movie with me.”

He wasn’t sure if saying that was a bad idea. What would save him: less connections or more connections to Haise Sasaki—or rather, to Kaneki Ken?

“Nice,” Touka said, her thin smile back. “What movie?”

“The Conjuring,” Hide said. “It was such a bad move! I’m absolute sh*t with horror movies. I legit crapped my pants.”

“Oh, that’s so bad.” Her words would have felt more honest if she was looking him in the eye. No, she’d been typing on her phone. She gave him a sideways look and slid it across the table’s surface:

How much do you know about Sasaki Haise? Don’t answer out loud. Use your phone.

When he’d read it, she pulled the phone back. “Are you just terrified of ghosts?” the question—or rather, the distaste—was clear in her eyes. She thought little of him, being afraid of ghosts, like he didn’t know Kaneki was so obsessed with them.

So maybe she did know Kaneki.

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Well, not so much, it’s just the whole movie experience, where they aim to get you caught out.”

He doesn’t actually wear glasses, does he?

He passed the phone to Touka, sliding it along the table the way she had. She read the message quickly, body language tensing. Not even she, with her smooth edges and perfect cover up could hide her discomfort. She’d understood what he was saying.

Kaneki Ken didn’t wear glasses.

Touka put down her phone. “What does he mean to you?” she whispered, eyes sharp and distrustful.

He wanted to wilt away and escape.

“He’s a friend,” Hide replied softly. “I . . .” we held hands at a movie and Kaneki is a really good kisser, even when I was high. He also killed a guy and seemed fine with it. That was really not fun, to be honest.

“I care about him,” Hide admitted, “and I worry about him.”

Touka exhaled, turning off her phone. “f*cking hell. You’re lying through your teeth about stuff, but I can’t tell if you’re lying about this.”

So she had seen through him.

“Listen here, Hide, ‘Sasaki’ trusts people too easily. A lot of people have exploited him and hurt him because of it. What makes you think that I believe your intentions are good?”

Friends. Touka was his friend.

By the anger in her eyes, the provocation to defend, he saw it. She cared about him fiercely, and it made her dangerous. She was in the same league as Kaneki in that regard; she could act as well.

“I can’t prove it,” Hide said, staring at his phone. He wasn’t smiling anymore, but the sick feeling stayed in his gut. “I can’t prove anything.”

“Hide,” Nishio spoke up, “what you know about him has to be kept secret.”

“Yes,” Touka agreed. “That’s why you’re going to tell us what you know about him, and we’ll tell you what we know about you. I’m sure you’ve realised by now that at this table, you’re surrounded by wolves, and you’re a snack dressed in glowing orange.”

Hide really f*cking hated himself.

He swallowed hard, yet again. What would he tell them? That he’d pieced together strings and theories and decided one day to follow through and find out the truth so he could feel better about denying the unethical attraction he had to Kaneki Ken? That he’d watched Kaneki tear someone’s tongue out and kill them? That Kaneki had faced him and told him to leave?

“I work for the CCG,” Hide said slowly. The words were deceptively heavy on his tongue, like a weight wrapped in velvet. They were hard to say despite the softness of his voice. “I can access a lot of data through there.”

“Don’t lie,” Touka said evenly, just as soft. “We know the CCG doesn’t know a lot.”

“No, they don’t,” Hide agreed. “That’s why I started my own investigating.”

“Hello, my name is Professor Kanou. I’m looking for some test subjects.”

That was the first time Kaneki ever heard his voice. It pierced through the ringing in his ears, glorified by the memory. At the time, Kaneki wasn’t hearing much of anything. It was all cotton in his ears, all water in his eyes. Nothing would work, and everything hurt. He dimly remembered how badly they’d beaten him up for trying to escape.

He would die on that gurney, and he was surprised with how comfortable he was at the thought.

His consciousness came in snatches. He remembered seeing two dark shapes above him, indistinct in the loose fluids in his eyes, unable to properly blink them away. They hovered above him, buzzing around. He felt them touch his face, his chest, lift up each of his leaden limbs and inspect every inch of him, like he was an item. A good. A purchase.

A thing.

“ . . . Type AB? I’ll take him.”

He remembered the masculine, aged sounding voice. The voice of a doctor. Stupidly, so stupidly, he had hoped and believed that maybe he was being saved. Maybe the doctor was here to help him. Please, let everything stop hurting him.

Oh, how wrong he had been.

His next view was clearer. His eyes were healing, and he stared up at a white, fluorescent ceiling high above. It was clean and well-lit. he could feel the whispers of air conditioning on the bare skin of his limbs. He was wearing one of those terrible hospital gowns again, but it was clean. His front was no longer stuck to it with blood. He wriggled his toes. Had the doctor helped him? Was the man going to help him?

“You’ve healed well, Kaneki.”

It was the same doctor voice. Kanou. Kanou was his name. Kaneki painstakingly lifted his head to see the man: tall, garbed in white with a head of grey hair. His face was aged slightly. He seemed okay. He seemed safe. Somewhere, Kaneki was reminded of the kind manager.

Kaneki let his head fall, muscles aching. He heard Kanou approach. “How are you feeling?

“I’m . . .” Kaneki’s throat burned. He tried to reach up and grab it, but he realised that his wrists had been shackled to the sides of the gurney. The cold metal bit into his flesh. He felt it, now, the icy metallic touch against the back of his calves, against each knob of vertebrae in his spine.

Take the man from Hell.

But not Hell from the man.

“Where am I?”

Kanou smiled, appearing in his field of vision. “I’m going to make you a god, Kaneki. Just you wait.”

Touka had been silent for a long moment after Hide finished describing what had made him suspicious. Her eyes were narrowed, and she stared angrily ahead.

“I told you,” Nishio said indignantly. “Too smart for his own good.”

Hide could have laughed if he didn’t feel like he was being crushed. There was no use in keeping up the Happy Hide routine now.

“So, what sealed the deal?”

“What?” Hide said it on instinct, but he already felt the discomfort brewing. He’d done his best, for the sake of his own mental health, to try and forget about what happened. He didn’t trust himself to go someone to get therapy about the incident, because that would inevitably lead back to Kaneki, and that was the whole dilemma. Why did Hide want to protect him?

Touka’s eyes were on him again, watching him like a cat watches a mouse escape; resigned fury.

“How did you prove it?”

Her voice was deceptively calm.

“Oh,” Hide said. Now was the trouble. He scratched at his cheek, smiling nervously. “Do I really—”

Touka kicked him under the table. Hard. Her shoes had pointed toes, and they f*cking hurt when they dug into his shin. Hide winced. He did not want to be here. This hadn’t been a smart move on his part at all. Touka may have had intentions to care about Kaneki, but Hide was sure that she didn’t trust him.

“Don’t waste my time,” Touka growled. “You won’t have a place in any of this if the death of a single person unnerves you so much.”

Hide’s shaking stopped. Touka was right. Piercingly right, and it hurt.

He’d tried his best to try and convince himself otherwise, but he knew it was true: if, for whatever reason he decided to try and pursue it, this thing with Kaneki, how on earth would it work? It wouldn’t.

Hide knew it wouldn’t.

Slowly, he scratched at his cheek, saying, “I, uh, followed him. It was by accident, I was trying to give his money back, but I ended up seeing him take off the disguise.”

“Oh,” said Touka.

Oh.

“That’s it?” Touka’s moment was passed, and light was back in her eyes. “You let him think he was a piece of sh*t because of that?”

“What do you mean?”

Touka clenched her teeth, taking a second to compose herself. “You’re a f*cking dodgy guy, you know that? Snooping around Kaneki’s back—”

“Touka,” Nishio said darkly. “Calm down.”

Touka looked like she could have hit someone, very suddenly. The anger that had been kindling in her features was alight, and Hide could feel himself being burnt by it.

“What next?” she asked. Her composure was wearing thin as time went on. “You followed him. Great. f*cking great. So what then? What did he do that would make you run away like little bitch?”

Hide wanted to flinch away at her words, but they were things he’d all thought to himself long before. He ran a nervous hand through his hair. He had to relieve the memory, as f*cked as it had been. His mouth felt dry as he spoke.

“He was . . . there was this guy, and . . .”

Hide watched as Kaneki pressed his lips against the other man’s. It could have been a movement of love, of passion in that violent, open-mouthed way. Hide didn’t even see the way Kaneki’s jaw clamped shut until he jerked his head away, blood spraying as he held the man’s severed tongue between his teeth.

“He, um . . .” Hide prodded at his cheek, unable to form a coherent sentence. “He got the guy’s tongue, and—”

Touka’s patience wavered. “Speak properly!” she hissed. “You’re not helping anyone by being weak.”

Hide took a deep breath.

“I watched him bite a guy’s tongue out. Then he slit the guy’s throat and stuffed the tongue in. Why? Because someone asked him. Was it hard for him? No. No, it wasn’t.”

Touka grabbed him by the collar, glaring at him angrily. He could see the angry curses on her tongue as she opened her mouth to yell at him.

“Touka.”

“f*ck!” Touka tossed him back into his chair. Angrily she crossed her arms, spitting flames. “You—f*ck you, Hide. f*ck you.”

“Touka, keep your voice down.”

“Shut it, Nishio! You thought he was a nice guy!”

Nishio’s eyes narrowed. “Your opinion may be different, but he’s done nothing wrong. Don’t go beating up dumb kids because of it.”

Touka bit her lip. “Fine, be that way. What did Kaneki even see in you?”

Selfishly, naively, Hide felt defensive. What had he done wrong? Sure, he’d invaded the guy’s privacy, but what had he said that was so wrong? What had set Touka off?

It was like she had a meter for annoying internal monologues.

“You could never understand Kaneki,” she said angrily, coercing her anger into a single, flowing tone. “Never. Do you think everything is so black and white? You think Sasaki is this cute, sensitive guy and then Kaneki is a senseless, violent killer? Have you even heard yourself? Oh, wait—don’t tell me, you looked for a psychological reason. Did you get to Marie Antoinette too?”

Hide felt his blood running cold. Every single word she was saying hit the mark. His sickness changed into a sinking, heavy shame. God, she was so right. When had he become so stupid?

Touka shook her head. Her anger had been reined in, replaced by disappointment in a single breath. “You people. Did you think Kaneki enjoyed that? Do you think he enjoys the life he’s living? For whatever reason, your role in Sasaki’s life made him happy, but honestly? You make me sick. All I can sense from you is having a loving, comfortable family. Have you even had a broken heart, Hide?”

“Touka, calm down.”

“And you, sh*thead!” she whirled to Nishio. “You should understand what we’re living. How do you—what do you see in this guy?”

“Hide is not a bad person, Touka. Calm the f*ck down. You’re being childish.”

The words sent a jolt through her, and she grew quiet. She chewed on her lips, staring into her lap. “You know, I really had high hopes for you, Hide. I haven’t seen Kaneki that good in a long f*cking time, but you’re honestly pretty disappointing. I’m not trying to be nice, so don’t look for it. You must like the quiet bookworm type. Yeah, Sasaki’s the one for you. Aren’t they so easy to break?”

“Touka!”

“Save it, Nishio,” she snapped. She pulled a small envelope from her pocket and slammed it on the table in front of Hide. “This is for you. I brought it in the hope you were worth it, but no. You need to understand. Not everyone can choose where they end up. Not everyone is born into a house filled with love. Not everyone has two parents. You’re smart, I get that. Kamii likes it. The CCG likes it. You’re just like them, y’know? Just like them.”

Hide couldn’t speak. He didn’t have the nerve to open his mouth and talk back. All he could do was feel ashamed of himself. Had he really been that pathetic?

Touka stood and pulled on her coat. “Kaneki is no hero. Kaneki may not even be a very good person, but f*ck you if you think you’re in a position to judge him.”

“Stop being so moody,” Nishio sighed. “Just sit down, Touka.”

“I’m done,” she said. Standing, she fixed her hair and shook out her hands. “It’s fine.”

She was the image of collectedness once more.

“Kaneki spent a long time wondering if he should send you a text,” Touka told him, staring down at him. Hide felt dwarfed by her immense presence. “He did. And he sent it. You know what the worst part is? I told him to. I told him to follow this chance. God, I wish I’d known.”

Hide stared at his hands. She wasn’t lying. She wasn’t lying. She wasn’t lying.

“It’s Kaneki’s choice. He valued you enough to leave your life despite it being a source of happiness. He told you to leave. Do you want to know something, Hide? Kaneki hates it. He hates being alone, but he’d do it for you. I just—argh, f*ck. f*ck it all. I’m going home. See ya, Nishi-sh*t. Sorry for wasting your time.”

And just like that, Hide watched Hurricane Touka disappear.

“Damn,” said Nishio, “she didn’t even pay for the cappuccino.”

Hide didn’t have the heart to say anything. He felt like Touka had gutted him down the middle and taken out everything that he’d thought he had to be proud of.

“Hey. Don’t look so glum. Touka’s pretty harsh.”

“Comforting sounds pretty weird from you, Nishio.” Even now, he’d tried to keep up his act. Maybe it would have been convincing if his words weren’t hollow.

“I’m stating facts. Touka is . . . she owes a lot to Kaneki. All of us do. Touka is just . . . overly compassionate. Violently, even.”

“She was right.”

Nishio didn't offer any more comfort. “I’m heading home,” he said, leaving a note on the table. “You have a key, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Hide said, draping himself over the back of his chair. He felt his spine click into place. “I have one.”

Nishio didn’t look impressed. “Well, don’t die on the way home.”

Hide didn’t even register he’d left. He felt so ashamed of himself, and so guilty. Touka had been right, right about everything. What could Hide ever have to offer Kaneki when he had someone that cared so much about him? God, he was such an idiot.

Kaneki and Sasaki weren’t different people, and he had to accept that. He had to.

“I guess the question is which one is the real version of Kaneki,” he muttered to himself. Against his better judgement, he reached for the envelope and opened it, pulling out an old photo.

It showed an older man beside a younger boy with a head of black hair, smiling nervously and sadly into the camera. They were inside, in what appeared to be a café with chocolate brown walls and a counter behind them.

It took Hide a long second to realise that he was looking at Kaneki Ken.

“Touka? What is it?” Kaneki picked up the phone. He’d been talking to Chie Hori about organising a way to scout for more information about Kanou. He had to arrange order into this, especially after the appearance of Furuta.

“f*ck you, Kaneki,” she grumbled into the phone. “f*ck you.”

“What did I do?” He turned to the window of his room, looking up from his notebook. He’d finished today’s entry, after all.

“It’s nothing,” she sighed. “I just . . . no, it’s nothing. Don’t worry. Have you eaten today?”

“You don’t have to mother me,” he said quietly.

“Just tell me.”

No, he hadn’t. “Yes,” he said. “I have.”

“Good.” Another sigh, this time one of relief. “Is everything all right over there?”

“Nothing’s happening, yes,” he said. “Are you okay? Do you need help? Is it—?”

“It’s fine.”

Kaneki wished he could tell whether he was lying or not. He couldn’t, though. He couldn’t read between the lines, couldn’t study their quirks when they were hiding something. Over the phone, he had no choice but to believe her.

Was it always like this?

“There’s some food left,” he said. “I can heat it for you if you’re close.”

“No, don’t bother. I think I’ll go to Yoriko’s.”

So she wasn’t fine.

What was the best thing to do here? Kaneki supposed distance would be the best. She must not have wanted to see anyone right then.

“Okay. Stay safe.”

“You too.”

Kaneki hung up. What had that been about?

Chapter 21: Bullet Train

Chapter Text

“Please, save my brother!” the girl begged, hanging off the officer’s arm. “Please! He’s where I used to live, and my brother is in danger! You have to help him! Please!”

“We understand, but first we have to—”

She stopped listening. They weren’t going to save him. Oh, God, Touka had made such a bad mistake. He wasn’t going to be saved. She had left him. She had abandoned him.

“I beg of you,” she whispered, “save him.”

Amon ran a hand through his hair in frustration. By now, he was sure that it was a mess. He’d been in the office all night, looking through case reports. Over the past month and a half, the crime rates had been growing. All kinds of crimes from petty theft to murder. It surprised him how quickly an infection like that could infect Tokyo. The 20^th ward, renowned for its safe nature, was beginning to host them. Last month, a woman had her apartment burgled. Nothing major, just technology like the television and her savings she’d stashed behind the bed.

The following week, someone was mugged violently on the street. The police, after a brief investigation, handed it to the CCG to figure out. With the new laws, any crimes that had the capacity to become violent were handed to them to solve, since their laws of conduct were more lenient than the police force’s.

This meant their cases had been steadily piling up. The 20^th ward was becoming dangerous, Amon knew. Last week, a group of three men had been killed on the ward border. After a brief review, the culprit was ascertained: Kaneki Ken.

His influence was found all over the city, and Amon was becoming worried. He’d never been this prominent before. His claim to fame was the case that resulted in the death of thirty people within the space of twenty minutes at the dangerous ‘Restaurant’: a barbaric event run by members of the underground who enjoyed watching people who committed crimes against them being killed.

It was a terrifying prospect, both the Restaurant and Kaneki Ken’s strength.

They were all known and terrible criminals. Psychopaths were not clinically thought to enjoy socialising, but these ones of the Restaurant seemed to unite over watching others suffer. Usually, one person would be on the ground would be dealing the fatal blows to their entertainment. They were often humans that had been driven insane to a berserker-like level.

Thinking about it now still sent shivers down Amon’s spine.

He sighed and filed away the papers. Kaneki’s remained on his desk, wide open, showing him the updated image: a round face, large grey eyes, a small mouth, and a shock of white hair. Amon knew that the computer-generated image had its limitations, but it gave a much clearer image than their grey sketch.

The times Amon had seen him, he’d been left reeling. There was something fundamentally different about him that separated him from others in his class. Amon remembered, his rookie days, running down a warehouse in the 4^th ward with his gun, separated from his squad. Shinohara was going to kill him, he knew, if a gangster didn’t find him first.

He’d turned a corner and found himself standing in a puddle of blood.

Investigators were slumped against the walls, gunshots to their bodies, cuts across their throats—all manner of ways to die that Amon struggled not to throw up thinking about. One of them had their throat sticking out of a second smile on their throat, sitting up against the wall, legs splayed, clothes sucking up the blood that coated the ground.

He had been standing there, clothed entirely in black. White hair stood out in the dark, and his form was still as he regarded that particular fatality in front o him. Blood dripped off his hands: one empty, one holding a small knife. Amon looked for his eyes but found them hidden behind the white bangs. He’d drawn a black scarf over his nose and mouth.

“Investigator,” he said softly, “run.”

Amon remembered the moment vividly: being filled with his anger, his desire to get vengeance. Colleagues, comrades and friends had been killed in that mission, and one of the reasons was standing before him. Amon raised his gun to shoot.

Kaneki slowly turned to face him. Amon saw the streaks of blood on his face, sticking to his cheeks, leaving marks from where it had soaked into the scarf over the bottom half of his face with a depiction of a pair of bared teeth.

Kaneki’s cold grey eyes regarded the taller man, and Amon found himself frozen in place. He’d become used to seeing the expressions of gang members, from terror to ecstasy, even a sort of nonchalance, but he had never seen the sheer emptiness before him. It wasn’t nonchalance, it wasn’t sadness, it was . . . nothing.

He’s just a normal psycho, Amon told himself, trying to steady his hands. Just shoot.

“Please, Investigator,” he said again, “don’t make me kill you as well.”

“Shut up!” he yelled. “You’re just one of them. This is . . . you should be tried for your crimes.”

Kaneki closed his eyes and looked down. “I know that the best,” he said. “So . . . please leave. I won’t touch you. Someone like you has things to do, right? Just go.”

His voice sent echoes through Amon’s head. His hands shook on the gun. This was his inexperience, he reasoned. This was his compassion. People had died. He knew the guidelines: no killing unless CCG has been killed. He was so, so angry. He wanted to kill the man.

CCG had been killed, but killing seemed so essentially wrong Amon couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Shoot to subdue, not kill.

“f*ck!” he yelled as he pulled the trigger, jumping from the recoil.

He watched it sail past his target. He’d missed.

“Investigator,” Kaneki repeated, looking up. His gaze was growing dangerous. “Leave.”

Amon fired again. It connected, hitting Kaneki in the shoulder. The smaller man staggered under the impact, but then took a step forward, straightening. Amon searched for any sign of pain on the man’s face.

He saw none.

“Don’t make me,” the man said quietly. “Don’t make me kill you. Please.”

“As if!” Amon fired again, this time hitting Kaneki in the side. He saw blood spray behind him, but the boy didn’t so much as sag under the strength of the bullet. Slowly, the boy took another step.

“Make your choice.”

Why was he moving? How could he move? Why didn’t he see anything in the man’s face? No pain, no care, nothing, just the sharp glint in the eyes: The violence, the anger.

Amon raised his gun again, arms shaking dangerously. As his finger curled around the trigger, the smaller man lunged and grabbed it from his hand. With his leg, he kicked Amon back, slamming him against the wall. Winded and disorientated, Amon watched the boy disarm the gun expertly and discard the cartridge. He dropped it to the ground.

“Please run,” he said. “You cannot fight me, now.”

Rage filled Amon to the core. He stood, gripping the wall for support. He was twice the man’s size, and easily stronger. All the white-haired man could make for in speed and wit Amon could match. He would match. He would. He had people to avenge.

He lashed out at him, who took the blow to his gut. The smaller skidded back, stumbling and falling into the blood on the ground. Amon’s hand was wet from the blood from where the boy had been shot. How was he fighting this?

The youth jumped up and struck back with and elbow to Amon’s face. Through the adrenaline, Amon remembered the sickening sensation of something being crushed even without the pain.

Amon grabbed a handful of white hair and slammed him into his knee. The kid didn’t falter, grabbing the man’s white CCG-issue coat and swinging him down. Because of the lack of footing, Amon went down hard, face first.

Pain exploded in his shoulder, and Amon cried out onto the wet ground. Stabbed. He’d been stabbed in the shoulder.

“f*cking— you!” Amon tried to push himself up on his one good arm, but the other pushed him back down, and Amon felt his weight straddle his back. The youth pulled him up by the hair, and Amon felt something icy cold touch his throat.

“I could kill you,” he said. “Is that what you want?”

Amon didn’t think the boy even felt anything.

He could see the expanse of dead comrades, each bowed and dead. If Amon died, who would avenge him? Who would fight for him? Who? How would Amon avenge them if he died? No, he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die!

The boy released him. “Run away, Investigator.” He pulled the knife free of his shoulder, inciting another groan of pain. “You have things to do. You can’t die yet.”

Amon rolled onto his back, seeing the white-haired psycho stand above him. He couldn’t see any sincerity on his face, but he couldn’t see any misgivings either. Did the man genuinely think that?

Amon didn’t know the boy’s name.

“What’s your name?” Amon demanded, struggling to sit up. “Tell me!”

The boy stepped away. “Kaneki.”

“I’m Amon!” he yelled, “and I will not forgive you for this!”

“Please don’t.”

Then, Kaneki had disappeared.

Amon struggled to explain the event to his superior Shinohara. It got harder to explain as time went on. It only got harder when he learnt that Kaneki had been involved with the death of his next superior, Kureo Mado. At the time, someone had seen him with an eye-patch and gave him the name.

It seemed a cruel twist of fate he would be assigned to the 20^th ward with his past superior’s daughter as his partner.

Amon rubbed at his eyes and checked his emails, re-reading the one he’d received that day:

The 20^th ward branch will receive two new Investigators to help with the rising crime rates.

Wouldn’t that be fun?

“What’s your name?”

“Kirishima Touka,” she told them. “My brother is—”

“I’m sorry, we can’t help your brother.”

Touka’s hands clenched at her sides. This happened every single time.

“I understand,” she said calmly. f*ck, if she had the choice, she would burn them, the useless—

“We’ve received a foster family application for you. They’ll be taking care of you. You’re being picked up tomorrow. Remember, if you have any problems, you can always contact us.”

Yeah, because they were definitely going to fix her problems.

“What about Hinami?” she asked, worrying. “Isn’t she coming with me?”

“I’m sorry, Touka,” said the woman on the other side of the table. “Because she’s . . . because she’s younger, we received a lot of applications. She’s a lovely girl. She’ll be fine. You’re entitled to meet up three times a year.”

Touka’s heart thudded in her chest. They had lost Ayato, and now they were taking Hinami from her as well? What was this? What were they doing?

“You can’t—please, she’s my only family left!”

The woman almost looked remorseful. Her hair was cut short, at jaw-level. Her eyes were dark and saddened by years if dealing with terrible children. “You’re not actually related, so I’m afraid that because of the numbers, we have to split you up.”

“This is bullsh*t!” Touka stood. “Don’t you dare take someone else from me! You can’t even find Ayato, f*cking—don’t do this to me too!”

“I’m sorry, Touka,” she repeated quietly. “There’s nothing we can do.”

Touka could only cry.

“Morning, co-workers!” Hide sung, cheerful on the Saturday morning shift. From her desk, Akira gave him a sharp look. Amon nodded. The Hide alert had been lit. Now, over the next five hours of his part-time shift, they would try and figure out why he looked like the walking dead.

“Good morning, Hide,” Amon said, smiling. He’d spent all night in that goddamn office, and he was sick of it. That being said, he had bigger things to be worried about, like Nagachika Hideyoshi.

Amon, not having the chance to approach him in class as he was surrounded by all his buddies, relied on his time at the office to voice his concerns. He’d seen Hide rush in, late to class, a coffee in one hand and an energy drink in the other, scull them in one minute and then fall asleep. That wasn’t healthy behaviour. The scary thing was the way it was continuing to worsen over time.

Hide’s usually tanned face was pale. The skin around his eyes was a sharp shade of red, and the shadows under them were terrible. If Amon didn’t know better, he would have thought that Hide hadn’t slept in several days.

This would be their fifth attempt at trying to coerce the truth out of him.

“You’re not looking so well, Hide,” Seidou said. “You all right, man?”

“Never better, my guy,” Hide said, shooting him some finger-guns. He wore a cap with the numbers 01 printed onto it. “You’re just seeing my morning face. Unfortunately, I lack any makiage skills to hide the death.”

“It almost looks like you haven’t slept in a while,” Akira said slowly. “You’re not involved in any illicit businesses, Hide?”

“What? No!” Hide laughed it off, waving his hand. “I literally just stayed up all night doing this Criminal Psychology assignment and I’m just rather dead inside. Seriously.”

It could be true.

Or, it could be untrue.

“Well, if you say so,” Seidou shrugged. “No sleeping on the job, though.”

Hide grinned and pulled an energy drink out of his satchel. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

As Hide walked past Amon’s desk, he caught the unsavoury scent of smoke. A mix of cigarette and smoke machines in small rooms was stuck to Hide, following him around like a haunting ghost. Amon wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“Have you gone to a party recently, Hide?”

“Hmm?” Hide turned back to him, the small quick of his mouth ever-present. “Well, I guess . . . I mean, I am a student. It would be more weird if I didn’t.”

Had Hide been . . . going to parties too much? In Amon’s opinion, it seemed fairly plausible. Hide was someone always surrounded by people, and it wouldn’t surprise Amon if Hide were actually at parties all the time.

But really, would Hide deliberately party himself into exhaustion?

He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t. The words wouldn’t leave his mouth. Hide was so desperate to reassure everyone, it seemed, that he was fine that Amon didn’t find the nerve to say a single thing.

Dammit, he cursed to himself. He’d fix this.

Saturday night was always big for Hide. As usual, he’d finished work and headed towards the bar where he and Takashi always met, a small bar not far from Kamii. It was always filled with students too shy to go to a party but keen to get hammered. Hide sat himself down and pulled out his phone to wait.

His day at the office had been like it normally was, now. Everyone seemed to be hassling him about how he looked. He was fine, wasn’t he? Sure, going to parties more often than when he’d finished High School wasn’t a good choice, but it meant he hung out with Takashi and, usually, it distracted him from anything bad he was thinking. ‘Bad’ was the umbrella that fell over Kaneki Ken, Sasaki Haise and being roasted by some girl that was so right it hurt.

He sighed, ordering a drink. He was such a terrible person, wasn’t he? He should have known better than to go looking for Kaneki Ken. He should have known better than to try and accept this. It was so far beyond him he didn’t know what to do.

The barman handed him his beer, which Hide sipped at. Soon, he’d be at a party with a friend surrounded by strangers and he’d have a great time not feeling like a terrible human being. He’d just do what he’d gone with: wait. Just wait for something to happen that wasn’t terrible from Kaneki’s side, and until then he’d live his own life.

That’s what he was meant to do, right?

“Hey.”

Hide looked up, grinning. Takashi had arrived. “Hey—”

It wasn’t Takashi.

Touka, the illustrious girl who had roasted him so bad he couldn’t even sleep that night from the guilt, sat herself down at the bar. “Are you waiting for someone?” she asked him. There was none of that smooth act now. She was calm, but there was something rough about her that made Hide cautious.

“Yeah,” he said, forcing a smile. “But he won’t be here for a while.”

They lapsed into silence. Hide swallowed, plucking up his courage to speak.

“That time the other day, I’m really sorry—”

“Shut up!” Touka snapped, eyes alight with anger. “Don’t you dare apologise.”

Hide flinched back, falling silent. Touka looked down at the bar and rubbed her eyes tiredly. “I’m not going to apologise for what I said the other day,” she started. “I won’t ever apologise for being myself. But don’t you dare try and say it’s your fault. I was very harsh and probably unfair. I don’t know you. It was rude of me to say that, and I hope you know that.”

Hide’s ears rung. What was he hearing?

Touka glared at him, gnashing her teeth. She ordered herself a drink and pulled out her phone. “I talked about it with a friend. I was really angry at the time. I just worry a lot about Kaneki. He’s . . . look, he’s not a beautiful human being. He’s probably not a good person, but he deserves better than what he has.”

“You weren’t wrong about me. You don’t have to do this,” Hide laughed nervously. “It’s fine. I was in over my head. Kaneki probably deserves someone better than me, anyway.”

“Pah!” Touka spat. “I may not like you very much, but no one I know has the effect on Kaneki that you have. I’ve . . . I’ve decided to trust you.”

“What?”

Touka glowered at him. “I don’t want to, either, but the rumour mill is saying you’re a good guy. So, I’ll give you this.”

She passed him a piece of paper with six addresses on it. “These are where Kaneki is going tonight to deliver. He normally hangs around on the edges of parties as a bodyguard.”

“Are you . . . are you telling me to go find him?”

“Oh, for f*ck’s sake,” Touka sighed. “Yes! Yes, I’m telling you, a nice guy, good citizen with a loving family and good prospects, to go after this boy. I don’t know what your plans were, but ditch them.”

She received her drink, breaking eye contact. Hide couldn’t even swallow. Couldn’t she tell that he’d resigned himself to distance? Was it that hard to see?

Touka took a long sip, licking the foam off her lips. “Aren’t you underage?” he asked. “You said you’d finished school, but—”

Touka’s eyes flew to him. “So you do know me.”

Hide blanched. He scratched at his cheek nervously. “Well, ah—I was in a club, and I met Yoriko, who introduced me to your friends, and—”

“That was you!” Touka cried. “The arsehole that ruined my night!”

“Jeez, sorry,” Hide wilted under her gaze. “I kind of had my drink spiked.”

“Ugh,” Touka groaned. “Rize. Dammit. So you were the guy Kaneki fooled around with. Great.”

Some of the anger faded from Touka’s gaze. “Go find him,” she said slowly. “Then we’ll argue about everything. He doesn’t really tell us what’s going on in his life, but . . . I feel like you can heal him a bit.”

“What do you mean?”

Touka glared at him again. “f*cking hell, just go! Go, go go! Leave! f*ck it, I’ll pay for your drink. You have one night to catch him, and he moves fast. I’ll tell your friends you went home sick!”

“You don’t know who they are,” Hide protested. “And, to be frank, I’m pretty sure the ‘reunion’ won’t go that well.”

“If Kaneki insisted you leave him,” Touka said harshly, “then he cares a lot about you. He’s a misguided little sh*t, but it’s part of his charm, I guess. Go!”

Hide grabbed the paper off the table. “Fine! I’m going!”

Every resolution he’d made crumbled. God—f*cking—dammit.

“Also, Hide,” said Touka, “I hope you didn’t feel too bad about what I said. I’m an angry person, and sometimes I’m really nasty.”

She didn’t apologise, but Hide could hear it in her words. He swallowed hard. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” she said. “I don’t apologise about myself, so don’t ever let anyone make you apologise about yourself. Be ugly, be privileged, or be smart. It doesn’t matter.”

Take pride in who you are.

Hide stood. It was just like him to be swayed by pretty girls with pretty words. “I’m going,” he said. He pressed a note onto the table. “But you’re not paying for my drink.”

He ran.

Chapter 22: Switzerland

Chapter Text

She’d been working at the bar when Kaneki dragged him in. Back then, she’d been living in the apartments above Helter Skelter. Uta had managed to get her a ‘foster family’ that allowed her to live there. These foster parents were actually two people Uta made up. She’d have to gear up the place for the annual check-up, but at the stroke of good luck, she’d found a place where she was finally able to be free.

It had been raining at the time.

Kaneki kicked the door open, holding him in his arms. Blood had run from his hair down his face, and he carried the smaller frame of Kirishima Ayato bridal-style in his arms.

She’d screamed and discarded her job, running up to them. She gripped Ayato’s face in her hands, seeing the way his baby face had hardened and thinned out, seeing the lines that time had put there she hadn’t been able to see. She saw the scars on his knuckles, the earrings pierced through his earlobes. His dark hair had grown long and unruly.

He could have been a stranger.

“Ayato,” she sobbed, leaning onto his soaking wet form. “Oh my God, Ayato!”

“He needs a bed,” Kaneki said. “He can have mine. I don’t think he’s injured too badly.”

“Yes—let’s go.” She didn’t have time to argue with him about sacrificing a bed. Ayato was here, Ayato was safe. Her baby brother was home after God knows how long, and she didn’t even have time to worry that he probably hated her for abandoning him all those years ago. She didn’t have time to care about that at all.

Abandoning his decency, Touka stripped him and used Kaneki’s clothes to dress him in. They were clean, they were new, they were something violently and starkly not Aogiri’s.

Aogiri would not touch him anymore.

Kaneki tossed his cigarette aside. He was travelling with Ayato and Tsukiyama. Ayato donned his half-face mask, and Tsukiyama’s crescent one was in place. Moving through the streets, Kaneki distantly observed them. Would they be fine without them? Could they work as a unit? Would Uta know not to try and get them to do his jobs?

Did he . . . actually care?

It was really bad if he didn’t, right? That was bad? sh*t, was it? He didn’t know anymore. Was it bad to wish for his death? Was it wrong for him to believe he had earned it?

“The next one isn’t that far ahead,” Tsukiyama said. “Another few minutes of walking.”

“I can hear it,” Kaneki shrugged. “It doesn’t seem like a big place.”

“It’s probably indoors,” Ayato said. He was taller than Kaneki now, a sold inch of shoulders higher than his own. “But maybe that’s not the real place.”

“You never know,” Tsukiyama said. “Let’s move on.”

Around them, Tsukiyama’s act was surprisingly casual. There was no outrageous French, no yelling and flourishing. No, he seemed almost cautious as they travelled. Kaneki wondered if it had anything to do with how his house burnt down and his servants were slaughtered. Maybe it had something to do with the tattoo on his back.

Kaneki wondered if Tsukiyama hated him. He must have, right? Kaneki had taken away his chance for an education. He was bright and this was his chance to rebuild himself from the ashes the CCG had left him with. Then, Kaneki had denied him the chance.

Kaneki wondered how they could stand him, ruining their lives like that.

Was Ayato happy at his new school? Was he causing trouble? Would he ask for help? Would Ayato have preferred it Aogiri?

No, Kaneki knew. No, he wouldn’t. He belonged with his sister and with Hinami in a dodgy flat, safe from the shadows of the city.

He knew that, so why wasn’t he able to make sure that none of them had to do this?

“You’re being too thoughtful,” Ayato growled at him. “Just get the jobs done, yeah?”

So Ayato had noticed. Kaneki straightened and ironed out the folds in his thinking. He’d have all night to lie in bed awake and think toxic thoughts to himself. After all, they couldn’t hurt him, so what was problem?

What was the problem?

Nothing could hurt him anymore.

Hide caught the bus to the sixth ward, like every man in a hurry would. He tapped his foot urgently as the bus chugged along through Saturday night congestion, checking his phone. If Kaneki was working like Touka had said, then he wouldn’t have his other phone. Any text that Hide would send him would not be read until later, when the chance had passed.

Hide swallowed. Was this really what he wanted?

He read through their previous texts again. He . . . he really missed their chats in class. He missed it a lot. He’d been so busy trying to remove himself from the possibility of what he was getting into that he’d blocked out how much he missed having Sasaki as a partner in Creative Writing, how much he missed making faces of the professor at the guy and trying to get that magical laugh. He’d really missed it.

Hide wouldn’t let Kaneki ruin his life like this. It was clear Touka wanted something else for him, and Hide would follow her words. It was no use getting cold feet. He would do this, and if Kaneki never wanted to see him again, then Hide would go back to what he’d been doing: he’d sit in class and sleep and drink caffeine to force his eyes open. He’d sit through boring lectures and run to Creative Writing every session in the hope that someone would occupy the desk next to him, even if they hadn’t for months.

For months and months, he would do it again. Just for one time. One more time to sit next to that guy and talk to him, to not feel like he was trying to get along with someone despite knowing the infinity of distance between them. He’d sit next to Sasaki Haise, next to Kaneki Ken, who was a monster made and maybe a monster born, carrying ghosts on his thin shoulders.

Just for one more time, Hide would do it.

He dug his hands into his new coat; a green rain jacket. Still bright, but more subdued than his bright orange ski jacket. The weather was too warm for snow, and instead rain would mist down, freezing to ice on lashes but not falling as snow. His fingertips found something rough and pliable. He pulled it out and saw the familiar photo. At the time, Touka had been enraged when she gave it to him, but now that Hide didn’t feel terrible about the whole ordeal, he looked at it again.

Kaneki’s face was rounder. Younger. His dark hair was clipped in a bowl-cut—probably done at home. Even at his more youthful appearance, there were the same shadows under his eyes, the same hollowness to the sockets of the skull. Guilt. Was Kaneki involved with drugs back then as well? Was this Kaneki before his hair was white?

Maybe it was Antoinette syndrome.

Kaneki was wearing a black top in the picture, and Hide could see a satchel on the chair to the right of the image. His belongings. It must have been warm at the time, because both Kaneki and the man behind him were wearing only base layers. Hardly a time for a hot coffee in the middle of a sweltering Tokyo summer, but for whatever reason, Kaneki had gone there. Did Kaneki still go there?

Hide, through instinct, doubted it.

Something about the picture was dead. The Kaneki he saw was just a memory, and he knew it. It was an immortalisation of a ghost. If Kaneki saw the picture, he’d probably discard it. The brightness in Kaneki’s eyes was long gone. There was pain in his eyes, yes, but there was life. It wasn’t an empty gaze of someone who was convinced they were nothing.

It was the face of someone who could bleed and be in pain. Someone who felt guilt. Someone who sold the lower citizens special powders and chemicals for them to destroy their insides for their own recreation. This Kaneki was dead.

Hide guessed that the older man behind him was dead too.

Who was that? Kaneki’s father? Grandfather? Uncle? Hide didn’t know. He seemed like a pretty kind guy; an aged face, eyes that crinkled and narrowed in a smile.

If it were possible, Hide would like to talk to him about it one day. He wanted to sit in the dark and exchange stupid childhood stories, like how he’d fall into mud and get trampled on by animals, and he wanted to hear Kaneki do silly, petty things that had seemed so daunting at the time. Hide’s heart sank when he began to realise that maybe neither the boy in the picture of the boy he knew now had many happy stories to share.

Hide shoved the picture away. God, progress was slow. He hit the stop button and waited anxiously for the bus to stop. They weren’t far now, right? He’d run. Traffic was too slow to be of any use. Rush hour seemed to extend for all eternity. The trains were busy, the streets were crowded, the roads in gridlock. He’d run. If Kaneki could slink his way around the city at night, quickly and undetected, then so could Hide.

He jumped off the bus and ran in the direction of the address: a club. It would be their third stop, because Hide was sure he’d missed the first two. He’d find Kaneki, and he’d talk to him. Now wasn’t the time to try and be a good boy for his mother. He’d chase after the bad guy. He’d go into the danger zone.

He’d put himself to number two instead of number one.

Kaneki stood in front of the door behind the bar. He watched the barmaids serve hundreds of people quickly and efficiently. Back when he’d actually worked at Helter Skelter’s counter, he’d worked the Friday, Saturday and Sunday shift. He knew how quickly things moved. That was the job Touka would be doing later tonight. From twelve in the morning to four in the morning, she’d be standing at that counter, while her brother was out delivering goods with Kaneki.

Ayato looked through his phone. He’d found a chair nearby and dragged it over, sitting himself in it. Based on the blankness of his expression, he wasn’t texting anyone or enjoying what he was really looking through. It was probably another article on visual arts. It was the one subject that Ayato seemed to enjoy.

Kaneki often wondered what it would be like to talk to him about it. Ayato going to tertiary education at all seemed like a dream. He was good at it, even if the opportunities for fine art were limited as a career.

Ayato choosing a career.

Ayato earning a respectable income.

They’d be fine if Kaneki wasn’t there, right?

Behind the door, they’d trusted the businessman Tsukiyama to take care of the deal. Kaneki was only so good at getting prices. Tsukiyama had been raised in a suit and tie to get the most out of a transaction. When he was in there, Kaneki knew he would be completely different to how he normally acted: Flirtatious, flamboyant, everything that made him hard to ignore. He’d used to be like that all the time, but Kaneki guessed he’d decided to only wear that on one shoulder and his humility on the other.

Kaneki wondered if things would be different if Tsukiyama Corporation hadn’t been discovered.

Tsukiyama opened the door. “Done. Let’s move on.”

They’d already left.

Hide turned on heel and ran. Where to now? What was their fourth stop? He checked: The eighteenth ward. He ran down city streets, looking for a train station. If he were lucky, he’d catch one that went straight there.

Kaneki ran out of cigarettes.

He stared into the empty carton. It was just like him to finish them all without noticing. Did he have a problem?

No matter. He tossed the empty cardboard into the gutter.

“What’s the plan for this one?” Kaneki said as they approached. “Who’s staying outside?”

“You can,” Ayato told him. “It’s where you want to go, right?”

Kaneki swallowed. “You can if you want. Don’t let me stop you.” sh*t, what was Kaneki doing? Ayato was right: Kaneki wanted to stay outside and watch who came in and out. He wanted to be the one who had the danger of getting caught. He should have known better than to try and give Ayato the possibility of doing something so dangerous. Wasn’t Kaneki meant to look after him for Touka? Wasn’t he—?

“It’s fine,” Ayato said coolly. “Besides, your face is better known than mine around here.”

“I guess,” Kaneki said softly.

Hide could barely breathe. He latched onto the pole of the train carriage, chest heaving. He’d sprinted all around the ward looking for a station. Damn him and his ignorance of the city’s layout. He felt like he was about to throw up.

The fear settled in his gut, writhing and hissing with pain. No matter how bad he felt, nothing would compare to how it would feel if he missed Kaneki all together.

“Eighteenth ward stop coming up now.”

Hide sprinted out as soon as the doors opened into a thrush of people.

“That went rather smoothly,” Tsukiyama noted. “Only one place left.”

“Yeah, but these guys are a pain,” Kaneki warned him. “They’ll try to get the most for the least money possible.”

“Yes, but—”

“They’re too dumb to fall for any marketing,” Kaneki told him. Memories of the place tasted sour on the back of his throat, like they did when they leaked through the barrier between Before and After. The bizarre feat of osmosis; unwanted memories crossing the semi-permeable membrane that was the brain. Memories could affect the present, After, but no knowledge of him now could ever change what had happened Before.

“Have you been here before, Kaneki?” Ayato asked. “Uta said these guys were new.”

Kaneki shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at the concrete sidewalk as they progressed.

“I wonder.”

They weren’t there.

Not at the fourth, not at the fifth place, either. Hide was too slow.

sh*t, sh*t, sh*t! f*ck it, where were they going next? Hide scanned the paper, the ink beginning to rub off from being clenched in his sweaty palm for too long. Thank God, the next place wasn’t far. He could take a bus, but what was the point?

He’d run. Hide would keep running until he f*cking rammed into the guy.

He sprinted out the door and headed in what he hoped was the general direction of their next stop.

Kaneki had been waiting for a while. He’d sat himself on the front steps of the small place, waiting to hear Tsukiyama’s confident business voice and Ayato’s snappy replies. Minutes stretched by, and he heard nothing. Were they all right in there?

Ten minutes ticked away.

Twenty minutes.

Thirty minutes.

Something crashed behind the door and he stood. He threw open the door.

The room was filled with burly men. One of them had Ayato pinned to the wall by the throat.

He’ll die he’ll die he’ll die he’ll die he’ll die—

“Let him go,” Kaneki growled, closing the door behind him and reaching for the deadbolt. “Let him go, or I’ll kill you.”

Twenty red faces turned towards him angrily. Ayato struggled, but his small size and weight was nothing to these guys. They were easily Banjou’s height, if not taller and even larger. Kaneki reached for a knife.

“I said,” Kaneki repeated, glaring down everyone in the room. “Release him.”

“What’s someone like you going to—” Kaneki threw the knife, seeing it fly into the man’s open mouth and cut through his throat and the back of his neck. The man stumbled and fell.

Kaneki’s eyes didn’t leave Ayato’s struggle.

Humans had weak points. Points in the body that would break. People died. Sever the brain stem, the pons, and the brain would die almost instantly. Kidneys bled out faster than the heart. Joints snapped after being stressed. Tongues bled. Throats smiled.

People died.

The man holding Ayato lowered the boy, who instantly lashed out and slammed the taller man’s head into the table. He spat the blood that had gathered in his mouth from his split lip onto the man’s disorientated body.

The Kirishima flame would never go out, it seemed.

“These guys are mine, Kaneki,” Ayato snapped. “You just watch.”

Maybe Ayato should have watched the outside instead.

When Hide arrived, he promptly turned to the gutter and threw up. He felt like a whole litre of lactic acid should have come out, but instead he was left dry retching. f*ck, everything hurt. He drew himself up and hobbled towards what looked like the only door to a small concrete building. Even from Hide’s distance, several metres away, he could hear the commotion inside.

A fight. People were fighting.

The door flew open, and a huge-looking man came flying out. He slammed into the pavement so hard Hide was sure he heard a crack in the tarmac.

sh*t, Hide needed to hide.

He dashed around to the side of the building, where he once again found himself pressed against garbage cans.

“f*cking dopy sh*t,” yelled someone. Not Kaneki. They had a higher-pitched, younger voice, filled with rage. “Who the f*ck do you think you’re taking about, ha? Who?”

Something that sounded thick and heavy. A punch. Someone was being punched.

Hide peeked around the corner and saw a skinny, black-haired kid punching the man’s face over and over again. He was screaming words, but they were unrecognisable. Unruly black hair, and anger Hide could feel from here. It was strikingly familiar.

It reminded him of Touka in some ways.

At least the boy stood, wiping his hands on his pants. He spat on the asphalt beside the man’s head. “Go f*cking die, you piece of crap.”

Where Touka was all explosive righteous rage and violence, this one seemed to ooze anger and bloodlust. Hide swallowed and pressed himself back against the wall. Even if Hide hadn’t done anything ‘wrong’, he doubted he’d be safe from blind fury.

“Ayato, calm down,” said someone. “You got them all. Good. Let’s go, we’re finished.” This voice Hide knew. Although the emotions through the words were different, the particular lilt of the voice was impossible to miss: Tsukiyama Shuu.

“What about the manager?” Ayato snapped. Hide could almost hear his jaws grinding, teeth bared and bloody, like a wolf’s fanged maw. “What about that f*ckwit? Where’d he go?”

“I’ll find him.”

Hide legs nearly buckled. Kaneki. Kaneki, Kaneki, Kaneki—Kaneki was here.

“You heard him, Ayato,” Tsukiyama insisted. “Let’s go. You’ve made your point.”

“f*ck!” Ayato yelled. “Fine! Fine, goddammit.”

Hide watched them walk down the road. Ayato, the smaller one, had a scarf wrapped around his throat. He wore an oversized parka with a furry hood, and on his feet Hide noticed the same pair of heavy boots Kaneki wore.

He didn’t hear anything from where they had left Kaneki.

Where was Kaneki?

Hide leaned out again. Now, he could advance, right? He could find Kaneki now. He could. Before he could move he felt a hand wrap over his mouth and pull him back.

Kaneki rolled his shoulders. Now that Ayato and Tsukiyama were safely out of the picture, he could go about his business. Ayato had become stronger very quickly. Kaneki wasn’t sure which of them would win in a fight anymore, but he knew already who would live longer.

That was why he had tried to keep Ayato out of what would happen next.

He felt the familiar tingle on the back of his neck. He was being watched, and the only person left on the premises was the manager. Kaneki was well-versed in GLG’s policies: when the client disobeys the terms and conditions, hunt them down.

And remove them.

It was what Kaneki was best at, right after letting his head be filled with bullets for the sake of business partnerships.

The building inside was empty. The manager had escaped through a back door. Kaneki hadn’t even been aware that something like that existed, despite having been there before. The sour acid taste grew on the back of his throat. The sooner he left here, the better. The eighteenth ward was always a disappointing place on a multitude of levels. The rain misted on the tips of his eyelashes, causing him to blink quickly.

Where would the manager go? A guy of his size and ailment couldn’t travel far. Maybe it connected to a neighbouring passage, or maybe it was just a doorway into the alley system that separated the buildings.

Things were happening too fast.

“Oi, Kaneki,” the manager cooed. Kaneki’s eyes snapped to where the older man was standing, further down the alley to the left of the building, behind the dumpsters. He was far taller than Kaneki, far beefier, and much stronger. His right calf had been replaced by a prosthetic after being involved in a car accident. This limited his movements. Kaneki was almost surprised he’d been so stealthy about the whole act of movement.

In his right hand, he pressed a knife to someone’s throat.

In his left hand, he held Nagachika Hideyoshi against his chest by the mouth.

Things were happening too fast.

What was Hide doing here?

“This is one of yours, right?” the manager laughed. “You don’t change, you know. Always so desperate, so weak.”

Kaneki tried to find his voice, tried to muster the same coolness he could threaten whole gangs and get results with.

He couldn’t.

Hide had seen him before, with blood down his face and throat and coated in the skin of murderer and monster, with the right about of Rize in his actions and the right amount of evil in his soul. Hide was there. Hide was there.

Again.

“Now, Kaneki, if you don’t give me the goods you didn’t let me have, I’ll slit this guy’s throat. It doesn’t matter to you, right? Death.”

There was the same manic glint in his eyes Kaneki had watched worsen over the years. He was addicted. Tsukiyama had taken back the package. The manager had spiralled out of control. Ayato had hears someone talking about Rabbit in a bad way and lost his sh*t. Things piled up and worsened exponentially.

But why was Hide here? How?

He studied Hide’s face, numb, and saw only the brave face the blonde could muster over the fear in his features.

This should be easy: hand over what the man wants, save Hide. Kill the man afterwards.

Except, Kaneki didn’t have the goods. He hadn’t expected Nagachika-f*cking-Hideyoshi to show up.

“You want them, right?” Kaneki said seamlessly. “So hand him over. Hand him over, and I’ll think about it.”

Thud. Thud. Thud. His heart drummed in his chest.

The man threw back his head and laughed. Hide’s eyes shone with emotions Kaneki couldn’t read.

“Kaneki, you child! He’ll die, and you’ll die too. Everything. You think some years will change you? Paint your hair a new colour and suddenly you’re a big boy?”

The man’s hands were shaking. He wanted a fix. Kaneki supposed it was true, that dealers—addicts—didn’t really care about anything. Then again, Kaneki didn’t really care about anything. He didn’t care about a lot. He didn’t care about this man, about what he wanted, about what he knew about Kaneki from Before.

But he cared about Hide.

Kaneki’s hand wrapped around the grip of the gun in his pocket. Blindly, he armed it. How would he do this? How could he do this?

Physics. Human physics. That, and bluffing. Stalling.

Human arms react a lot to the force of a bullet. How to get his arm to pull away from Hide’s throat? How to get rid of that knife?

“How is the business?” Kaneki asked. “Madam A’s. How’s hers? Does she still have her page girls and boys pay you visits?” Like I used to. Does that woman still send kids to do her dirty work?

The man grinned. “No. She’s disappeared. No one makes it like she used to, Kaneki. No one else will suffice.”

Kaneki wished he still had the kilos spiked with cyanide. God, he’d offer those up in a heartbeat to someone like him.

“Shame.”

Where would he aim? The leg? No, that would be futile. This man could cut Hide’s throat in an instant if he felt threatened. A leg was useless.

The shoulder? That would cause a backwards momentum that Hide would get pulled into. The hand? Too risky. He could hit Hide if his aim wasn’t good enough. The elbow? If he destroyed the joint from the right trajectory, it could case a whiplash movement away from Hide’s neck.

Kaneki hated chances.

“You’re right about the hair,” Kaneki said, almost wishing he could let loose on this guy. He could have smiled.

He didn’t.

“Black didn't suit me.”

BANG!

Chapter 23: Day One

Chapter Text

Why wasn’t she healing?

Why was she still bleeding?

sh*t, what did Kaneki do? How did he stop the bleeding? How? His body did it on his own! How the f*ck did he?

Please, please, please, he prayed, pressing down on the wound. If there was a God, he’d forgive him for all the hell Kaneki had been dragged through if she would just heal!

Blood stained the tiles, its reach growing steadily larger has her body grew colder and colder. She wasn’t moving. Why wasn’t she moving?

“Someone!” he screamed, “Help!”

It started to rain.

No one came.

It was one of the many images Hide knew he would never forget.

Through some disassociation with himself, the world seemed to ingrain itself into his brain in slow motion. He remembered watching Kaneki’s gaze dart up, remembered watching each individual white hair rise and fall as in the same space of time Kaneki revealed a gun in his pocket and shot.

Hide remembered the way the blood burned against his icy skin, remembered the touch of air on his throat as the knife was removed. He remembered the way the arm had bent away at the unnatural angle, blood flying in globules, scattering across the walls, the ground, Hide’s clothes, Kaneki’s clothes.

His mouth was released, and Hide sucked in a gasp of air.

Something grabbed the front of shirt and pulled him back into reality roughly.

The force of his step sent every synapse surging through his brain, and Hide’s senses clicked into gear. His ears rung painfully from the sound of the gunshot. His mouth tasted iron. All around him was the scent of blood. Blood and desperation and bullets.

There was so much blood.

“Don’t look,” he heard Kaneki whisper as the other pressed the back of his head down into his shoulder. Hide, too stunned to respond, could only wince as he heard the second bullet fly, exceptionally louder than the first.

The echo seemed to last for an eternity. Nothing stirred. Nothing breathed. Nothing bled.

As it cleared, the rain came down in a storm. A roaring, constant white noise of thousands of droplets hitting the ground. Icy cold water ran down the back of Hide’s neck, but he didn’t move.

Hide had nearly died.

Someone else had died.

Kaneki had killed him. Again.

Hide straightened himself up. He had to be sane, here. He had to be rational. He’d come here with the goal of finding Kaneki, and he had. He’d come all this way, convincing himself that even one last conversation was enough.

The downpour had plastered Kaneki’s hair to his face, obscuring his eyes. Blood that had sprayed onto his chin was being washed away. His jacket was soaked through. Hide deliberately didn’t look back and see what was behind them.

Happy Hide, he told himself. Happy Hide.

“That was, uh . . . an adventure,” Hide said, squeezing out a chuckle. He felt like he was suffocating. “Yo, I guess.”

Kaneki disarmed his gun and put it into his pocket. “You should leave, Hide. It’s not safe.”

His voice seemed emptier than the alley they stood in.

Hide swallowed. “That’s no way to treat a buddy, right? Let’s, uh . . . I dunno. Let’s head back. We can chat, if the train isn’t too full, we can—”

Kaneki swayed to the right, tipping his head to his shoulder. Hide saw the way his eyes stared down to the body Hide knew was behind him but knew even more deeply that he shouldn’t look for the sake of his own sanity.

Kaneki’s eyes were heavy. The skin around them darkly discoloured and damaged from what could have been a lifetime of bad sleeping habits. White lashes bowed under the weight of raindrops.

Kaneki’s gaze turned to him, and the man straightened. “We should leave,” he said, stronger this time. “Now.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you,” Hide started to say, but Kaneki walked off without him. Hide’s actions felt horribly slow, as if he were moving through honey. Every limb was painfully lethargic, and he struggled to catch up to the quick-footed Kaneki.

Rain was pelting down, and Hide pulled up the hood of his raincoat. Be calm, he told himself. Calm, calm, calm. What use would there be, panicking? Who would he confide in? No, rationale came first, and his intelligence was telling him to follow Kaneki and get the f*ck out of there. The more distance between him and what had happened, the better. Maybe he could write it off as a bad dream. Maybe he could pretend that it hadn’t happened.

No, he scolded himself, it had happened.

Despite the heavy rainfall, the night was surprisingly still. From where they were, the roads were empty. Hide forced himself forward, catching up with Kaneki, who looked as distant as Hide felt.

Hide swallowed. Conversation was good. Conversation kept people sane. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words would form. Not a single sentence of small talk would grace his lips because as soon as he thought of what he wanted to say it was replaced with the desire to scream. He clenched his jaw tightly.

No screaming.

“I’m sorry,” Kaneki said as they walked. “It’s all my f*ck-up. I’m sorry.”

“Whoa, man, that’s—”

“I’m so sorry,” Kaneki repeated. “You shouldn’t have been involved. You should have . . .”

“Listen to me.” Hide stopped, surprisingly firm and completely fine with being pelted down on by the rain as Kaneki slowly turned towards him.

Hide felt his heart sink.

From here, he could see Kaneki’s left side running with red that the rain washed out. A small bloody puddle formed where he stood before the rain could carry it away down the drainage. A steady drop of ruby red blood dripped from the tips of his fingers, and Hide saw the tear in Kaneki’s sleeve.

He’d been hit.

“You’re hurt,” Hide said. “Do you need help? I can—”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s a gunshot wound, Kaneki. That’s—”

“Don’t . . . don’t call me that,” Kaneki said quietly. It was so quiet Hide thought it could have been drowned out. “Don’t call me Kaneki. sh*t, this is all my fault. I’m—I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I’ll see you back where you’re safe, and then you stay away from all of this.”

When Kaneki’s hair finally parted and Hide saw his eyes, he didn’t know what to think. They were glowing with expressions Hide couldn’t make out. So angry, so desperate, so pained, so . . . so much of everything and Hide couldn’t see all of it. Wide and aged with despair, Kaneki’s eyes stared back at him.

Was this better than emptiness?

Kaneki froze for a second before shoving his hands in his pockets and turning away, hunching against the cold and wet.

After a beat, Hide followed after him.

They walked down the middle of the road almost without care. Hide watched Kaneki take out his phone and start going through it. He called someone, and Hide heard him say ‘I’ll be late’. So Kaneki already had planned to go back to whatever he’d been doing for god knows how long before this, because clearly Hide meant nothing to him.

He meant nothing to Kaneki.

Look after number one.

Hide had f*cked up real bad.

“Hey,” Hide started quietly, “don’t you have a home to go back to?”

Kaneki didn’t answer. From where they were now, Hide could see the ward station in the distance. Kaneki slowed to a stop, staring at the screen of his phone. Hide clenched his fists. He was so, so, so angry.

So irrationally angry.

He wanted to scream, shout, smash glass. He didn’t care. He had to do something to let out everything that was chaotic in his brain. This was too much. Too much had happened.

Just for one time, he wanted to see Kaneki laugh again.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” Hide asked quietly. “You should go home as well.”

Kaneki put the phone away. He was still silent. Hide clenched and unclenched his hands.

“You know, Kaneki, at the CCG, where I work, they have all these funky nicknames for you. They even call you Binge Eater sometimes.”

Kaneki didn’t respond. Hide stared at his back, the slim form buried under layers of muscle and tissue, skin and clothes. The idea of Kaneki Ken seemed so huge, but the person seemed far too small.

“That sounds like the CCG for you.” Kaneki said sourly. “So f*cking typical of you guys.”

What?

Kaneki whirled around, biting his lip angrily. The downpour didn’t let up, but suddenly nothing seemed as loud as the words coming from Kaneki’s mouth.

“Hide, why would you hang around with someone like Haise?” Kaneki tilted his head back, looking down on Hide sharply. Hide’s heart thrummed in his chest. What was Kaneki saying?

“Is it because you wanted to break him? That’s what everyone wants to do, don’t feel bad. It’s not like the weak deserve to be unbroken, anyway!”

Kaneki was shouting, and Hide felt like his lungs were being cut up.

“It’s fine, Hide. I get it. You liked Haise. You know, I like Haise too. But Haise doesn’t exist, Hide. Understand that. You can do that, can’t you? Or is it beyond your narrow comprehension?”

In Kaneki’s eyes, Hide could only see cruelty. The sound of the rain was gone, and now Hide was left reeling from Kaneki’s words, thousands of time more deafening than any gunshot. They hurt thousands of more times that Touka’s outburst, and Hide couldn’t understand.

What was Kaneki saying?

Kaneki’s posture was relaxed, eyes glinting with rage. His eyes were the same silver steel of knife blades, pressed against Hide’s throat and drawing blood. Hide was bleeding. Kaneki’s words were killing him.

“You know, I kind of hate you,” Kaneki said, laughter bubbling in his throat. It was sour and bitter and everything wrong in the world. It wasn’t Kaneki. It wasn’t Kaneki. He couldn’t laugh like that. It wasn’t right.

It was deafening.

“I hate it. Everything. I hate this world, I hate its rules, I hate its logic, I hate all the people—I hate myself! Everything should burn and be razed to the f*cking ground, you know that, Hide?”

I hate you.

“I don’t want you in my life,” Kaneki said in his deadly calm, simmering voice. “Get the f*ck out of it. All you do is attract my ghosts, and I have no use for you. Get out, or I swear to God I will make you.”

Kaneki tossed a knife at his feet.

“You’re pretty pathetic, you know?” Kaneki’s mouth was stretched into a grin that Hide never wanted to see. It was manic, and it was cruel. It was the grin of someone who shot and killed and bit people’s tongues out. Surely, that wasn’t Kaneki, right?

Right?

“Pick up that knife, and when you feel sad about this, think of how many of those I have.” Kaneki was smirking, eyes narrowed and glinting. “You’re a real bother, you know? What, did you think I liked you? All those times you screamed over fences your petty love confessions—did you think I cared?”

Kaneki grinned, toothy and savage.

“Did you?”

“Hey, now,” Hide started, voice shaking. “That’s not—”

“Quit it,” Kaneki snapped. “You’re just like them, you know? The rest of them. The whole human f*cking race. You’re always going in with goals, always aiming to do things, like the whole ‘one last time’ business.”

Kaneki had seen right through him, hadn’t he?

“Did you think someone like me has the capacity to feel affection?” Kaneki howled with that same bitter, manic laughter. “Me? Oh, that’s hilarious. So f*cking hilarious, you know?”

Don’t, Hide wanted to say, don’t do this.

He couldn’t.

“It’s simple, really: I’m just the average, brutal, messed-up monster serial killer, and you’re the bright student with a problem.” Kaneki’s was piercingly sharp, cutting through Hide’s very being. “I really hate you, yeah? I really do.”

Hide couldn’t move. His throat stung as he watched Kaneki sway unsteadily on his feet, holding his face in laughter.

“Me, having feelings? For you? Don’t make me laugh!”

Everyone betrays you at some point.

“You go and do your little ‘waiting game’, Hide,” Kaneki said, calming down. His voice simmered with anger. “You wait and wait, because that seat will never be filled again.”

Kaneki stared him down. Hide, despite his taller height, had never felt smaller in his whole life.

“You’ll always be alone, Hide,” Kaneki said. “So hate me. Come on, hate me. It’s not hard; I hate you. Go and ruin your life with your parties, go and run yourself dry with subjects you hate. Go on, what are you waiting for?”

Kaneki Ken hated him.

“I always hated you,” Kaneki said easily. “So cheerful. So fake. When I saw you at that party, you know what I thought?”

No. No, Hide didn’t want to hear this at all.

“Stop—”

“I thought, ‘boy, this guy looks pathetic, maybe I should make him feel better.’”

Hide shook. He couldn’t. No, Kaneki—he wouldn’t, right? Surely, that wasn’t what happened. Was that night in the club, that night at the party, all those months at class—was that all just Kaneki acting?

Had Hide really not noticed?

No. No, he would have. He so would have, right? He prided himself on it! He was good at it! There was no way . . .

“Take that little memento of your mistake and get the f*ck away from me,” Kaneki growled. “You will never have a place in my life.”

Hide watched Kaneki turn. Hide watched him stalk away. Hide watched him drift farther and farther away but no matter how much he reached, Kaneki wasn’t his to grab.

It rained.

Kaneki ducked into the first alley he was certain no one saw him enter. He was breathing hard. He slumped against the wall. The back of his throat stung weirdly. His head pounded. sh*t, what was wrong?

He let himself slide to the ground, staring into the falling rain. He was slow. He was heavy. That familiar sensation, so long known and recently forgotten had settled into his limbs again and reminded him that every action his life dragged on through was increasingly horrible.

Kaneki hit the back of his head against the wall, as if he could use the bricks to beat the thought out of his skull. Again, and again. f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck.

He couldn’t help but see those warm brown eyes drain of all colour and feeling as he spoke. They grew farther and farther away the harder he pushed.

In, out. Breathe.

In, out. Lungs moved.

In, out. Heart beat.

Heavily, he dragged the phone from his pocket. The text message was still showing on the screen. sh*t. He’d been played. He’d been played and his own foolishness was to blame. f*ck, why even bother? All he was doing was causing trouble for everyone. All he was doing was hurting and pushing again and again for all the wrong reasons.

23:57 Unknown: And so the sun died and the world plunged into darkness, where all of its creatures belonged.

For Kaneki, there was no questioning it.

He’d put Hide in danger. It was all his fault, all over again. No matter how many times he tried, the same things happened. No more. No more, no more.

No more.

Hide would never love him. Kaneki didn’t deserve anything from that boy. Kaneki didn’t deserve anything good, period.

All he could do was live while he lost.

He clutched at his hair. “sh*t,” he whispered. “sh*t.”

It had been a while since he’d lost his composure like this. Everything in his head was screaming out and laughing at every mistake he’d ever made in his life, and how he was going to keep making them for all eternity, because he already knew it: he’d never die.

Cursed to live forever.

To keep Hide out of the destructive force of his life, he had to make sure Hide hated him. Hide had to hate him. Kaneki had to feed Hide every little fear he was sure had been in the blonde’s head.

They’d been in his own, long ago. From Before.

Kaneki pressed his nails into his scalp. He’d been thinking of that time too often. It was useless. It was futile. Stop, stop, stop.

The time was gone and dead. The manager that had tried to use Hide as a tool was dead. His days from that place were dead. Everything that had ever been said and done to him in that shop was dead. There was no reason to linger.

No reason to remember, he told himself. No reason at all.

“I’m getting sick of the confines to this world. I want to break them. You break it, Kaneki. Break this world. We’re all locked in a cage, and you can be the one to break it down.”

Kanou’s sick goals. The only person who had wished him this way and yet it was stronger than one thousand others.

Every gaze he’d ever disappointed was right there, shoved into the parts of his mind he never dared venture. They were always there, always looking at him, disappointed, angry, scared, dying, dead.

Disappointed. Angry. Scared. Dying. Dead.

Kaneki examined his palm. The rain had washed away the evidence he had ever been wounded at all. That was bad. He hadn’t even noticed it. He’d been so caught up in shooting the right spot and acting saner and more confident than he was he hadn’t even noticed that he and that man shot at the same time. Both bullets flew, but only one went through the skull.

Bullets seemed to belong in the skull.

Suddenly Kaneki’s hand was covered in blood and the air was stifling. Walls were all around him, and he was bathed in it. An ocean of blood on all sides, expanding across all dimensions and realities inside his own f*cked mind. He would never escape it. Ghosts followed him and drowned him in the blood he had bled from them. They gave him double smiles, stuck out that ghastly tongue.

“You’re good at it, you know? Copying me. They’ll probably think we’re related, now.”

At least Rize had been proud of him.

It was raining again. Thunder rolled across the sky, and Kaneki distantly wondered if the odds were high enough for him to get struck by lightning. Yes, that would be sufficient. He’d be killed by that. It would take a solid hour to not die.

How pitiful.

I really hate you, you know?

Kaneki cracked his knuckle. Yeah. Yeah, Kaneki was good at hating. It was all he had left other than pain and the distant frustration that he’d forgotten what everything was like. What had become of the joy of being alive? What had become of everything else?

He wasn’t a fool. He didn’t question things he didn’t know about, like love. He knew nothing.

But he knew hate.

And he hadn’t seen it in Hide’s eyes.

He’d seen the tiny sparks. Pain and grief came together like a flint and steel and lit that fire. He’d seen those sparks, but he had seen no hate.

In, out. It rained.

In, out. He was alone.

In, out. That f*cking heart wouldn’t ever stop, would it?

He knew that if he were to cut open his chest and rip it out, his lungs would fill with blood and he would start to choke. Blood would gush out his mouth and nose until the two main arteries fused and a small muscle spawned, pushing the blood out of his lungs and keeping the body going. Then that muscle would grow into a full-sized heart and everything would be utterly hunky-dory again.

If he were to crash into the concrete at terminal velocity, would he die?

If someone were to toss him naked into the vacuum of space, would he die?

If he were thrown down into the atmosphere to burn up in the clouds of carbon and burning infrared light, would he die?

Kaneki didn’t know. He doubted it was possible.

“Stop making this about yourself.”

Touka. Touka would be there to set him straight. She was always right: he was too internal. Too external. Too him. Hide was in danger around him, so if Kaneki eliminated himself from the equation, there would be no danger.

That was what they must have wanted, after all.

2 Months Later

Hide yawned, stretching in his chair. He was early to class for a change. Amon finally said they were going to be doing an actual practical on actual specimens.

Hide bounced on his toes, much to the early-morning annoyance of the rest of his class. “Nagachika’s at it again,” he heard them mutter. Hide grinned in their general direction. He’d been waiting for this. Once today was done, he could waste all of tomorrow getting ready for the big gig Takashi had invited him to. Takashi and Satsuki were finally ‘dating’, and so Takashi had adopted Hide as the official third wheeler.

Hide wasn’t really sure if he hated it or not.

The semester had changed his timetable, which meant we went straight from the morning practical to a Criminal Psychology period for the next ninety minutes. Then he had a break until club activities at 3pm. After Takashi talked him into being ‘the sidekick best friend that is super f*cking over-powered’, Hide had joined the karate club. Truth be told, he was absolutely sh*t but at least he got to muck around with the other members of the class who were even worse than himself.

Nishio wouldn’t be in when Hide got back, so he might as well have a movie night. Nishio seemed to be in their dorm less and less as time went on. When they met, they exchanged only brief ‘sup dickhe*d’s. Hide was tempted to say it was disheartening.

It kind of wasn’t.

He didn’t want to speak to Nishio.

He’d stashed away the photo and the knife in the same drawer with the letter his mother had given him months and months ago. A letter he would never open. It was a mystery he wasn’t really intrigued by.

He wasn’t intrigued by the happenings at the CCG either, he told himself. He wasn’t, he was just keeping on top of them.

He wasn’t intrigued by Kaneki Ken’s mounting profile. No, he wasn’t interested at all. He was just making sure he knew what dangers he was facing.

Yeah.

That’s what he told himself.

That’s what he thought when he sat himself down to Takashi in Creative Writing nowadays.

“I’ve found Kanou,” said the small, childlike girl as she shipped her drink through her straw. She was incredibly small, with a large camera looped around her neck. On the other side of the café table was a taller man with white hair and an eye-patch over his left eye.

“Finally,” he said hoarsely.

Chapter 24: I of the Storm

Chapter Text

Kaneki didn’t like spring.

He crushed the cigarette he’d been smoking. The dying echoes of winter growled in the wind, cutting through his layers of clothing. The dorm he was looking at was lit up in the warm, yellow-bulb kind of way in the early evening. Saturday night.

Normally, Kaneki would be heading to Helter Sketler, picking up the packages, and getting ready to head out with a group and distribute them. Not this time.

Someone would stop him, right? They’d stop him if they knew what he was planning. If he stared at the window of Nagachika Hideyoshi’s dorm for long enough, would Hide come out and tell him to stop?

Don’t be an idiot, he told himself. He already knew: Hide hated him. That was fine. He didn’t deserve it from anyone. How selfish it was of him to ask for anything at all, when he was the worst of the worst. Asking for death was too much, so he’d go and find it himself.

If Kaneki went there enough times, not even death would reject him endlessly, right?

But with Kaneki gone, what would happen to everyone else?

He was certain Touka would be fine. Ayato, too. Hinami would be okay without him anyway—he was sure by now that he caused them more trouble and worry by being there than grief ever would.

What about Hide?

Would Hide still be safe without him?

Every night, Kaneki had put off going to find Kanou this way: staring at Hide’s dorm, wondering what Hide’s future would be. When Hori had found Kanou for him, Kaneki knew there was no reason to linger.

So why was he there? Why was he still watching Hide even though Kaneki knew there would never be anything at all? He had caused only problems in his twenty years of life. So many problems. He was sick of it.

Hide would be fine, he tried to convince himself. Hide would be fine. Hide would be fine.

Kaneki dropped the cigarette, still crushed in his palm, off the edge of the balcony. He watched it fall the seven storeys to the ground, where he couldn’t see it anymore.

Angrily, he tore off the eye-patch he’d been wearing over his left eye and threw it down. Screw it. Screw hiding his left eye. There was no reason to worry about it, anyway. Why would there be?

There was no reason at all to linger.

“What’s your name?”

The woman was older than Kaneki, in her twenties at least. Her hair was long and dark, and despite the sharp angles of her face that Kaneki had seen ignite with anger, her gaze was gentle with him.

She was one of Kaneki’s few lights.

“Kaneki,” he told her. “What’s yours?”

“Irimi,” she answered, smiling thinly. “What are you in for? Get beat up?”

Kaneki skittishly prodded the scars that formed on his scalp. Despite healing from the organ thieves that had done a number on him, it seemed that scars were even more inclined to appear. “Yeah,” he said nervously. “I did my job badly.”

“I see,” Irimi said. “Someone as young as you works in that area? What bad luck did you draw?”

Kaneki laughed softly. Yeah, bad luck all right.

“So Kanou likes you?” Irimi asked. “Same. He has this crazy theory that with the right genetic therapy he can make us into God or something.”

“Genetic therapy,” Kaneki echoed softly. What was that? Surely, if that was his goal, then why was Jason here? Jason, the ‘Death God of Friday’, was here at this complex and Kaneki had no idea why.

“Fear not, my Young Kaneki,” announced a man appearing behind Irimi. “We’ll escape!”

“Uh . . .” Unknowingly, Kaneki had inched away from them. The new addition to their group was a larger man with brown hair and a round, button nose. Kaneki could see he’d tried to style it up with his hands, but without any comb or hair product, his results were hindered.

“Pleasure to meet you, I am Koma, but you may call me the Devil Ape.”

Koma and Irimi. Kaneki treasured them.

But even they wouldn’t stop bleeding.

Hide spun himself around on his chair. What was he going to do? Takashi would be there in half an hour, and Hide had no idea what to do. Work hadn’t even been that enjoyable, with Seidou’s nagging and the raincloud hanging over Amon’s head as he read through the mounting violent incidents in the city. What was Hide meant to do?

Today was also the fourth time Akira had tried to get him to join the CCG.

‘”It’ll pay for your tuition,” she’d said. “And only ties you in to five years of service afterwards. Lessons are at night. It shouldn’t even mess with your schedule!”

Hide knew Akira was just trying to do the right thing; the CCG was understaffed at the moment, especially with the state the city was in.

The only problem Hide had was that he was more or less programmed to never join the CCG, and if he were lucky, nothing would ever change that.

If he was lucky.

He should stop thinking like that.

“No!” Hide yelled to himself, jumping off his chair. “I have things to do!”

Specifically to annoy Nishio, Hide plugged in a speaker and turned on his playlist. He didn’t even listen to the song; he just wanted to annoy his roommate, who he still childishly had decided not to talk to. God, how long had it been? Three months? Four? Hide had lost count of how long they had been avoiding each other. The act of betrayal no longer even stung, but once Hide had fallen into the rhythm of ignoring the guy, it was hard to break.

Instead, he’d fallen onto the method of trying to annoy the elder so much he came in to scream at Hide.

Hide tore through his closet. Nice clothes, nice clothes, nice clothes. Takashi had invited Hide out to dinner with Satsuki and one of her friends in the hope of creating a ‘double date’. Hide was dubious about the results of this plan Takashi had in mind. He doubted he’d even be attracted to the girl, but hey, she’d probably got roped into this whole thing as well, so he might as well try and make himself presentable.

Hide checked his face in the mirror. Ugh. His hair was growing out like wild. Those dark roots were like weeds, taking over his hair. Argh, damn that natural hair colour. Maybe he should go dark in future to avoid this problem.

Hide pondered that for a second, thinking of his Middle School days with dark hair. Ugh. No.

Drunk sunflower was definitely his style.

They were going somewhere fancy, right? The kind of fancy that Hide had been saving up an entire month for and didn’t have any clothes nearly smart enough to go. Jeez, what had Hide done to be hanging out with someone as rich as Takashi?

Hide emptied his entire wardrobe. He really didn’t have anything good at all.

This left him with two options: one, go into the city and blow all the money he had saved for dinner on clothes or two, ask Nishio.

“Fuuuuuck,” Hide groaned. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. All aboard the f*cking nope boat. Hide stalked over to the speaker and jammed up the volume before leaning against it and crossing his arms. Something loud and angry was playing—something Nishio despised. Any second now, the elder would come bursting through the door, Hide was sure, and scream at him.

Hide pulled out his phone and started playing a crappy game.

The song finished. Another started.

Nishio wasn’t coming.

sh*t, Hide thought. What if he’d underestimated Nishio? What then?

Hesitantly, Hide peeked through the bedroom door, looking towards Nishio’s room. The grumpy upperclassman was unusually silent, Hide noticed. Kimi wasn’t here, and their exams were done. What could Nishio possibly be doing?

Hide swallowed hard. Time to act.

He strode up to Nishio’s door and knocked boldly. Goddamn, Hide thought to himself, he hated being the one to cave, but necessity called for such measures.

The door creaked open slowly, and Hide saw a sliver of Nishio’s angry-as-f*ck face, a single brown eye glaring out at him so intensely Hide thought it might pop out of the guy’s skull.

“Turn off that f*cking music,” Nishio growled. “And you can piss right off.”

Aaaah shiiiiiet, Hide internally groaned. He hurried back to his room, hitting the off switch before jogging the six paces across to Nishio’s side. Hide threw the door open this time, seeing a disgruntled Nishio standing above his desk.

“Huh?” Nishio grunted, “What do you want?”

From the way he stood, the air he had, Hide could see very clearly that he used to part of Tokyo’s gang world. God, they seemed to be popping up everywhere around him.

“I need some nice clothes!” Hide yelled. “I don’t own any!”

The anger on Nishio’s face slowly turned into confusion, and the man blinked a few times, adjusting his glasses. “What?”

Hide took a deep breath, before launching into an explanation. “My friend who’s filthy rich invited me out on this double-date business and I have no idea what’s really going to happen because the whole thing looks like an excuse to show off to his girlfriend but the problem is that we’re going to this really nice place that’s super fancy and the nicest things I own are a pair of brand tracksuit pants please help me!”

“I literally have no idea what you just said,” Nishio deadpanned. “And to be honest, I don’t really want to hear it again. What do you need so you can leave quickly?”

“Clothes!” Hide yelled, clenching his hands into fists. “I need nice clothes!”

Nishio sighed. “None of these will fit you. In case you haven’t noticed, Trashika, I’m taller than you.”

Hide pouted. “Please!”

Nishio groaned, turning. “Fine! I barely own anything nice either, but this arsehole I used to know gave me a suit a while back. Here.” Nishio jammed something in a plastic cover hanging off a coat hanger in his direction. “Take it.”

Hide was practically glowing. “Nishio,” he sung, carefully adding the ‘senpai’ on the end. Nishio only scowled in his direction and waved him off. At last, Hide wouldn’t feel like that one country billy.

Then Hide realised that the suit was outrageously fancy. The label read Tsukiyama Corp.

Goddammit.

The night had ticked away by the time Kaneki arrived. The difference was clear to the last place they’d gone: this one was definitely CCG owned. It was larger, grander, and Kaneki had no idea where the grounds ended.

Moving towards the door, he was distinctly aware of the empty air around him. Working alone had its benefits, but tonight it felt solemn. The air was chilly, sediment and unforgiving. Spring had come, but winter’s influence had not yet been shaken.

No one came to stop him as he approached. If he weren’t alone, he would be wary, scouting the area to make sure no one else died by his actions.

But tonight, he was alone. Tonight, Kaneki didn’t care. He’d seen everything go up in smoke before, only another few goals and belongings would follow. The endgame was always the same, wasn’t it? Before and After were just components to an equation that ended. Finite. Complete.

Kaneki hated mathematics.

The door was locked, this time. It presented something Kaneki had not thought of.

No matter. No matter.

He pulled out the small gun and shot off the handle, before kicking the door in roughly. Maybe someone would come. Maybe they wouldn’t.

It wasn’t like he cared.

The house was similarly desolate and empty as it had been the first time. It could be a hoax again, Kaneki reasoned. If it were, what would he do?

He could have scoffed. It wouldn’t matter if it were a hoax. He’d just keep looking. This was the one job he had given himself, and he would see it through. Even if he failed everything else, even if he disappointed everyone, even if he was too weak to do anything else, he would do this.

He had to.

It didn’t take long to walk through the empty, disused rooms and head to the basem*nt. As a CCG property, there would no doubt be interlocking, connected tunnels under the building that Kanou had made use of. There was a simple way to check if it was the same as the last place Kanou had taken—something Kaneki had neglected last time.

He stabbed a knife through the wall and waiting for its tissues to fall apart.

They did.

The slobbery, organic mess began to collapse from the workings of the wall. Organic material. The same substance Kanou had abused the way he wanted to get the desired result. This wouldn’t be a hoax. Organic building materials took time and effort to maintain. If Kanou had taken the time to slowly manifest them, then he would have expanded his workspace. How? What ‘funky’ additions would he include now? Did he still pursue his dream?

How nice, Kaneki wanted to tell him. That he had the pride in himself to continue being a f*cking psycho. Without Jason at his side to do everything that wasn’t clinical enough for Kanou, how had he been doing?

Maybe I should apologise, Kaneki mused as he walked along the halls, for crushing his dreams. Kanou had just wanted the constraints broken. He had just wanted to be free. Long ago, Kaneki had felt the same way.

No matter.

Kaneki reached a clearing, staring out into a vast, empty room. In the far corner, he could see a security camera, buzzing and whirring as it focused on him. Ah, so this was how it would be. Of course.

No matter, Kaneki thought as he walked along, the tiles he walked on slowly turning from white to a checkerboard pattern. Nothing mattered anymore. It didn’t matter how many screws had been wrenched out of his brain, it didn’t matter how delicate his sanity’s balance was, it didn’t matter the pain he had felt or dealt or witnessed. Nothing mattered at all. Not a single shred of Kaneki Ken mattered.

Huh, he thought dully as he walked across the room. How simple it all was.

After this, nothing would matter at all.

“Hello!” Hide, despite himself, saluting awkwardly. He’d ditched the jacket at the last minute, way too self-conscious to wear it, and decided to wear the nicest casual top he had. This also happened to be a bright red bomber jacket. Smooth, Hide, real smooth. Everyone else had come in suits and smart dresses. Hide was so not smart enough for this.

Takashi, on the other hand, was buzzing with excitement. During the walk from the garage, he’d gone on and on about how amazing the world was and how lucky he was to have met Satsuki. Hide, for all his patience, couldn’t help but feel a little bitter.

That was pretty selfish of him, right? Nope, Hide had to be the good, happy-go-lucky friend now, even if he was hopelessly underdressed and not remotely part of this crowd.

So, when he’d met Satsuki’s ‘friend’, he’d pulled out all the stops.

The other girl gave a soft laugh, pressing delicate fingertips against her lips to try and stifle it. “It’s a pleasure,” she said smoothly, dark eyes glinting. “My name is Yasuhisa Kurona. You are?”

She was definitely very beautiful, Hide realised. It was the same kind of sharp glint he’d seen in other less trusting members of the city, like Rize. However this girl didn't seem to be overly predatory or dangerous, just sharp.

Sharp enough for Hide to cut himself on.

Hide really had to stop finding that beautiful in people. Look where it had got him with Kaneki. Jeez.

“M-My name is Nagachika Hideyoshi, but you can just call me Hide,” he said, grinning widely. Nervously, he scratched at his cheek. “So, what brings you here?”

Kurona shrugged, handing her coat to the doorman. Beneath it, she wore a long black dress that suited her dark features and long, dark hair. The sharp cut of her fringe made her eyes seem very large. “Satsuki invited me. I think she just wanted us to interact so we’d be distracted from her and Takashi.”

Hide laughed, nervousness fading. Maybe she wouldn’t be too bad to talk to, after all. “I know the feeling. He’d been super excited about this gig of his.”

“Yeah, ‘gig’.” Kurona gave another one of her soft chuckles. “That’s a unique way of putting it.”

Hide felt his face go bright red. “W-well, I’m not wrong, am I? It technically is.”

“No, no, I was just amused. I would have thought you wouldn’t like this at all. You seem like the kind of guy that digs around for trouble, but you’re pretty . . . relaxed.”

“I seem like that?” Hide asked, properly surprised. Did he really give off the air of dumpster-diving for a mystery to solve? God, he needed to fix that ASAP. “Sorry. I didn’t even realise.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Kurona waited patiently beside her chair, and it took Hide a very long moment to realise that she was waiting for him to pull it out for her. Thoroughly embarrassed, he did so. God, he was so unrefined.

Satsuki and Takashi were already sitting beside them, Hide realised, and talking and laughing their faces off. They really got along, and it made Hide disappointed in himself for feeling so bitter. Who was he to say that about someone else’s happiness? Just because his had hit a hurdle?

“Is this your first time in the nicer part of the city?” Kurona asked, placing her bag on the table. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Ah, no,” Hide said hurriedly. “I actually come from way out in the country, where Takashi used to live.”

“I see,” Kurona said smoothly. “I could tell. You have this sort of . . . energy? I’m not quite sure how to put it.”

“Yeah, I kind of look like a delinquent,” Hide admitted. “I also have no manners, but please put up with me.”

Kurona blinked a few times, before laughing again. “Oh my God, you’re great, you know that?”

Hide stared at his hands, face red. “I . . . guess?”

“Never mind me,” Kurona insisted, petting his hands. “Tell me about your family, and your childhood and stuff. Then I’ll tell you about me.”

“You tell us everything you know about Kaneki, and we’ll tell you everything we know about you.”

A chill went down Hide’s back. Suddenly Kurona’s smile didn’t seem so genuine. In fact, it seemed to become more and more like Rize’s. Hide noticed the way one side of her bangs fell lower than the other over her eyes. There was something off about her left eye. Her fingernails had been expertly painted white, though. Her hands were loose and natural on the table’s surface, and her posture was relaxed.

“Well, I was raised on a rice farm by a bunch of hillbillies,” Hide said, once again scratching at his cheek nervously. God, was that a nervous tick? Stop that! “I was pretty much a giant troublemaker. Nothing new there.”

“I know the feeling. My sister is the more responsible one out of us two. My mother was always so strict with me. Was that the same for you?”

Why is she so interested in my family?

No, she had offered up a detail in exchange for another. A small detail, but a detail nonetheless. Hide should stop being so over-analytical. She was probably just trying to make smalltalk.

“My mother is . . . eh, she was pretty cool about me. She supported me being individual, even when I caused trouble. That being said, she was fully capable of blasting me into next week when I did something really bad.”

When in doubt, he should be generic. Good tactic, he decided.

“Same here,” Kurona agreed. “Do you have any siblings? I’ve only got one sister, but . . . we’re pretty close.”

“Nope, only child,” Hide grinned. “It has its merits and its bad bits, I guess.”

Kurona smiled. Hide noticed the small scar under her left eye. God, what was so creepy about it? It looked healthy, it moved right, so why did it feel so . . . off?

Ignore it, Hide thought. Ignore it.

This was going to be a long night.

Kaneki’s footsteps echoed in the room. Wet and squelching, as if he were walking in the rain.

It was blood.

What was Aogiri doing here? was all he could wonder. If Eto had sided with Kanou . . . well, it didn’t matter in the end. Nothing mattered at all.

Walking through the final door, he saw two people:

Shiro, and Furuta.

Behind them, a wall rose up, but stopped halfway through, creating a mezzanine-like balcony. Looking up, Kaneki could see that the walls extended for several more stories. Just how deep were they, really?

“My, my, Kaneki, how far you’ve come!” Furuta drawled, energetic as always. “Come to kill us all, have you? How quaint!”

“So I was right,” Kaneki mused. “You can regenerate from fatal wounds.”

Furuta’s grin didn’t falter. “Of course! It was a good choice, after all! The price for immortality was surprisingly small. Just one month underground with some chemical therapy to alter my genetic code.”

Shiro was unusually quiet beside him.

“Where’s Kanou?” Kaneki asked. “Tell me, where is—“

“Kaneki.”

His eyes shot up to where the figure clad in white had appeared, standing in the dark break between the walls. “It’s been a while, you know? My little Lucifer.”

“Aw, come on,” Hide whined. “It’s raining?”

“Shame,” Kurona said beside him. “No matter. It was nice to meet you, Hide. Thank you very much for inviting me, Satsuki. Takashi, thank you for dinner.”

Kurona bowed politely. “I hope to see you all again.”

“Ah—bye, Kurona!” Hide waved after the girl, who was getting into her chauffer. She waved politely at him, and they drove off. God, that had taken a toll. His suspicions had only grown stronger as the night wore on, and Hide was unable to convince himself that she was just an average, rich kid.

Takashi opened an umbrella. “Let’s go,” he said happily. With Satsuki hanging off his arm, Hide could only follow awkwardly, the third wheeling being overly intense. It was just like Takashi to give Satsuki a ride home. Maybe Hide should take the train.

“Oi, Hide, catch up, will you? You’ll get soaked, man.” Takashi gave him a cautious eye over his shoulder. “You’ll get my car wet!”

Ah, good old Takashi. Hide jogged to catch up. “Sorry, bro. Guess I’ll just ruin that brand-new car your uncle gave you, after all.”

“Pff,” Takashi muttered. Satsuki smiled across at Hide, who, despite the rain falling from the edge of the umbrella onto his shoulder, grinned back.

“Oh! I have to call my parents,” Satsuki said, releasing Takashi to go through her purse. “They’ll want to know where I am.”

“I told them I’d give you a ride home,” Takashi pouted. “Do they really not like me?”

“It’s fine,” Satsuki said gently. “I’m just telling them that I’ll be home soon. Do you really want them to like you that much?”

Satsuki was a genuine person, Hide noticed. She had a very calming nature over the people she was around with her soft smile. No wonder Takashi liked her so much.

“Eh, if I was your parents, I wouldn’t want him around either,” Hide joked. “I mean, look at the guy.”

Satsuki laughed, but Takashi pouted. “I’m not that bad.”

“Do you really want a childhood recount?” Hide prompted. “Think of Junior High! Remember that time you pretended to be sick so you could go to the nurse’s office to—”

“Shut up!” Takashi shoved him away, face red. Hide doubled over laughing.

“It’s a good thing you ended up here, though,” Hide said, trying to force his laughter away. As much of a laugh as Takashi was, Hide was aware how hard he was trying to be responsible in front of his girlfriend. Hide grinned. “Good thing that uncle of yours is rich as.”

“Speaking of which, how did you end up here?” Satsuki asked politely, looking across at him. “No offence, I was just told that you were, well, less well-off than this one here.” She tapped Takashi’s arm. Hide grinned in response.

“My humble rice-farming parents were not quite as rich as lord Troublemaker’s here, but I got a scholarship from Kamii.”

“Wow,” Satsuki breathed. “And you’re friends with him?”

It took Hide a second to realise that they were waiting for Takashi’s response. A response that wasn’t coming, because Takashi had fallen behind without them even noticing. Not even Hide had noticed.

“Into the alley,” growled the man with a gun pressed to Takashi’s head, “or this one dies right now.”

Holy sh*t, Hide thought.

Holy sh*t.

Kaneki could have yelled back at Kanou about whatever weird nickname now existed for him, but he didn’t. It didn’t matter what Kanou thought of him. It didn’t matter what names he had. All that mattered was that Kanou died.

Furuta and Shiro were in his way. If he wanted to get to Kanou, he’d have to fight them.

No matter.

He pulled out his gun with one hand, and a knife with the other. They’d go down for a few seconds if he could get them, at least. Even if they didn’t die.

“Now, now, Kaneki,” said Kanou, “let’s talk for a moment. You’re my favourite, you know? So perfectly made, so perfectly functioning. As your God, your creator, I’m entitled to, right?”

“Get f*cked,” Kaneki growled. “I don’t have time for chatting.”

Time was running out. Time was running out. The time, the perfect thousand, dropping away by sevens at an uncatchable pace, too quick for him—

Kaneki lunged at Furuta without waiting for Kanou to speak. The man dodged, laughing and skipping away. “Do you have time for that, Kaneki?”

A blade pressed against his throat, an arm catching him from behind.

“Shut up and listen when Kanou speaks, Kaneki.”

Shiro. Where was her sister? Weren’t they always together?

“Be patient for a moment, Kaneki. Your rashness will be your undoing.”

Kaneki strained against the knife. He was stronger than Shiro; he could pull free even if it meant cutting his own throat. Furuta pushed his head back, his taller frame overpowering Kaneki.

sh*t. He had to pause for a second and listen.

Why was he even hesitating?

God, that was hilarious. Hadn’t he already decided? Nothing mattered.

Everyone was just a distant figure, interacting with his tangible form. They didn’t matter at all. A bundle of reproducing cells, of functioning organs, of beating hearts. What happened in their heads meant nothing. The synapses in their brains meant nothing. Kaneki meant nothing to them, why should they mean anything to Kaneki?

“It was your role, I suppose, to be cast into Hell. God’s favourite was always meant to. You did a fine job ruling Hell, Kaneki, but you cannot touch me.”

You cannot touch me, Kaneki.

Kaneki was sick of being weak.

Kaneki kicked up with his legs, his weight falling back against Shiro’s. His feet collided with Furuta’s chest, knocking the man away. He hurled his knife into Furuta’s shoulder, shooting blindly behind him in Shiro’s direction. He started towards Kanou, looking for a way up. Ladders, rungs, anything would do—

Kaneki heard it before he felt it, the gunshot. The next thing he knew, the familiar heat of pain was flying through his head and he was thrown back, staring at the faraway ceiling before he hit the ground.

sh*t, they’d hit him good.

“Do you really have time to be fighting?” Kanou asked. “Haven’t you made this mistake before? Believing the wrong things. Making the wrong decisions. You’re terrible at that, aren’t you, Kaneki?”

Shiro appeared above him, and Kaneki tried to force himself up. She pressed her foot against his head, pinning him down. f*ck. At this rate, it would take around thirty seconds before Kaneki’s brain was intact enough for him to move. He was still conscious and thinking, which meant the shot had probably been from a smaller bullet and not blown out the back of his head.

His skull burned. It would have been painful if Kaneki didn’t feel it all the f*cking time. Cells, hundreds of thousands, millions of cells all regenerating at breakneck speed to fill in the hole the bullet left.

Furuta took his weapons quickly.

Nothing. Nothing at all. Kaneki was ashes scattered at the bottom of an abyss, turning to dust and blowing away in the wind. It didn’t matter how many times they shot him. He would kill them. He would kill Kanou.

“You can’t kill me, Kaneki,” Kanou said, smiling down at him. There was a sick sense of pride Kaneki could feel, even from where he lay. “You know you can’t.”

Kaneki could have responded, but that would have taken time. Seconds were ticking by. Any moment now, he could move. Any. Second.

“Do you want to know why you’ll never kill me?”

Now.

Kaneki grabbed Shiro’s ankle and flung her aside. He twisted out of the way of Furuta’s shooting, reaching around to disarm him. As his hand closed around Furuta’s wrist, the taller man elbowed him in the head. Kaneki took it, holding on tightly before twisting the man’s arm and kneeing the tensed joint so it shattered.

He heard Furuta gasp between clenched teeth, and wrenched the gun away.

Shiro was on him again in a moment, shooting him in the leg. Kaneki glared at her, taking a cautious step away. Charging blindly would favour him, but by the time he was done with them Kanou would escape.

Then . . . why wasn’t Kanou moving?

“Where do you think my sister is, Kaneki?” Shiro snapped, glass eye glinting. “Tell me!”

“I don’t care where she is,” Kaneki said dully. “Why would I?”

Furuta’s smile was tight and thin, his face pale with pain. His body took a long time to heal. Maybe he wasn’t as perfect as Shiro.

Or maybe he was just new.

“You’ve made this mistake before,” Kanou reminded him casually. “What were they called . . . ? The failures. You became quite close with them, remember?”

“The failures. They’re dead. It’s no loss, they were useless anyway.”

Kaneki shook his head violently. His vision blurred. The ground was turning black and white. His hands were covered in blood, completely empty. Blood and flesh had dried under his fingernails.

Savage.

Monster.

Lucifer.

Kaneki.

“I’m not wrong,” Kaneki said. “I’m not wrong!”

“Not yet,” Kanou mused. “But now, you have to choose. Would you rather kill me, or save someone else?”

“There’s no one to save!”

“Are you sure?”

Kaneki hated it. He hated it. He hated it. Kanou didn’t know what he was doing. Kanou knew nothing. How could Kaneki ever be wrong? Who was there left to save? How could he ever be making a mistake? What could he be doing wrong?

Wait . . .

Where was Kurona?

Why were only Furuta and Shiro here? Sure, Aogiri’s louts had been outside, but they weren’t important. Where were the big fishes?

Why were they missing?

The place was empty. Kaneki breathed a sigh of relief. “I don’t think anyone is here,” he whispered to them. “I’m not sure why.”

“Let’s go,” Koma urged. “Take the chance while it’s here.”

“Yes,” Irimi agreed. “Let’s go, Kaneki.”

“No,” Kaneki told himself. “I’m not wrong. I am not wrong.”

Who was he talking to?

The room was empty. From the ground, red spider lilies pushed up through the tiles. In the distance, he watched three figures sneak out of a dark doorway that had broken through the wall, splitting down the middle as if he were watching a bug dig its way through the earth.

No, Kaneki wanted to tell them. No, if you go there, he’ll get you. Stop, Kaneki! Stop!

Kaneki Ken, Irimi, Koma—they were all caught. They could never escape.

If he reached zero from one thousand, if he counted all the way down, they’d stop, right? The pain would stop. It had to, right? It had to! Please, let it stop. Let them stop bleeding! He hadn’t meant for this! He’d just wanted to escape!

“Keep counting, Kaneki,” growled Jason, appearing above him. Kaneki studied the hockey mask, the way blood had dried and stained it. “It will never end. Show me how far down into Hell you can climb. Show me the ice!”

Where had Kaneki gone wrong?

Red, gangly spider lilies grew from the eye sockets of Jason’s masks. From behind him, a pair of slender hands grasped it and lifted it off his face.

His head disappeared. From over the stump of his neck, Kaneki stared at Rize’s form. Her mouth was bloody, the red trail oozing down between her breasts, falling into every curve of her naked body.

“You’ve broken, Kaneki,” she laughed, smiling. “Don’t worry, I told you it would happen.”

Now, Kaneki stared down at the limp, dead form of Jason. Laughter. He was laughing, wasn’t he? Sitting in an endless ocean of blood that had felt so satisfying to spill. What could possibly feel better than that?

Nothing. Nothing could at all.

Death was finite. Death was the end. No matter how much he counted, it continued. It couldn’t be undone.

“You made the mistake,” Irimi told him, walking in front of him, her bare feet repelling the blood. “You knew we should never have gone. You tried to escape, but you chose the wrong thing. The wrong moment. To try and save yourself, you got us killed, you know that?”

Her dark, straight hair grew down. Kaneki watched it slither to the ground until it sucked up the blood Jason’s body had spilled. “Now look. He’s dead but nothing’s happened at all.”

“Nothing will happen,” Kaneki said. His voice seemed to come from elsewhere. “There is nothing.”

Everything was so disjointed. Kaneki stared at Kanou’s distant face, and slowly, in his smirk, Kaneki realised what he meant. Kuro wasn’t there. Kuro was elsewhere. Something was happening.

Kaneki took an unsteady step away. Surely not, right? He’d come all this way, endured all this, to find Kanou. He was just one step away. He could reach him. He could kill him, right there, with his bare hands. He could let himself fall to pieces over the man’s corpse. Kaneki didn’t care at all.

As Shiro stepped towards him, Kaneki saw the white of her hair turn red. Her glass eye was missing. In her hands, instead of knives, she held the stems of bright red flowers, dripping blood onto the tiles.

They were white. The tiles were white, Kaneki told himself. He was in an empty room, with Kanou and Shiro and Furuta. There were no flowers. He was not going to break apart now. Kurona’s glass eye was emptier than his own, and in her hands she held knives.

“Make your choice, Kaneki,” she said. “Waste your time killing us and Kanou, or let your precious people be killed.”

His precious . . . people . . . ?

“Don’t you have a home to go back to?”

Kaneki took another step back. Suddenly, he was very unsteady. His limbs ached from fatigue. How long had it been since he last slept? sh*t, was he even in any condition to fight? How foolish was he, coming here?

Hadn’t he said it wouldn’t matter? God, how f*cking stupid could he be? Kanou. He had to kill Kanou. He’d do it, and it would be done. It wouldn’t even take five minutes. It was a bluff. Surely, it was a bluff.

“Nagachika seems like a nice boy,” Furuta mused, smiling. “Who’s more important, I wonder?”

“I’ll f*cking wait for you, you know that?”

Kaneki’s hands were shaking, now. Hide was in danger, and Kaneki was letting it happen. sh*t. sh*t, Hide was in danger, and Kaneki had left him. sh*t sh*t sh*t.

Kurona was missing, and Nashiro knew why.

“Make your choice!” Yamori laughed. “Irimi, the gentle soul, or the humorous Koma?”

Choose: Hide, or Kanou.

It was all Kaneki’s fault. Hide would die, and it would be all Kaneki’s fault.

Kaneki stared at the room. Suddenly it was white and black and red, crawling with the dead and memories Kaneki didn’t want to think of.

A black-haired boy stared across the room at him, eyes empty and grey like Kaneki’s own.

“It’s all your fault,” Before Kaneki told him. “You could have saved them! You could have saved everyone! It’s your own weakness!”

It didn’t matter whether this was a bluff or not. Kanou or Hide, Kaneki didn’t care who was more important. He didn’t care.

He didn’t want Hide to die.

He turned and ran. He ran through the blood, through the corridors, through the rain.

All of the disadvantages in the world stem from one’s lack of ability.

So be it. Maybe Kaneki would fail. Maybe by the time he dragged himself to Kanou again, after missing this chance, he would fail. It didn’t matter.

But Hide was waiting for him.

Waiting to be saved.

Chapter 25: Serenade

Chapter Text

“There’s nothing wrong with being weak,” Irimi told him. “When you’re weak, you may be someone’s reason to fight. There is nothing sadder than being strong, Kaneki. Don’t forget that. The strong are such pitiful people, always having to fight for the sake of someone else.”

“Hurry up,” the man growled, giving Takashi’s skull a shove with the tip of the gun. “I’m not a patient person.”

He was wearing a very long, loose coat. Hide recognised it from his work in the office: Aogiri. What the hell was Aogiri doing here? What ever could they possibly want with them?

Was this connected to Kaneki?

Hide scanned the street around them as discreetly as possible: no one was around. Of course no one would be around, it was raining, dark, and in the early hours of the morning. They were alone on the street with a gun pressed to Takashi’s head. sh*t.

Hesitantly, they followed the man’s orders.

If only he’d actually joined the CCG, he’d know what to do in this event, Hide rationalised. Okay, he had to really calm down. Glancing to Satsuki, he saw her shaking in terror, silent tears streaming down her cheeks already. f*ck. At this rate, they could die.

They could die.

What were their options? Hide had a phone. He had a wallet. He had everything a mugger would want, assuming they were just being mugged. There were options. Hide had to stay calm and think his way out. Now was the time.

It didn’t help that his heart was racing too fast for his lungs to keep up.

As they backed properly into the alley, the smell of garbage and rotting, wet dumpster permeated the air. No one uttered a word of complaint.

“Against the wall,” the mugger ordered. “Now! And no funny business.”

Hide and Satsuki pressed themselves flat against the wall. It would only take a few seconds to hit the Emergency Call button on Hide’s phone. He could do it, right? He had to watch for an opening.

The mugger slammed Takashi into the wall, now pressing the gun to his head. Hide sucked in a breath, his stomach sinking. Any panic he’d been pushing away until now burst through, because now he was certain.

This wasn’t a mugging at all.

The man had screwed a silencer onto the end of his gun. No one would help them if they were shot. If it were a mugging, the man would be asking for their things so he could run. He didn’t plan to fire multiple shots.

Beside him, Hide heard Satsuki begin to whisper her prayers.

“Stop that!” the man snapped at them. Hide studied the lines of his face, hidden behind a scarf over his mouth. Did he know this man? Did he know anything about this man? How the f*ck did they get out of this? They could die, for f*ck’s sake!

“I want your belongings on the ground,” the man snapped. “Purses. Phones. Now. And don’t tell me you haven’t got them on you.”

Hide glanced across at Takashi’s face, seeing the tears in his friend’s eyes and the silent plea of please do it.

So Hide did. He pulled out his wallet and his phone, his lifeline, his ticket to safety, and he tossed them onto the ground in front of him. Two metres of distance was all that separated him from hitting two buttons and getting to safety.

sh*t, why hadn’t he hit the button when he was holding the phone? sh*t! What was he doing?

“Please,” Satsuki whispered, “please, let us go. We didn’t do anything . . . we don’t have anything . . . please . . .” she was crying, terrified. Hide wasted a second trying to meet her eyes, but they were clenched shut, her face tilted towards the sky. Raindrops had soaked through her warm layers already, sliding off her face.

Hide heard the man shuffle through Takashi’s pockets and remove his phone and wallet. Please, Hide begged silently, don’t go through my pockets. Please don’t.

Hide had never been more thankful for carrying an illegal weapon.

“Well then,” said the man, moving past Hide to Satsuki, where he pressed the gun to her head, “maybe I could let you go, if you do one thing for me.”

The chill in the air seemed to come from the gun grasped in the man’s hand. Cold, icy particles emanated from its very presence, freezing Hide to the spot. f*ck, why was this always happening to him? What had he done wrong in life to end up in this situation? Kaneki? The guy two months ago who used him as a hostage? The fact that he came to the city at all? f*ck, what had he done wrong?

Hide wanted to run.

He could feel his legs shaking beneath him, barely keeping him upright. If he fled now, would he be pursued? f*ck, he wanted to run away from this so badly, but he couldn’t move an inch. Ice had frozen him in place, stuck the soles of his feet to the ground and the skin of his back to the brick alley wall. He couldn’t move.

“Can you tell me which one of these boys is Takigawa Takashi?” the man leaned against her, pushing their hips together in a morbid display of affection. Satsuki’s eyes were now wide and terrified, eyes cast to the side in an attempt to not look at him despite the way the gun held her in place.

They were going to die, Hide realised slowly, as if he were being frozen solid. His stomach churned, and he wanted to throw up. No, they weren’t going to die.

They were dead.

“If you do,” the man continued, gravelly voice ironing itself to smoothness in an attempt to be seductive, “then maybe I’ll—let—you—go.” With every syllable, he twisted and pressed the barrel of the gun harder into Satsuki’s head. She whimpered in pain, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks as her whole body convulsed and shook in terror.

Hide could feel Takashi’s stare of horror, equally frozen in place. Hide could run, right? If he ran, the gunman would be distracted. Or better, if he reached for the phone, then he could get help and run.

It sounded quaint and cute, like a terrier trying to fight a wolf.

“It’s . . .” Satsuki’s voice was faint and shaking. The gunman seemed so absorbed in her terror, Hide realised. Would he even notice if Hide slowly reached for his phone?

An inch. Hide was shaking so hard, his lungs could hardly function. He felt as if his body was trying to shrink in on itself, trying to compress itself into a size where no one would see it, where he could escape. Another inch.

Satsuki’s mouth was forming words, but she couldn’t utter a word. “Now, now,” said the gunman, “I’m not patient, remember?”

Hide lunged. He grabbed the phone in his hand and turned, ready to run—

The sound of the gun firing was disgustingly quiet.

Hide stumbled and fell, his leg exploding in pain. He wanted to scream, but he’d clenched his jaw shut. f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck f*ck—

The man was coming, Hide saw through blurred vision. sh*t, he had to hit the button, he had to get help—

The man crushed Hide’s hand beneath his foot and twisted. Hide heard something crunch, cutting through the white-hot pain consuming his hand. f*ck, what now? What now?

“You’re a bad one,” the gunman sneered. “Is it you? Are you Takigawa Takashi?”

If Hide opened his mouth, he was sure he’d scream. f*ck, why was the ground warm?

Oh sh*t, he realised. That was blood. That was his blood. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it in the warmth that had mixed with the rainwater on the concrete. sh*t, would he bleed to death? If they escaped this, would he still die?

I don’t want to die.

“It’s him!” Takashi yelled. “He’s Takigawa!”

But I’m not—

The man grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and hoisted him up to his feet. On a shaky leg, Hide’s weight relied on the fact that the icy nozzle of a gun was being pressed to his temple.

Oh, God, help him. Someone, anyone, help him. sh*t. What the f*ck did he do now? When there wasn’t a f*cking knife to his throat, there was a gun to his head! f*ck, f*ck, f*ck.

Please help me, someone, anyone, please please please please please

“Tokyo is dangerous, Hide!”

“That city will never be good.”

“No more bad people with good intentions.”

“You’ll get killed.”

f*ck.

God, was he crying? How pathetic was that? Oh, God, he was going to be shot through the head and he’d be f*cking crying. Imagine that, Ma, coming to my funeral and seeing my face like that.

Oh sh*t.

“Now, Takashi,” the gunman lilted into his year, “you can choose which one of your friends gets to die first.”

Which one of your friends I kill.

Holy sh*t. Holy sh*t. Holy f*ck. Holy—

Hide stared at them. Satsuki, the gentle, genuine soul with short hair and a kind heart, and his childhood friend. Their eyes were wide in terror, tears streaming down their cheeks because they knew. They knew. They were gong to die.

They were going to die and they regretted. They regretted so much. Hide was so full of regrets and he was going to die there, in someone else’s clothes under someone else’s name in a city he didn’t even know.

If only he’d stayed in the country.

If only he’d never sat that goddamn scholarship.

If only he’d never met Takashi.

Satsuki was whispering something, fear mixed into every shadow of her face, but Hide couldn’t hear anything. His very breath seemed to echo off the metal of the gun and deafen him in the spot. His leg burned, the warmth of blood seeping through his trousers. His broken hand was useless, his phone crushed, still on the ground.

Why was he even there?

How could he even look Takashi in the eye, now, knowing that he had put Hide here to save his own skin? What was Hide meant to make of that?

If Hide wasn’t the one there, though, Takashi would be making this decision.

Oh, God. Hide would be the one to kill them, wouldn’t he? He’d be the reason they were dead. God, he was a killer. He’d have to kill one of these people here, people who he was friends with, dammit. People whom he had convinced himself for so long didn’t matter and yet, there he was, about to kill them. So long, pretending he was alone, because they people, whom he had thought were distant and useless were precious and he just wanted them all to be safe and he wanted to go back in time and rewrite this whole f*cking event.

Look after number one.

Hide couldn’t do it.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice shaking even harder than his body, “don’t do this.”

“Don’t waste my time, Takigawa,” snapped the gunman. “Your uncle is in need of punishment, and where better to hit him than here?”

So it was Takashi’s fault.

Hide was hyperventilating. His heart felt like it would burst through his ribcage, like it would crush his lungs under the rapid pumping of blood through his body. He couldn’t drag enough air in, couldn’t separate enough oxygen from falling rain and blood. sh*t. sh*t, sh*t. Why was he there? Had he really wanted to come to this thing? Why hadn’t he just stayed home and argued with Nishio and f*ck, why had he come?

Wasn’t there a way to escape? Could Hide even escape? Could they escape?

The knife weighed heavy in Hide’s pocket. He wasn’t left handed, but it was his only choice if he had a plan.

Hide couldn’t be saved, so he had to save his friends.

He scowled, feeling the chorus of look after number one, in his mother’s panicked voice, as he tried to think it through. The moment seemed to stretch on forever. How long had they been there? If Hide waited long enough, would the gunman get tired and go home?

Stop being stupid! he wanted to yell at himself. He was smart, right? Then f*cking smart a way out of this!

If he chose, Takashi, Satsuki would die. If he chose Satsuki, Takashi would die. What if Hide chose himself? What then?

f*ck, Hide thought, I don’t want to die.

How was he going to do this? By what crazy stretch of imagination was he going to do this, huh? What idiot had devised this? Everything was Hide’s fault, no matter what decision he made! sh*t. sh*t. It would be Hide’s decision, Hide fault, and the gunman would be the f*cking one pulling the trigger, and it would be his fault, and this was all because of Takashi and it was Takashi’s fault, and the fact that Satsuki wasn’t even involved made it her fault too, and f*ck.

“Stop wasting my time!” the gunman yelled, giving Hide’s head a shove.

The gun was cold and heavy, reeking of chemicals and gunpowder. Copper bullets.

Any hope Hide had clung to that this was just a glorified prank disappeared with that smell. This was no prank. This was no bad dream. This was real.

Hide had never wanted anything to be less real in his life.

They were going to die, and Hide had to make a strategic decision.

“Stop trying so hard for other people. That’ll get you, in the end. You have to look after yourself, Hide. Number one. Always look after number one.”

“H . . . Him,” Hide whispered.

“Who?” sung the gunman, leaning closer. “I didn’t hear that. You’ll have to say it louder. You wouldn’t want them to miss it, right?”

“Oh, God,” Hide sobbed, finally breaking under the strain. Tears that had been welling in his eyes finally slipped down his cheeks. f*ck, f*ck, f*ck. No. NO! There had to be a better way. He had a knife, right? He could use it, right? Surely, after being made to try and kill his friends, he could kill this guy, right?

Why did he have to kill anyone? God damn it!

“Him,” he repeated, louder, closing his eyes in resignation. He hated himself. He hated himself so much. He couldn’t bear it, now, to see the horror in his friend’s face, or to see the face Satsuki would make as she was flooded with relief, even against her values and judgement. Hide couldn’t do this.

Knife. Knife. Now would be a really good time to use that knife, Hide!

“Well, let’s get a good spot.”

What? WHAT?

The gunman grabbed Hide by the hair and held him upright, dragging him closer to Takashi. The gunman shifted the gun, now pressing it to Takashi’s head instead, holding their faces barely a foot apart.

sh*t. This wasn’t part of Hide’s plan. sh*t, sh*t.

“Now, watch this closely.”

Takashi’s eyes focused on the gunman’s face, and then on Hide’s. What was he meant to do? Smile? Cry, ‘I have a plan, young one!’ No! What the f*ck was Hide going to do? How long would the gunman pause? He had milliseconds—screw planning! He shoved his good hand through his pockets and looked for that sh*tty knife Kaneki had thrown at him. God, where was it?

Crap, where was the knife? Hide dug through his pockets desperately, trying to get to it. Quick, he needed that thing. He needed that thing now.

The hilt was surprisingly warm to the touch as Hide grabbed it. Hide stared into Takashi’s terrified eyes, and ripped it from his pocket.

He stabbed it into the gunman’s leg.

The gunman threw Hide down, swearing and stumbling back, breaking the contact between the gun and Takashi’s head. Aw sh*t, Hide was going to die.

Damn.

“Run!” Hide screamed when neither of them moved. His adrenaline was roaring, everything moving so fast Hide couldn’t even feel the pain in his leg or his hand. “f*cking run for it!”

Hide, who had been so focused on Takashi moving, neglected to see that the gunman had ripped the knife from his leg, taken aim, and shot Satsuki in the head.

Hide didn’t even hear it.

Every memory from moments before, of Satsuki with a perfect, intact skull, seemed to disappear from memory. God, Hide couldn’t even remember what it looked like for her to be alive. Every instant before that bullet wound had buried into her skull, so petite, so concise through the elongated nozzle of the gun, seemed to cease to exist, as if Satsuki had always been dead.

As if she had never even been there.

Takashi was yelling, but Hide couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t hear anything. His ears had ceased working, and he was left seeing the scene he had dreaded and convinced himself would not occur.

Wordlessly, the gunman moved onto Takashi. Why wasn’t Takashi moving? Why wasn’t anyone running? Damn, they were all going to die and—

Oh sh*t.

Hide watched Takashi’s now-dead body fall.

Oh sh*t.

So now it was his turn, huh? Hide felt like laughing. God, what the f*ck did he do now? What the f*ck did he do? Takashi’s face was picture-perfect, framed and frozen at the exact second where he had seen the bullet coming; eyes wide, empty, mouth parted slightly, his face completely white. sh*t, what was happening?

Who’s fault at this been?

Not a metre away, Satsuki lay fallen, similarly limp. Her face was pressed into the ground, blood pooling around her head as her dark hair fell over her face. It was almost poetic the way Hide saw only the ruby-red drops of blood hanging on the edges of her false eyelashes, the rest obscured by her hair which had been, until that moment, perfectly styled.

Was this Hide’s fault?

Good old Grim Reaper, standing above him with a gun pressed to his head. A face Hide had never met, never really wanted to meet, and sort of didn’t want to meet again. Huh. It was kind of funny, really. The whole death thing.

Damn, Hide was so screwed.

“Look after number one.”

Hide dove to the side, a fraction of a second too late to avoid being hit. The bullet scraped along the left side of his head, burning and tearing through layers and layers of skin. sh*t!

White-hot pain shot across his vision. Hide clawed at his head, trying to desperately press down the layer of flesh that had been torn up, as if he could compress it down to stop the bleeding. He could feel the familiar warmth of blood pouring down over his face, and down the back of his neck.

Any second now, he’d be shot. Hide pressed his eyes shut. He didn’t want this. f*ck, how bad could he fail? All he’d wanted to do was come to this city! sh*t, sh*t, sh*t. What had he done wrong? Why did Satsuki had Takashi have to die?

Hide waited for the shot. He waited for it. He wondered how death would feel. He wondered if his mother would be disappointed in him, if his father would be able to function. He wondered how the city would inhale and exhale his death. He wondered if he should have chased after Kaneki back then and told him that Hide didn’t care and he wondered . . .

I’m so sorry, he wanted to tell them, he wanted to tell it to Takashi’s and Satsuki’s living faces. sh*t, if he only he could rewind time and go back even ten minutes. sh*t. Just ten minutes would be enough. Just ten. Just five. Just one minute, to before they were dead. Hide would think of something!

Hide couldn’t go back in time, and he knew it.

f*ck! He wanted to scream, just shoot me already!

“—de,” someone was saying. “Hide.”

His eyes shot open, and he was staring at a familiar face. A face with bright white hair and wide, terrified eyes. One shone white and grey, the other’s scalera was stained black. sh*t, was this death? Was this what he would see when he died?

“Hide, Hide calm down,” Kaneki was saying. “Calm down!”

Hide realised he was propped against the wall, letting him see out further to the real scene of the disaster: two bodies were visible. The two he had not wanted to see.

So Hide hadn’t died?

What a dealbreaker.

“Hide!”

Kaneki grabbed him by the shoulders, squeezing hard. Hide saw the washed-out trails of blood on the other man’s face. Studied the way lashes drooped under rainwater, the way his hair was stuck down again. Spring showers. Spring showers.

Spring showers and his friends were—

“Hide, it’s okay. You’re okay. It’s over, Hide. You’re safe. The CCG are coming. They’ll be here any minute. So please, calm down.”

There seemed to be a disjointed connection between Kaneki’s words and the movement of his mouth. Hide felt like someone was covering his ears, crushing his chest. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.

Kaneki was such a liar.

Hide wasn’t okay.

Kaneki was here, and Hide couldn’t feel anything. His friends were dead, and Hide couldn’t feel anything. He was alive and he couldn’t feel anything. Everything was such a mess that it was seeping out the wounds in his flesh before he had time to realise what they were. They were bleeding out. If they kept bleeding, he’d have nothing left.

He’d just be one of those dead bodies.

Kaneki cupped Hide’s face in his hands, uncaring about the state of the other boy. Warm hands. Living hands. Wet with rain and blood, but they were alive. Alive.

But his friends weren’t.

“Hide, don’t look at them.” Kaneki steered Hide’s eyes back to his own. “You’re okay, all right? You’re safe now. It’s fine.”

Hide wanted to speak. God, he wanted to scream. There was so much he wanted to say and he was drowning in his inabilities. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t even save his friends. sh*t.

sh*t.

Kaneki took Hide’s uninjured hand and held it to his chest. “You’re hyperventilating,” Kaneki told him, unfathomably calm. “It’s fine. You’re in shock. You feel that? It’s a heartbeat. It’s mine. It won’t stop, I promise you. Yours won’t stop either, okay? We’re both alive. You’re safe, okay? You’re safe now. Just breathe with me. In and out.”

Despite himself, Hide followed his instructions.

“That’s good,” Kaneki said encouragingly. “Really good. Keep going. Any minute now, the CCG will be here. I can hear them coming. They’ll get you out of here, so just hang on until then. Stay with me, okay? You’re okay.”

Hide watched as Kaneki glanced over his shoulder. Slowly, feeling was starting to come into his fingertips, where they were pressed against the fabric of Kaneki’s jumper. Warm. Alive.

Hide’s body would keep going. He’d keep going and hurting and bleeding where the other’s weren’t like a huge f*cking punch in the face. sh*t. sh*t. Hide had screwed up. He’d screwed up, and his friends were dead.

“Don’t think about it,” Kaneki said softly, glancing down at Hide’s bleeding leg. When he looked up, Hide saw the darkness around his eyes, the redness to his waterlines. His non-dyed eye was red and irritated. Kaneki’s whole face looked taught and ill. “Just breathe,” Kaneki told him. “It’s fine. You did great.”

You did great.

Bullsh*t. Bullsh*t, bullsh*t, bullsh*t.

How was Kaneki so calm? How the f*ck was he so calm? Did nothing that had happened affect him at all? Of course it didn’t! Kaneki had never even met them! Why would Kaneki care about them? Kaneki probably . . .

Hide didn’t know what ‘Kaneki probably’ did. He didn’t know anything at all.

“You’re going to be okay now,” Kaneki told him, lifting Hide’s hair off his face and pushing it back. Everything was gentle, as if he were afraid to touch the wounded. “The CCG are here. They’ll take you to the hospital. No one else will hurt you, Hide. You’re okay.”

Everything Hide had ever wanted to say to Kaneki was there, sitting on his tongue, and dying. He watched Kaneki detach himself, watched the boy slip away.

Then he saw Akira, Amon, Seidou, and probably twenty other CCG officers come sprinting towards him, flanked by the police. They were here. They were here, like Kaneki had said. Oh, God. They were here.

Hide blacked out.

Chapter 26: Requited

Chapter Text

“In the early hours of the morning, three university students were involved in a mugging that turned fatal. Of the three involved with a lone gunman, suspected to be part of Aogiri’s illicit gang scene, only one survived the ordeal. Currently in a stable condition in Tokyo Hospital, it’s unknown who called the police and the CCG to the scene. Furthermore . . .”

Where was he?

Slowly, Hide became aware that he was awake. He could hear something going on in the distance, someone talking distantly, like a television. There was also a rhythmic beeping sound, and the feeling of something pressing onto his face. The world seemed a ways of typical of the amniotic state of rising he was accustomed to.

He tried to shift over, to roll under the covers of the duvet, but found himself unable to. That was weird.

Cracking open an eye, he realised he wasn’t in his room. He wasn’t anywhere he had ever been. The ceiling was white-washed, the lights industrial and blinding, and he could see the top of a parting curtain in the corner of his vision. That was weird. Where was he, anyway?

The air he was breathing was icy cold, Hide realised, and somewhat metallic smelling. Was he wearing a gas mask? He raised a hand to lift it, and found his right hand in a cast. He couldn’t move his fingers very well. Wow. That was so weird. Did he need that to get checked out? He should go to a hospital.

He reached down to prod the thing on his face: an oxygen mask.

Why would there be an oxygen mask on his face . . . ? Oh sh*t.

Rain, rain, rain. A drop of blood on the end of her fake eyelashes, a petite hole through their skull. So much blood. His leg ached, his hand burned, he’d been—

He was in a hospital. He was in a hospital. Last night—that thing that had happened—oh sh*t. Oh sh*t.

Hide felt a weight crush his chest, forcing the air out of his lungs. The tranquillity he’d felt in confusion went up in smoke, and reality hit him with icy sharpness in the f*cking face. God damn. sh*t. sh*t sh*t.

What was he meant to do?

Kaneki hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

He’d meant to stay awake, keep vigil, make sure Kimi gave him the thumbs-up every time she came by that he was allowed to stick around, that Hide’s family hadn’t arrived yet. He’d meant to monitor the machines, watch Hide’s condition, make sure his fragile little heart didn’t stop for no reason. He’d meant to.

But he didn’t.

His eyes flew open as he heard the rhythmic beeping of the heart-rate monitor skyrocket. sh*t, what was happening.

Hide. Hide was having another panic attack.

Kaneki jumped to his feet, trying to manoeuver around the tubes and wires that were keeping Hide afloat. f*ck, Kaneki thought to himself, this was his fault. If he’d been sensible, if he’d been rational—

Shut up! He told himself, leaning over Hide’s face, trying to get his attention. This is no time to be worrying about your own petty issues!

“Hide,” Kaneki said, trying to make himself sound as calm as possible. “Hide, can you hear me? It’s fine. You’re safe.”

God, Kaneki sounded pathetic. Nothing was changing. He shook his glasses of casting them aside. “It’s me, see? It’s Kaneki. You’re okay. You’re okay, Hide.”

Hide’s normally warm eyes were wide and glowing in an all-too familiar shellshock kind of way. Kaneki could all but see the cogs in his mind whirring, faltering, trying to comprehend what had happened. Last time, Kaneki had used that sh*tty technique he read in a book to clam Hide down, but he doubted that would work this time. No, Hide needed something simple and easy to understand, because right now, it was written on Hide’s face what he was really breaking down about:

His friends.

Kaneki didn’t know whether it was a bad idea to keep the oxygen mask on or not, but he didn’t care. He pulled it off Hide’s mouth, trying to let the boy breathe the real air. He took Hide’s wounded arm and held it, grabbing the other one.

“You can calm down,” he said. “It’s okay now. It’s over, Hide. You’re in a hospital. You were patched up. Everything happened last night, and it’s midday now.”

Kaneki had no idea what the f*ck to do. The spastic beeping of the machine was starting to slow, so maybe talking helped. What had the book said? Slow, simple sentences. Assure the person they’re having a panic attack, and that’s all it is.

Who was the book to say that was all Hide was experiencing? sh*t.

“You’re having a panic attack,” Kaneki continued. “You need to calm down. You can do that. You’re doing great.” He wondered if Hide could feel his hands shaking. Maybe Hide’s hands were shaking. Maybe they were both shaking. Kaneki didn’t know what to do, here. He knew it was his fault, he knew he should have been there, so he damn well knew he was going to be here now, but what was he meant to do? Hide needed a nurse. He needed a real, proper nurse that knew how to keep him safe and tell him to breathe and god knows what else. He needed someone better than Kaneki.

“Focus on breathing,” Kaneki said, trying to sound the least positive. “Just in and out. You know how it goes. You’re going to be okay. The nurses will come, they’ll patch you up some more, say nice things, leave flowers, give you bad food . . .” Kaneki was rambling. He had too many things to say that meant too little. The heart-rate was going down, and he could still see Hide breathing. Good. That was good, right? The book said that was good. f*ck, Kaneki was normally more in control than this. What did Kaneki tell himself when he had a panic attack? He didn’t even know.

“It’ll be fine. You’re fine. I’m fine. The hospital is fine. You’re not badly injured, either. Nothing bad. You’ll be back on your feet in a few weeks. You got all your hands, all your feet, fingers, toes, you name it. They’re all there. You’re fine now. You’re okay,” Kaneki repeated. “You’re okay, Hide. It’s not your fault. Nothing is your fault.”

“You’re . . . terrible at this,” Hide wheezed. Kaneki could only stare as the ever-present smile stitched itself onto Hide’s face, one millimetre at a time.

Kaneki regarded the man beneath him: pale, sickly, with bandages around his head from where they’d stitched up the nasty wound. His face was bruised all over from the ordeal, red impression lines from where the oxygen mask had pressed into his skin. He stunk of blood, drain-water and alcohol swabs, but Kaneki had never been more thankful to look at someone’s living face.

Kaneki placed Hide’s hands down on the boy’s chest, gently squeezing them. “I have no idea what I’m doing,” he admitted. He looked at the scabs, the cuts, the plastic cast around Hide’s right and the dressings under which would be stitches where they had dug the glass out of his palm.

“I’m sorry,” Kaneki whispered. “I’m so, so sorry. It’s my fault. I should never have said those things to you, Hide. I was . . . it’s my fault. I was selfish and stupid and I left you alone, and they came after you, and . . . I’m so sorry.”

Sometimes Kaneki wished he could cry.

Because he couldn’t.

When he received no response, Kaneki closed his eyes, silently accepting his fate. It was understandable. Acceptable. Kind, even, that Hide had tolerated his very presence. Slowly, he detached himself from the other and stood, tugging on the strings of his medical eye-patch, woven under the frames of his glasses.

“Your parents will be here soon,” he said to the sheets. “The nurses came and told me. Visiting hours don’t start for a while, but . . . yeah. They’re on the first train. The CCG aren’t allowed to talk to you until you’ve seen direct relations, so . . . yeah.”

Leave. Leave, Kaneki. Leave.

“I’ll . . . I stayed to make sure you were okay, but I’ll leave now,” he said, at last looking up to Hide’s face.

The words died in his throat.

Hide had covered his face with his hand, only his smile, which had turned into a grimace, showing. “Hey, Kaneki,” Hide said slowly, “the others, they’re . . . are they okay?”

Kaneki hated himself for answering so calmly. “No.”

“Oh, okay,” Hide said quickly. “It’s fine, I just wanted to know. I guess . . . well, I already knew the answer, so I just . . .”

It’s fine, it’s normal, don’t worry about it. Kaneki wanted to spew words of encouragement, to assure Hide in even the slightest way that it wasn’t his fault, that there was no shame in asking—anything to make Hide feel better.

But he couldn’t say them.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead. “I’m so sorry.”

He should really leave. He’d overstayed his welcome. People needed time alone with grief, right? He should leave. He shouldn’t stay. Hide wouldn’t want him around, because it had been Kaneki’s fault, after all. He shouldn’t stay. If he wanted to protect them, he had to leave, right? That was how it worked. That was how it had always worked, right?

“I don’t hate you, Kaneki,” Hide said, still hiding his eyes. His voice was thin and raspy, but it drowned out the noise of the equipment. “I kind of want to, but . . . that’s really dumb, isn’t it? Because now, I don’t want to lose you either.”

I don’t hate you.

I don’t want to lose you.

“But you said so yourself, didn’t you? That you couldn’t do the whole affection gig? Sorry for putting that on you, man. I’m probably a real bother, aren’t I?”

You aren’t a bother. You aren’t a bother. You aren’t a bother. Please, don’t think you’re a bother.

Hide lowered his hand, forcing a smile. His eyes were wet, but his face was dry.

“It’s fine. You can leave, I’m sor—”

“Remember when you shouted over the fence that you liked me?” Kaneki cut him off, glaring at the toes of his shoes. “At that time, I didn’t really know who you were at all, but I was just . . . I was scared. Of you. Of me. The whole summary of my life was terrible, and your addition to it was terrifying. So I ignored you.” Ah, sh*t, Kaneki thought. He had to stop Hide thinking those lines. He had to cut him off somehow, and the first bitterly ironic thing that came to mind was honesty. What a joke.

“I thought that if I pretended I never heard it, you’d go away. That’s what I thought. We were just passing acquaintances, Kaneki and you. I wanted you to know Sasaki. I wanted Sasaki to be liked, but . . . I guess we ran out of time for that.”

He had more to say. Had talking always been this hard? Was honesty a difficult thing? He’d forgotten it had been so long since he’d used it. Kaneki clenched his fist to keep his hands from shaking. He hadn’t tried to hide the state of his nails. Crap. The scars on his hands were everywhere, despite the glasses, which now lay on the ground somewhere, and the eye-patch, to hide the blank ink filling his eyeball, and the makeup to hide his skin and the beanie to hide his hair and the scarf to hide his neck and everything to hide the sheer Kanekiness. Like a weed, it came through the cracks when neglected.

“In the club, you said it again. God, that was so long ago, wasn’t it? I was so pathetic. All I said was ‘thank you’. I regret that, you know? I regret it a lot. I wanted to tell you that you had so many options and so many better ways to go than dodgy nightclubs and dangerous people, because you do. You always will. But I was so selfish at the time, because I liked being told by someone that I was worth something to them. How shallow is that?”

sh*t, he was saying too much. He’d just meant to say sorry about it, not pour out his thoughts and regrets like a f*cking dying priest. f*ck it. He’d f*ck it all up thoroughly until it was done and Hide was over this whole thing. He’d been up for twenty days consecutively until he’d dozed off a few minutes ago, so he might as well blame it on that, the recklessness, the honesty, the sheer monumental f*ck-up that was everything that had ever happened in the twenty years of Kaneki Ken.

Weird, how he’d never told anyone that full horror story.

“But then I was stupid. I make the same mistakes over and over, Hide. People die left, right and centre around me, because of my mistakes. I thought you’d be fine if I left you alone. When you found me again, out of nowhere, I had no idea what to do. So I did what I was used to: saying terrible things and doing terrible things until I was certain you hated me.”

“Well, you were wrong.”

Kaneki jumped, so entranced in his own little bubble he hadn’t even felt Hide’s glare. “You’re wrong, Kaneki Ken, because I’m actually really dumb and . . . f*ck, I don’t even know. Just . . . don’t do it again, okay? Don’t run off and do your thing and leave me back here. You know, like, rabbits can die when they get too lonely? I couldn’t even talk to my roommate, dude, and now . . . aw, crap. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to start slobbering like an idiot.” Hide wiped at his mouth with the sheet. “Ew.”

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry that all I’m good at is running away.

“It’s the anaesthesia,” Kaneki said. “It can screw up your mouth. It makes you drool a lot.”

“No sh*t. So gross.”

“I should go,” Kaneki said quietly. God, had he even listened to a word Hide said? “I really should. I . . .”

“Don’t.” Hide’s expression was dangerously fragile. “Don’t go.”

“You can always stay here. Anteiku will always welcome you back. Whenever you are in need, come back.”

No one needed Kaneki. He was sure. He’d been sure since the day he realised his mother was stressed because of him. He’d been sure since forever. He’d been sure when his mother screamed and raved, when his uncle hit, when angry dealers weren’t pleased. He’d been sure when Kanou wanted him to be destroyed, when Yamori had punished him for trying to escape.

He’d been sure when he had delivered Ayato home to Touka. He’d been sure when Hinami had gotten a scholarship to school that took her away from all of them. No one really needed him at all.

Until now.

He should leave. He should do what he was best at and turn tail and run. He was so good at that. He ran from his aunt, from Jason, from Kanou, from Hide, from every single thing in his life. He should keep doing it. Even if it was insane, it couldn’t be worse than him, right?

He should. He should.

He didn’t want to.

“Okay,” Kaneki said. “I’ll stay . . . a bit.”

Kimi did her routine check-up on the sleeping patient at 2:30PM, just before the his parents came in to see how their son was doing. It was mandatory to make sure the room was cleared of anything potentially bio-hazardous to non-patients.

It was also her cue to tell Kaneki to get the f*ck out.

“Kaneki,” she hissed, shaking the white-haired boy’s shoulder. “Oi, wake up!”

Kimi had heard many things about Kaneki, but she had never expected him to be staring back at her, bleary-eyed and confused. His glasses, sitting over his covered eye, were askew, along with hair that had become pressed to his cheek under his beanie.

She was going to tell Nishio all about that.

“You have to leave,” she told him. “His parents are here.”

That snapped him into action. “sh*t,” he whispered, grabbing his coat. “Thank you.”

Kimi gave him a quick smile, hearing people come rushing down the hallway. “Come back anytime. Now, quick! Leave!” She hurried out of the room, ready to meet the panicked parents.

When she glanced back into the room, she saw the far window open, and the patient, Nagachika Hideyoshi, now with a grey beanie on his head.

Chapter 27: Reverence

Chapter Text

“ . . . pay this,” someone was saying. It was a familiar voice, Hide knew it well, but at that point in tie he couldn’t attach a face to the sound. It was familiar. It was safe. “We can’t afford this, Kousuke.”

“We’ll find a way,” said someone else. It was a gruff, older voice. Masculine, deep. It was the same safe-sounding voice Hide was sure of. He knew the voices, but in his sleep-addled mind nothing seemed to mesh, and he was left listening to everything they said. “We don’t have to resort to that yet.”

“It’s the best option,” the woman insisted.

“It’ll ruin his future and your future, Yoko,” the man said, equally as insistent. “You know how the Washuu are.”

“I know, I know, Kousuke, but we really don’t have the funds that cover this. Even if we gathered it from everywhere—which we can’t do—it’s still not enough. That, and the fact that I’m on any security camera here means they’ve probably already found me. We should . . . don’t look at me that way, Kousuke. I don’t like it either.”

“You know there has to be other options,” said the man, sombre. “You can’t just take this all on your own.”

“They won’t hurt him,” she said, “he’ll be safe, but—”

“If they’re going to make him like them, then that’s enough reason to not do this.”

“Hide’s smart, they won’t dare try to—”

“Yoko, you said yourself how bad they were. You know they’re going to . . . they’re going to turn him into a machine! We can still do this on our own. There’s still hope.”

“I know, Kousuke, I know, but . . . let’s be rational, okay? We can go to them, or they can come to us. Either way, we’ll . . . the bill is huge, all right? It’s not something we can deal with.”

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay, I’m sure.”

Nagachika Yoko spent the day quietly stressed about her son’s future. She’d sat herself down in the uncomfortable chair, on her son’s left side, as the fool slept, still wearing off the meds they’d used to stabilise his condition. Someone had left him a beanie, so maybe one his friends had come by earlier in the day, despite the staff telling him no one else had been allowed to visit.

Yoko wasn’t fooled.

She knew how much hospital care cost. To cover the emergency services, the treatment, the days Hide would spend in hospital, they needed a lot more money than rice farmers could get in the early spring, right after months of little crops. She doubted Hide had enough savings to pay for it on his own, and even if they amassed Nagachika funds, any extended care would be beyond their payment.

She prayed that her genes and Hide’s intelligence would mean that the therapy costs would be lower. God, that was so morbid. She had to stop being like that—like them.

Ironic, because she’d ben turning to them for help any minute. As soon as she’d been registered as coming into the hospital, as soon as a city security camera had found her, she knew their software would be all over her. She’d be found out instantly, and her only option left was to hand over her son.

“Hide,” she sighed, “what have you done?”

“It’s her.”

“What’s she doing in the city? Why has she appeared now?”

“She’s visiting her son. He was caught up in the business last night.”

“Her son? She has a son?”

“With some country nobody.”

“Damn that woman. She has a plan, and you know it.”

How long had it been since Kaneki came back?

He spent an embarrassingly long time standing in front of the apartment door, realising that every grain in the wood and scratch on the door had become alien to him, as if he had never bothered to look.

He hadn’t.

If he entered now, everyone would be there. Everyone would see him. Everyone consisting of two people: Touka and Ayato. Two people whom he had known for years, who meant a lot to him, whom he had only wanted the best for. People who would grow out of this stage in their lives when they lived together. People who didn’t need him.

He’d been running away from this for a while, hadn’t he? Actually taking them seriously, actually making eye-contact, actually doing anything that mattered around them. He’d been avoiding it, because until that moment he hadn’t really thought that it would come. If it had gone to plan, if everything had gone to plan then . . .

If everything had gone to plan, then Hide would be dead too.

Kaneki sighed quietly, unlocking the apartment door and entering. This was something he had to face, wasn’t it? He hadn’t been here for a week or two, but . . . he had to stop running away, because someone—someone who Kaneki had given ever reason to hate him—wanted him to stay.

He was so hopeless.

The apartment was quiet, which Kaneki was grateful for. He closed and locked the door behind him, slipped off his shoes, and crept towards the kitchen. Eating wasn’t exactly preferable, but he needed to eat something.

What a laugh, Kaneki Ken. What a laugh.

“Ayato, stop being a creep and—” Touka burst out of her bedroom, pulling a jumper over her head. “I’ll—oh.”

Oh.

Kaneki was used to the many faces of Kirishima Touka, but he was becoming more distant with what they meant. As Rabbit, she was strong and quick, as Touka she was sharp and restless, and as everything in between she was the never-faltering image of stability that Kaneki had unknowingly come to rely on.

He wondered if she knew that.

“H-Hi, Touka,” Kaneki stammered. “Uh, s-sorry I’ve not been in lately, I guess . . .”

Touka had never been one of restraint, but she did not move. “It’s fine. Have you been well? I mean, you look like death, but . . .” her voice drifted. “I’m making coffee. Do you want any?”

“Y-yes, please,” Kaneki said. “I was in this morning, but no one was here.”

Touka nodded. “Working. I got home at around seven.” He watched her mechanically grind the beans, every actioned ingrained into her flesh and blood. “I thought you might have. Were you there last night for the . . . thing?”

Kaneki shook his head. “No, I came at the end, but the other two were already dead.”

“Oh. That’s . . . a shame.”

Was it? Kaneki didn’t even know at this stage. He was so lucky, so goddamn lucky, to get there in time. He didn’t know nor really care about the fate of the others, but maybe it was. Maybe, if Kaneki decided to try the whole extended ‘empathy’ thing again, he’d understand how important and precious individual, seemingly disconnected people were to the entire world.

At his silence, Touka gave him a quick glance as she poured the boiing water through the grounds, the pot beginning to fill with the rich brown liquid. “It is a shame, Kaneki. It really is. I know you probably don’t really care, and hell, maybe no one should, but they weren’t involved in our world.”

They weren’t involved in our world.

“Chance can be cruel,” Kaneki said quietly.

“Everything can be cruel, dumbass.” Touka put down the kettle and removed the filter, before digging through the cupboard for some clean mugs. “There’s potential everywhere.”

“I feel like this is another ‘get well soon, Kaneki’ talk.”

“Every talk with you is a ‘get well soon, Kaneki’ talk,” Touka quipped, putting down the steaming mug of coffee. “I mean, if I try for long enough maybe we’ll have a breakthrough. Hell, maybe those smoke-rotted, atrophied facial muscles of yours will work and we’ll see a smile for a change.”

Despite himself, Kaneki felt his lips curl into a smile. Touka gave him her usual slight one, blowing on her drink. “I think he’s worth it.”

“What?”

“The Hide guy,” she elaborated. “I think he’s worth it. You should try. Show him your cards. Do your thing. If he hasn’t told you to go jump off a building and you listened, then he can’t be that bad.”

“That was a really bad joke,” Kaneki said, but his mind seemed to be sinking. Her suggestion was like quicksand, dragging him down. He could. He could do it, but at what cost? He could try and have a thing with Hide, but he doubted Hide would only be receiving a bundle of negatives, as if he would stain Hide, as if he would suck away the Hide from Hide. That was what Kaneki did. Suck the joy and life out of people until they were emptier than himself. He was sure.

That’s why he didn’t do anything of the sort.

“It’s what you’ve been doing for years, Kaneki. Don’t try and lie to me.”

Arguing with Touka was useless.

“He’s only known the made-up version.”

“The guy f*cking watched you working and didn’t even think about selling you out!” Touka slammed her palm on the table. “Get it through your head, man! Remember that whole stunt with him a few weeks ago? Yeah, the one where you, Ayato and Tsukiyama f*cking killed a whole gang—which was not smart, by the way—he didn’t sell you out then, despite working at the CCG!”

“I was pretty coherent during all of this.”

Touka put down her cup, rubbing her eyes. “If you wait too long, people will leave. They’ll think you’ve already left!”

“Good.”

“Bad.” Touka jabbed a finger in his direction angrily. “Very bad.”

“I don’t see how it would go anywhere,” Kaneki admitted. “Look at me. I’ve not slept in—”

“About an hour. You’ve got a great bedhead.”

Kaneki regarded the steel in her face, the strong set of her jaw. Touka, when she needed to be, could be stubborn. Now was apparently one of those times, but Kaneki could be wrong.

“I fell asleep at the hospital.”

“You went to the hospital?”

Touka grabbed him by the shoulders, eyes wide. “Did you actually go to the hospital to see him? Are you sh*tting me?”

“I went, but I left because his parents got there. I asked Kimi to watch for me, so . . .”

Touka sat back, pressing a palm to her forehead. “What am I going to do with you?”

Kaneki, not knowing what to say, sipped his drink in silence. At that time, he’d watched from the roof of the building as his friends got Hide treated and set on a stretcher and sprinted off to the hospital. At that stage, one of them—the other boy—had still been alive, and they’d to resuscitate him unsuccessfully. He was also sprinted off to hospital in an ambulance under the pretext of trying to save him.

But Kaneki knew a fatal wound when he saw one.

The girl was already dead. She, her dead body and belongings were all collected as evidence, and the killer’s corpse was also taken away. Kaneki didn’t even know who it was. The police had come and forensically analysed the place, left markers and tapes and taken samples of the blood. Kaneki had watched them for a long time, until the scene had quietened down, the area was taped off, and the night guard stood at bay.

It was disturbingly orderly.

“Earth to Kaneki, hey!” Touka tapped the lip of his mug. “Stop spacing out. Did you talk at all in the hospital? How did he react? Also, what’s with the patch?”

Kaneki lifted it off easily. “Uta. And, well . . . we talked, I guess . . .”

“Did he tell you to ‘please leave’, or that he ‘hated you’, or that he ‘wanted to kill you’?”

“No.”

“Then he must really, really like you.”

“But I’m the reason they’re dead, Touka,” Kaneki stared up at her. “It’s my fault. If I didn’t know Hide—if Kanou didn’t know me—if Hide hadn’t come here, then . . . it’s my fault. It’s completely my fault because Hide got caught up in the sh*t that I cause. It’s definitely my fault.”

“Kaneki, did you shoot his friends in the head?” Touka had the patience of a saint, sometimes. Kaneki picked at his eye-patch, before pulling it off.

“No.”

“Then it’s not your fault,” she said simply, standing. “It was never your intention to kill them, and everyone knows it. I think even he knows it. And if he doesn’t hate you, then he’s going to need you, now.” She rinsed off her mug in the sink. “Don’t sell yourself short. Hide may only know the whole ‘Haise’ part, but at least he’s giving the ‘Kaneki’ part a chance.”

Kaneki knew it wasn’t that simple. He was so certain it was his fault, so responsible for the pain Hide had felt that it could have been him, pulling the trigger. It could have been him, holding three kids hostage.

It had been, in the past.

He’d also been the one shot in the head. He’d also been the one left alive.

“Go and f*cking see him again. Kimi works the graveyard shift tomorrow as well, Kaneki. If you don’t go, I will go, and that will end it a beautiful sh*tstorm for everyone to deal with, okay?”

“Okay,” Kaneki said. “But . . . it’s not . . .”

“I’ll do your makeup,” she said. “You tried real hard, kid, but it’s sub-par at best. I’ll even do your neck for you, so you can dress normally for a change.”

“You’re going to get up early? No—you work on Sundays, don’t you? You can’t—”

“I can, and I will. Shut up and deal with it. Let me look after you for a bit, okay? We have to get you spick and spam for this date night.”

“It’s not a date, Touka, his friends are—”

“Date,” Touka insisted. “Come on, do the embarrassed thing. Lighten up.”

Kaneki stared into his coffee. “Fine,” he said. “But first I have to see Uta. We have to do some digging.”

“How many?”

“I’d say three,” Kaneki said. “Not bad, but they’re annoying. If I leave them too long we’ll have to get rid of the whole thing. Also, the eye needs to go.”

“Damn, I thought you looked a little devilishly handsome, if I may.”

“Touka, no.”

“Touka, yes.”

Kaneki sighed into his drink, bringing it to his lips. It was pretty f*cked, wasn’t it, how he was planning to take advantage of this? It made him terrible, he was sure. Maybe it was worth it, the whole empathy thing. He should try doing that again, even if he didn’t enjoy it.

Touka, even if she didn’t need him, was going to help him.

And Thank God, because he needed Touka.

“Hide,” Yoko said solemnly, composing herself after the outburst. “Remember the letter I gave you? You’re going to need that.”

“Why?”

Yoko shook her head. “Have someone get it for you, because it is of the utmost importance that you have it by the time the CCG come for you.”

“Didn’t you say to only use that when—”

“When you were in the sh*t, and the Nagachika power wasn’t enough to help you,” she affirmed. “Like I said, you need it, because the Washuu are coming.”

Chapter 28: East of Eden

Chapter Text

“One may take the man from Hell, but nothing can take Hell from the man.” When he was in high school, Hide had read that line in a book that required an analysis. Over time, the memories of the book had faded, but he remembered them now. Selfishly, obsessively, he remembered the book. He’d had on his brave face, but when visiting hours ended and his parents reluctantly left, he’d been put to bed with a fresh dose of meds to his IV and a change of dressings.

The lights had dimmed, and it was time to sleep and tick away some hours so the staff could have a coffee. That’s what Hide had been; a constant clock, ticking away minute. Another minute closer to solitude, he told himself to keep going. Then, when he was alone, he could focus on how horrible he felt.

The phenomena was called ‘Survivor’s Guilt’, and Hide had no qualms about its naming. Initial gratitude for everything began to fade when he realised it was something he was feeling that the others weren’t. He was so busy feeling sorry for himself when he was sure that, if it had been anyone else, they would have had some euphoric Eureka moment and dedicated their life to good causes overnight. Satsuki would have done it. Takashi would have done it.

Meanwhile, Hide just lay in a hospital bed.

If Hide had been faster, if he’d ignored the pain and the fear, if he’d moved knowing that they would die, then surely, surely they would have lived. If he had treated the whole thing properly, then they would have lived. If it had been them in his position, then it would have been so much better. Their grieving families would not grieve, because they would be alive. The distant thought of ‘what if Takashi had been the one alive?’ or, ‘what if nothing had ever happened?’

What if it hadn’t happened? What then?

Hide had never believed in ghosts, but he had a feeling that the weight that seemed to live in his chest would not disappear for a long, long time.

Medically-induced sleep seemed like a great idea, but consciously trying to fall asleep was like asking for the re-evaluation of what had unfolded. If he had done this, or this, or this, or this, or if Hide had been the one that died, then—

The thoughts were pretty toxic, but Hide had no idea how to turn them off.

To top things off, he’d put his parents into financial trouble to pay for this, because his own work hadn’t been enough. sh*t. He’d caused so many problems, and all he’d wanted to was to help them escape.

Rationally, he knew he should be practical, count his lucky stars, stop feeling it. He knew he should.

But he didn’t.

Sighing, Hide considered climbing out of bed and walking around. He had to do something to work off the restless energy he felt. He would, if he was able to. As it was, his leg had been dressed but not properly fixed. Something about waiting a few days before closing the wounds left from bullets, otherwise the damage to the muscle fibres would leave a permanent depression. He was meant to go in and have it properly fixed tomorrow or the day after, huh? Great.

Just great.

Yes, Hide, it was great. He was alive. Stop complaining.

“I wish I had my phone,” he muttered, reaching for the television remote. It was a public room (because who could afford private rooms?) but Hide was the only one occupying it. He turned it on where he could see it on the opposite wall, and flicked through channels to find something interesting.

At eleven thirty at night, there wasn’t a lot. Game shows, news, the 24-hour weather update channel, everything else. Damn, Hide wished he had a phone.

Hide thought of a way out of this.

His mother wouldn’t like it, but Akira had said that joining the CCG would cover his medical and tuition fees. At that stage, it seemed like the best plan. His mother would probably never speak to him again, but . . .

“The Washuu are coming.”

Letters, Washuu, CCG, what did it even mean? Why did it mean anything? God, Hide was sick of this. He was surrounded by questions that required looking for answers, but Hide knew that looking for them would only bring trouble on people, and more people would die.

More people.

In the dark, he saw the faces of his friends. Their dead ones, of course, because the fact that they were ever alive seemed too distant to ever understand.

Hospitals were about eating, sleeping, and recovering. The only problem was, the food was terrible, Hide was in no condition to sleep, and he was in no real process of recovery while he waited for the ‘next’ procedure. f*ck it all.

What was the point of anything if everyone else ended up being collateral damage? Hide didn’t want people to be that! He wanted . . . sh*t, he wanted to be the one who prevented that, not the cause. f*ck.

Hide flicked through channels for a long time before someone came in.

“Hide?”

‘Hide’, not ‘Mr Nagachika’, or ‘patient’. It wasn’t an unfamiliar voice at all. It was one he knew very well, despite the fact he hadn’t really spoken to Nishio in a very long time.

“Kimi? You work here?” Hide had known she was a nurse, but the fact that she was working here while Hide was also here to see him in this state was still a surprise. More Happy Hide, then. He gave her a toothy grin that made his throat feel tight. “Hiya!”

“Hide, are you all right? Do you need anything? I can ask for some sleeping pills if you’re having trouble sleeping,” she said gently, walking in. “My shift doesn’t start for another twenty minutes, so if you need anything, I’m free at the moment.”

Hide waved her off, his hand cast making him feel like a walrus. “No biggie, I’m just thinking.”

“Oh, okay,” Kimi said, unconvinced. “Well, there are counsellors here twenty-four-seven, so if you wanted to talk to someone . . . I know it’s not my place to say anything, but if you need someone to talk to, especially after what happened, it’s—”

“Thank you for your concern,” Hide said, as honest as he could, because it was gratitude, just his brain was having trouble understanding that. “But I’m fine. When I’m mobile again, I’ll go talk to someone, but it’s fine for now. I’m just glad I’m here is all.”

“You’re not lying to me, are you, Hide?” Kimi’s eyes were kind and concerned. It fitted her well, being a nurse. She had the right calm, genuine demeanour. It reminded him a bit of Satsuki.

Satsuki.

Hide wanted to throw up.

“No,” he said, smiling. “Well, okay, maybe a bit—but that’s normal, right? So, um . . .” he tugged at the beanie on his head, the beanie Kaneki had decided to leave him. “I know I probably should talk to people during the whole ‘sinking in’ time, but . . . I don’t want to? God, that’s weird. I’m sorry. I’m taking up your time. Don’t worry about me!” he sung the words, but, God, he felt like crap.

Kimi sighed, sitting herself down. Despite in her work clothes, she had an air of relaxation that separated her from working and not-working. She watched him flick through channels absently. “Do you want your phone? We’re not meant to give it to people, but I guess I can, since you’re not in the . . . Mental Ward, for lack of a better term.”

“If you’re in the Crazy Zone you don’t get a phone?”

“Don’t call it the crazy zone!” Kimi pouted. “It’s for people who need to recover just as much as you, Hide, just in a different way. Go down a bad path and you’ll find yourself in there, so be nicer to them. They’re really nice people, mostly.”

Hide felt terrible. “Sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Kimi laughed. “I’m probably too defensive because I’ve been there, I guess.”

“You were in there?”

Kimi nodded, smiling gently. “When my family died, it really shook me up. Dark times. I went in there for a week, came out, tried to live my life. Things weren’t looking up, but then I met Nishio and lot of other people, and there’s no real reason to be sad anymore.”

The way she spoke about it so fluently made it blatantly clear she’d spoken about it a lot. It was surprising to Hide because that didn’t seem to fit her image. Quietly strong, Hide realised. She was strong, too.

“Did you know that Nishio was part of GLG?”

“I kind of found out accidently,” she said, her sideways look telling him she knew exactly how he had dodged the subject of Crazy Town. “But I know. I know what he’s done. He’s not a bad person, either. Not many people are inherently bad, you know. That doesn’t mean there aren’t bad people, mind you. There definitely are, but . . . well, I guess that doesn’t defend their actions, right?”

So Nishio was part of GLG. Damn, Hide just couldn’t give investigating a break, huh? Maybe he should join the CCG.

“So, phone or no phone? Remember, that phone will have your text history on it, which means a lot of tears, and I’ll be working in a few.”

“Phone.”

“O-Okay, that was fast.” Kimi stood. “I’ll get it for you. Do you want any meds? Need any toilet assistance? Company?”

Hide shrugged. “I’m pretty good with sitting in the dark with some soulless technology.”

“Not even the Hat Fairy?” Kimi winked at him. “He may come again, you know.”

“Hat Fairy? You’re seriously calling him the Hat Fairy?”

“He comes, he weaves a magical spell, and leaves a hat. Fairy. Magical. He only wanted a few Hide tears! My, magic is so beautiful.”

“Oh my God, Kimi.”

She did a little ballerina spin at the door. “I’ll get that phone so you can scream at Flappy Bird all night instead of me. Have fun!”

“Was that all of them?” Uta washed his hands in the basin. “You said there could be four, but we only found three, so . . .”

“It’s probably enough,” Kaneki admitted. “If there’s any more we’ll see, won’t we?”

Kaneki prodded the bandages around his eye to keep the blood in. he couldn’t go walking around the city looking like he’d lost have his face with the amount of blood that ran down his cheeks. God, when would his eye get used to this?

His legs, on the other hand, were very used to the ordeal. He waited for the skin to knit together, seeing how scabs were already forming and drying. Maybe another hour, then a shower and a change of clothes and he’d be ready to face the world again. Another day, and he could ditch the eye-patch.

He didn’t have time to think about how f*cked the whole situation was.

“I wish you’d let me tattoo you,” Uta sighed, sitting himself down. “You have the right skin tone to get a really nice contrast.”

“I’m fine without them,” Kaneki shrugged. “Besides, knowing you, you’d probably drug me or something and then tattoo GLG’s markings literally all over my back.”

Uta grinned, sliding on a pair of small, round glasses. “Well, you aren’t wrong. I can picture it, yeah? Giant, rigid characters like, right in the small of your back? I’d make you a model.”

“I’m a criminal, Uta, not a poser.”

“Why not do both?” Uta looked genuinely interested. “We can airbrush out the bits you don’t want people seeing.”

“No cameras, no tattoos,” Kaneki picked at the scabs idly. They bled under his fingers. Damn, that was a delay. “No nothings. The CCG still doesn’t have a definite picture of me, anyway.”

Uta pouted. “You’re no fun, Kaneki. Itori would so agree with me on this.”

“Yomo would disagree.”

“No, Yomo would sit there with an angry face, stare at his drink, and then mysteriously say, ‘I have no part in this.’”

Kaneki sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”

“So? Let’s gossip.”

Kaneki could have visibly winced. He could have, because it was his least favourite subject.

Wow, he had favourites now?

“Like what? I’m not interested in hearing about your last date.”

“Oh, you should be. She couldn’t even read, Kaneki! I had to take a magazine!”

Kaneki shrugged. “Okay.”

“Your turn,” said Uta, smirking. “What’s this business with you and some other guy?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Uta grinned wider, leaning forward towards the bench Kaneki was sitting on. “You know, little taller than you, blonde hair, recently was all over the news. Itori nearly fainted she talked about it for so long.”

Kaneki tapped his fingers. He didn’t want to talk to Uta about Hide. If Uta knew about Hide, then he could find him. Nishio wouldn’t enjoy Uta being there, but Nishio new the difference in their strengths and would probably accept it. It would endanger Hide more than he already was. Kaneki’s mind whirred, drawing at blanks.

Generic answers were okay, right?

“Yeah, I know him. What about him?” Even saying the words felt terrible. It had felt even worse after Kaneki had taken Touka’s advice and tried to ‘put himself in Hide’s shoes, which drew more memories than he wanted and left him feeling unexpectedly raw, like he’d recently shed a layer of skin.

Like he had something real and important to hide.

Uta stood, rummaging through the tools on his desk. “So? Does he f*ck good?”

Kaneki tried to be embarrassed by the question. He gave it a real good shot, because the whole ‘if he were someone else’ thing was that they’d be embarrassed, but Kaneki actually and honestly had no idea.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“No!” Uta looked horrified. “But—but you’re a student, and he’s a student, and you’ve . . .” seeing Kaneki’s placid shrug, Uta slapped his forehead. “You’re killing me.”

“But you’re not dying.”

“I call it my Kaneki power.”

“Shut up.”

Uta chuckled to himself, eventually digging out the item he was looking for: a sketchbook. While most of the pages were filled with designs and drawings, there were spots of writing in there as well. “Touka tells me that Ayato likes art. He’d be a good tattoo artist.”

“He’s already got Aogiri’s mark,” Kaneki said. “The white circle inside a black circle.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. What a coincidence, it’s on the opposite side to Touka, but the same place? That’s pretty cool.”

“It does mean he can never take his shirt of in public, though. And Touka can’t ever wear the fancy no-back dresses, either.”

“Beauty has a price.”

Kaneki disagreed, but his own argument was weak. He had no place to argue it. He had no tattoos. He was not affiliated with any group. He did not really belong anywhere, a floated whose only place of return was the bad apartment in a bad neighbourhood, surrounded by bad things that Ayato was usually the cause of in the early hours of the morning.

In Touka’s words, it was a work in progress.

“What’s your opinion on scarring?” Uta asked, sketching a wide, loose shape in his book. “It’s been pretty popular recently.”

“People can do what they want,” Kaneki said simply. “Not all scars are ugly, I guess.”

Uta pushed down his glasses, giving him a long, unimpressed look. What was he trying to say? Kaneki didn’t know. He shrugged and pulled out his phone. Just a little longer, and he could leave the stiff, invasive atmosphere of Uta’s studio.

It was always in here, the most hygienic and sanitised room, that Kaneki would offer up a limb filled with bullets and Uta would expertly handle a scalpel and cut them out, stitch up the right layers of tissue and skin, and then leave his body to sew itself up over an hour or so before he headed out again. More than once, Kaneki had been forced to let Uta give him a backyard lobotomy to dig out some shrapnel embedded in his brain.

Kaneki supposed that was pretty morbid.

His work phone had no contacts, which had led him to the habit of memorizing all the numbers on his student phone. It wasn’t really a useful habit until Kimi’s number appeared and sent him a text.

I added u to Hides phone •̀.̫•́✧

Yoriko massaged Touka’s face. “Stop scowling,” she groaned. “You’ll get wrinkles early!”

Touka only scowled harder. “I have a lot to think about.”

“Geh,” Yoriko sighed, leaning back. “Fine. Tell me your problems, young maiden, and I shall offer my sage, bready advice.”

“I don’t want bread,” Touka said, pouting. “Besides, it’s late. Snacking late at night is bad for your metabolism.”

“Touka, you and I both know that your metabolism is A-okay, Miss Model Proportions.” At this, Touka felt her face go red. “I made a batch before, so they’ll be nice and warm. Come, tell the wise Yoriko that which ails you.”

Touka’s pout didn’t cease. She looked away, studying the grain of the wood in Yoriko’s kitchen table. “I want to set my friend up with some guy, but he’s . . . shy?”

“Yeah? That’s common.” Yoriko pulled on her oven mitts. “So what’s the problem? It can be a double date.”

“No, no, it’s . . .” complicated, she wanted to say. It was times like these where Touka found herself weighing up the options: did she tell Yoriko that she was actually part of Tokyo’s most dangerous gang, and that her ‘friend’ was the Kaneki Ken, or did she keep it as bland as possible?

Yoriko’s parents were out, which meant they had the city apartment to themselves. It was always like this: Touka at her house, not at Touka’s, because if her parents found out where Touka actually lived, well, they’d probably have a heart attack and call the authorities in an instant, just as Touka had escaped them.

“Okay, okay. Let’s think of the selling points, here. How is your friend in the looks department?”

“Yoriko, you’re asking me, and I have no idea.”

“Can I see a picture?” There was a blast of hot air as Yoriko opened up the oven, the fan whirring loudly as she pulled out the tray of perfectly-round, fluffy buns. Touka scrolled through her phone, looking for a picture of Kaneki as Haise. It wasn’t good, but the fake ID picture was all she had. That, and an old before-after thing she’d taken from years ago when she first showed Kaneki the ‘power of makeup’.

He didn’t know she still had it.

“This is his student ID. How is it?”

Yoriko placed the tray on the stove and removed one of her mitts, taking Touka’s phone in her hand. She scrutinised him, eyes narrowing. “You know,” she said slowly, “he’s pretty . . . not ugly.”

Touka scowled. “Look, I know he’s probably not going to make it to a magazine cover and all, but—”

“I think the glasses don’t suit him,” said Yoriko, “like, they’re too big. They take up his whole face, woman. Get him a better pair.”

That was the whole point of the glasses though, Touka sighed internally. To hide his face.

“Yeah, fine. Anything else?”

“He’s not bad. He could get someone easily. So what’s the problem?”

“Well . . .” Yoriko handed back her phone and turned to the bread. Touka watched the expert movements of her hands as they deftly lifted off the oven-hot bread quickly to avoid burning herself. It was almost hypnotising, the methodical rhythm of it.

“Well, what?”

If he had 99 problems, my life would be so much easier.

“Remember, a few weeks back, I told you how I’d been really mean to this guy Nishio introduced me to?”

“No.” Yoriko looked horrified, holding the plate of bread in her hand. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“But—but he was—and you knew? You knew that your friend had a thing for the guy and you just—”

“I was worried he wasn’t good enough! And then I got mad, and well . . . look, I know I went a bit far, and I remember you being really harsh about it, but—”

“You didn’t tell me you wanted them to go out!” Yoriko sighed, sitting down. “You roasted this poor, innocent soul, and now you’re feeling bad about it again. Oh, no.”

“Okay, well, don’t blame me yet. This guy”—she jabbed to Kaneki on the screen—“they still got on, by some miracle. There were a few . . . hiccups along the way, but they sort of maintained a distant friendship-thing? Look, basically now the guy is in hospital and good old Haise here is too nervous to take advantage of this.”

Yoriko placed some butter on the table. “He’s not wrong.”

“That’s not what I want to hear!” Touka groaned, flopping herself over the back of the chair. “Yoriko, this guy—he’s a really good guy, so—”

“What’s his name?” Yoriko tore off a bit of steaming bread and sat down. “Do I know him?”

“His name’s Hide, so—”

“No, the one from the club? Really?”

Touka felt herself deflating into an irritated puddle. Of course Yoriko would remember him, the person she had danced with instead of Touka. She scowled, picking a bun up and splitting it despite the burning of her hands. Gosh, she was angry. “Yes, the one from the club.”

Yoriko watched her, amusem*nt clear on her face. “Are you jealous that I remember him, Touka?”

“Shut up,” she growled, angrily chewing the still-scorching bread. It was good. It was always good when Yoriko made it. “Besides, I still kind of low-key hate him.”

“But?”

Touka gnashed her teeth. Yoriko was definitely going to make her do this. “But what?”

“Come on, say the nice things. You know there are nice things, so spit them out.”

Yoriko looked far too smug with herself.

“But, he actually likes the guy and he’s kind of stupid but kind of smart at the same time, and he’s still nice to my friend despite the fact that he’s probably not a good person, and he’s making progress in ways I could never even hope to despite living with the guy.”

Yoriko’s smile didn’t falter. God, how did people as nice as Yoriko even exist?

“Feel better?”

“Like hell I do!” Touka snapped, glaring angrily at the bread in her hand. “All it does is make me angry.”

“What’s this guy . . . the glasses kid, Haise? Yeah, him—what’s he to you, anyway? Like, since you’re dating me and all”—she winked at Touka, who felt herself go even redder in the face—“you seem to really care about him, but he looks like an average dude. He also wasn’t someone you talked about a lot in school, so where’d he come from?”

“I didn’t talk about a lot during school,” Touka grumbled. At this Yoriko softened, reaching up to play with Touka’s bangs. God, steam could be coming out of her ears. Yoriko pushed the hair off her face, revealing it in all its blinding clarity.

“I know you didn’t,” she said. “You’re like a superhero, Touka. You have all these mysterious friends and family members.”

Superhero. More like a supervillain’s lackey.

“They’re hardly mysterious,” Touka shrugged, staring at anything that wasn’t Yoriko’s face. “I just . . . “

“Don’t like talking about them?” Yoriko finished. “Okay. Well, when you do, we can finish this. Because you seem to be pushing your little friend towards this guy, and, well, when he’s in hospital, y’know, maybe that’s a bad time?”

“I know,” Touka said. “I know, I know. Just . . . he’s the kind of guy to be too nervous to get close, so people think he’s not interested, or he’s left, and then they leave and he has no idea what’s happened.”

“Hmm.” Yoriko released her, turning back to her bread. “Well, in the end, you can only point him that way, right? They get along, so maybe Hide understands that about him already.”

“I hope so,” Touka said.

Hide had seen his mother angry. He’d seen her absolutely pissed, enraged, in fury so bad flames came from her eyes, but he’d never seen her like this: like she was the embodiment of steel.

“Yosh*toki,” she said, level, but Hide could see the tiny, wispy hairs falling from the tight bun she’d pulled her hair into as she shook from anger. She hated this man, and Hide could feel it from there, prone, in a hospital bed.

That was kind of pathetic, making his mother do all the fighting.

“Yoko,” he replied, the easy imouto falling from his mouth. Sister. Little sister. This was her older brother, Hide’s uncle.

“Kousuke, please leave the room,” Yoko said smoothly. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Yoko, I don’t—”

“Leave, Kousuke,” she repeated. “Please.”

Hide gave a nervous glance to his father, who was unusually gaunt. He clenched his jaw but nodded, getting up and brushing past the other man in silence.

When he was out of the room, Yoko stood. “Why have you come?”

“Let’s be civil here, Yoko,” said Washuu. “I’ve not come seeking conflict.”

Hide’s hand gripped at the sheet. The envelope. His mother had told him to get the envelope, but Kaneki had already left for it and had yet to come back. He swallowed. Until that letter came, they were powerless.

Washuu, Hide’s uncle, was dressed in official CCG uniform. He could see from the insignia on his coat pocket that he was a Special Class—the highest class of investigator. His dark hair was combed to the side, tidy with the slightest hint of a well-groomed beard. He leaned on a cane in front of him. Everything about the way he stood, the way he was poised, and the way he spoke screamed authority.

One that his mother didn’t enjoy recognising.

“You came looking for my son, I know,” she snapped, “how’d you find me? Which camera? The station? It would be, wouldn’t it?”

“Impeccable analysis as always,” Yosh*toki smiled. If Hide didn’t look at him through the lens his mother had trained him to, it could have seemed friendly. “It was indeed the station’s. We had it programmed to find your face.”

“As I thought,” she sighed. “Well, what now? You know that I will never come back. I evaded you for these years, and I’ll evade you again.”

“But your son won’t.”

Light. Friendly. Non-threatening. Everything about his voice was without danger, but the words were definitely fearful. Hide swallowed. This wasn’t the fear he felt from hiding behind the dumpsters, this wasn’t the fear he felt while he watched his friends fall.

This was an unbreakable, untouchable fear that came from the difference in their strengths.

“I want your son to join the CCG,” he said. “He’s probably just as excellent as you, and he’s not a carrier.”

Carrier? What the hell was a carrier?

Yoko stood dead-straight, visually unaffected by his words. “He hasn’t had a day of training in his life. If you want him to join the CCG, it’ll be through the normal method.”

“We don’t have that sort of time, Yoko,” Yosh*toki repeated. “I understand your ‘motherly’ concern, but he’s a Washuu by blood, so he’ll be receiving the best of the best.”

Yoko ground her teeth. “You wait. Any second now, a letter will be arriving, and you’ll be put in your place.”

“A letter?” Yosh*toki looked amused. “A scrap of paper will put me in place? If it was written by you, then it’s power is—”

“My status means nothing, number two, but the author’s does.”

If Yosh*toki was in any way wounded by what his mother said, he didn’t show it. He smiled thinly, wryly, almost apologetically. “Number two? You still try and sway me like that?”

Hide felt like he didn’t even belong in the room. He was watching two storms collide, and he was just a township about to be destroyed. Oh, God.

“It doesn’t matter,” Yoko repeated. Her voice had been growing steadily calmer as she argued. Hide could see, now, the similarity in the way they spoke, the way they stood, and as time went on they became more and more alike.

This was what his mother had been running from. This is what she had been telling Hide his whole life to stay away from. Washuu.

And she was one of them.

“The CCG entrant system states that he will be bound to five years’ worth of service, receive medical care and tuition fees. That is how it has been for the last thirty tears, and it is still current, Yosh*toki. Five years. It is his decision.”

“It’ll only bind you to five years of work! And it covers your medical bills!”

Hide thought of Akira’s ploy to get him to join. That being said, he’d heard terrible things about trainees. Having to go solo in gang-riddled warehouses as bait, getting separated from their groups, dying or becoming murderers.

Was Hide that kind of person?

Could he be the one to pull the trigger on someone else’s friends?

Yosh*toki’s smile was small but strong. “He’ll be taken into the Officer program upon entering, Yoko. I will personally put in a word.”

“You won’t,” snapped the older woman, “or I will destroy Tsuneyoshi.”

“They’re big words, Yoko,” laughed the older man, “you sure are making a large claim.”

His mother, Hide knew, was as obstinate as bedrock. Nothing could move her, and she had the strength to shift the entire area like a glacier.

If Nagachika Yoko—if Washuu Yoko, said he would destroy someone, Hide damn well knew she would do it.

This was the same woman he had evaded to go to Tokyo. sh*t.

“You haven’t changed at all, Yoko,” Yosh*toki said. “You still—”

“Um! E-Excuse me!”

Three pairs of eyes turned to the slight frame of the boy at the door. Behind him, Hide’s father tried to tug him away, but the white-haired, glasses-wearing youth had the look of sheer, stupid determination as he stood there, holding the yellow envelope in his hands. “This is, um, Hide’s! I think . . .”

“The Washuu? They’re some big CCG family, right?”

“I don’t really know anything about them, but they’re probably powerful.”

Staring at Kaneki’s face—Haise’s face, distinctly without an eye-patch, revealing a perfectly normal grey eye—it was hard for Hide to believe that they were the same. Still, one thing remained.

He always seemed to show up to save him.

“H-Haise, hi! This is my Ma, Nagachika Yoko, and this is, uh, Washuu Yosh*toki.” Hide tried to sound as dignified as he could, immobile, in a hospital bed, whilst two older people did all the arguing. Kaneki bowed hurriedly to both of them, turning back to his father and bowing to him as well.

“I’m very sorry to interrupt,” he said, walking in and handing Hide the letter. His hand didn’t shake. He looked better than he had, even if his left eye looked a little irritated.

He gave a tiny, nervous smile, bowed in a nervous flurry to everyone in the room again, and backed away.

“Who was he?” His mother onto him in an instant. “You didn’t tell me about him.”

“Well, I—”

“Oh.” The accusation was in her eyes instantly. Hide wilted. He could hear her screaming “I SAID NO MORE BAD PEOPLE WITH GOOD INTENTIONS, YOU SILLY BOY! GO FARM FOR THREE HOURS!”

She gave him a sharp look that meant ‘we’re talking about this later’, and handed the letter to the older man. “This is the one. If you’re smart, you’ll open it in private.”

If Yosh*toki was miffed about her speaking to him in such a way, he didn’t show it. He smiled easily, completely different to a Nagachika grin. It reminded Hide of a fox’s smile, slim and cunning, but elegant. “You really haven’t changed. Very well. Official questioning starts today, but in all honesty, I’m not too fussed about it. The dead bury the dead, don’t they, Yoko?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but Hide jumped in first. “They’re all dead, we know. The guy who did it is dead too, but an honest Investigator would still make the case officially closed, wouldn’t they?”

Yosh*toki’s gaze finally focused on him, and his smile softened. “They would, yes.”

He didn’t bow to any of them as he left in a swish of his long, white coat. Yoko glared after him, before finally sitting herself down. “That was a stupid decision, Hide. Stupid.”

“I’m good at that.”

She sighed. “After this, you’ll join the CCG program, despite everything I wanted, so—”

“I get it,” said Hide, smiling. She was trying in her own way, and Hide couldn’t think about himself forever. “I do. Besides, you got me out of that creepy Officer stuff, right?”

Yoko shook her head. “They’ll keep trying. Don’t ever let them enter you, Hide. Don’t make friends there, or you’ll be full of weaknesses. You have a good brain in your head, and you need it, because you can’t communicate with others. Like me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t, but—”

“The CCG won’t let you leave the city for five years, while your agreement holds,” she said. “In that time, they’ll probably try and find me. Hide, your father and I have already decided. We’re going to hide. They won’t find us, but neither will you.”

Oh.

“That’s . . .” a good joke, he wanted to say, but looking from her to his father, standing at the door, he knew it was no joke. In the space of a few days, he’d lose his friends and his parents.

“When are you leaving?”

Yoko sighed. “Tonight. But you listen to me, Hide—as soon as those five years are up, you leave this place. You leave this city and disappear. Country word travels fast. We’re both smart. We’ll find each other, okay?”

Damn, Hide thought. Damn.

Yoko pulled him against her, holding him tight. “I’m looking after number one, okay, Hide? You’re number one. You’ll always be my number one. Now, just . . . you be a good boy, okay?”

“One may take the man from Hell, but one may never take the Hell from man.”

The Washuu. He could escape them, but they would always be in his blood, in his mother’s blood, in her past, in his future.

Hide hated the Washuu.

Chapter 29: Like Ships without Anchors

Chapter Text

“At the end of the day, it’s due to my own weakness, isn’t it?” Hide sighed. He was tired. He’d been awake too long, avoiding what he was thinking for too long. Too long. Everything had stretched on too long. “If I had been faster, if I’d bought them more time—”

“A long time ago,” Kaneki cut him off, staring distantly ahead, “I was told by someone that their absolute view of the world was that ‘all the consequences of this world are caused by one’s lack of ability’, or something like that.”

Hide let out the breath very slowly. He felt that if he let it out too quickly, he would wind himself. Kaneki’s words hit home.

“It’s kind of true,” Kaneki said, not waiting for a response. “But that view is very warped. Some things don’t rely on the interactions of people. It’s just a way of blaming yourself.”

No, Hide realised. It wasn’t at all. Kaneki spoke rationally, but somewhere along the way his sentence had turned to lies. Hide studied the way he rubbed at his chin. He did that a lot, didn’t he? As if he were trying to cover the words coming from his mouth. Trying to hide them.

“You say that,” he tried tentatively, “but you listen to it, don’t you?”

Kaneki was impeccably still as he let the words sink in. “Maybe I do,” he said. “But that’s not a stupid decision.”

Hide wanted to argue with him. It was irrational, it was self-deprecating, and it was by no means a sustainable view of life. By no means. Yet Hide found himself unable to hold a candle to Kaneki, for fear that the argument would go around in circles. Clearly the words went deeper than ‘something Kaneki had heard’. Maybe he’d find out the truth one day.

Maybe not.

“Hello? Tsukiyama?” Kaneki leaned on the railing of the balcony, standing outside their apartment door. “Yes, it’s me, Kaneki.”

“Kaneki? Why would you call?”

Kaneki tapped on the metal railing, its paint rusting away. “I’m going to start going to Kamii again.”

“What? You will? But—that means that—”

“I’ve already contacted them,” he said. This was a moment for Sasaki, not Kaneki, yet he felt the same as when he was on the job, weapons around his waist and a job on the screen of his phone. “I told them I was out of town on family business. Because of the amount of time I’ve been away, I’ll be sitting some exams, but I’ll have to drop some subjects.”

On the line, he heard Tsukiyama shuffling and talking to someone. Mirumo. This was Kaneki’s job, after all. How could he abandon something like this? How come he hadn’t realised that he’d been depriving Tsukiyama of his way out of the hell the CCG had put him in? With an education, Tsukiyama Shuu could start a new business that wasn’t nearly as shady as the one his father had been managing for generations. “Are you serious about this? I’ll be sitting the exams as well if you are.”

“Yes, I’m serious,” said Kaneki. He reached for a cigarette, only to find he had none. Oh. “Our only overlapping subject is Creative Writing, isn’t it? I’ll be sure to keep that one.”

“When are the exams?”

“In two weeks,” Kaneki said. “Many students are there. Tell them your father was sick or something.”

“Well, come by for dinner or something so we can talk in person.”

“I will,” Kaneki said. “But not now. Later.”

“Also,” Tsukiyama paused, hesitant on his end of the line. “Thank you for this decision.”

He hung up.

Interpersonal relations weren’t meant to be this easy, Kaneki knew. He put the phone into his back pocket and zipped up the neck of his turtleneck. He’d had too many days off. Whatever pocket of happiness he’d found himself in was about to be shattered, and he knew it. Soft smiles and dark conversations wouldn’t touch this world.

A world the CCG would drag Hide into.

“Where’d Sasaki Haise even come from?” he’d asked, staring out into the dark corridor. “Like, the name. On the system, Sasaki Haise is someone else.”

Kaneki swallowed. “He was . . . one of my jobs.”

“Excuse me?” Hide seemed unnerved by the statement. Kaneki cursed his work. God, it sucked.

“It was a while ago,” Kaneki said. “No big deal.” No big deal? Kaneki had killed the guy! He’d been illegally distributing meth and Itori didn’t like it. He’d become estranged from his friends and family in a matter of months. They’d probably disowned him because of his sudden descent. He was stupid. He was the one who’d had it all and blown it: a good education, a good family—all for the underworld Kaneki lived in. The world Kaneki haunted.

He’d taken his identity and used it.

“I don’t really know why everyone is so lax about him,” Kaneki admitted, “but he was never classified as missing. He just went up in smoke.”

“Oh. I see.” Hide seemed awfully calm despite being told Kaneki had killed someone and stolen their identity, their history. “I guess in a city as big as this, it’d be more surprising if that didn’t happen.”

Kaneki nodded mutely. What else could it be? After all, he’d been one of them, once upon a time.

God, understanding really took its toll. Kaneki was already tired. What was it, a muscle he hadn’t used in years? Oh, right. That’s exactly what it was.

“It’s not a happy story. I’m sorry.”

Hide shook his head. “Don’t be. I asked for it, didn’t I?”

Kaneki scratched at his knuckles nervously. It was five-thirty in the morning, he was sitting in a hospital room, breaking the rules, just to talk to the boy who had ultimately gotten there because of him. Touka had made it into a giant ‘date’, but Kaneki was pretty sure sitting in the dark talking about sad things was not a date by modern conventions.

“Kimi says you’ve talked,” he tried. sh*t, his conversation skills were bad. It was like he was pointing out a bug that had crawled into the room. Look! A bug! You and Kimi have talked! That’s what it felt like.

Despite this, Hide nodded, thoughtful.

“She is quite the character,” he mused, holding his chin in deep thought. “Wise, mysterious.”

“Mysterious?” Kaneki asked. “How so?” As far as he’d known Kimi, she’d been that one girl Nishio had really, truly liked. He knew that life hadn’t really given her everything on a silver platter, but who had?

“She’s really strong,” Hide said simply, nodding to himself. “But you wouldn’t notice it.”

Kaneki was at a loss to try and describe what ‘strength’ was. For whatever reason, Hide and he seemed to have different views.

“Please sign here,” Akira said at last. “That concludes our witness report, and your agreement to join the CCG.”

His parents were out of the room, probably packing up and erasing any trace of them having been there. In the room now, there was a camera set up to record their interview, which Hide had found himself fairly free to talk about. Worryingly, almost. Weren’t people meant to get teary and break down? Surely, only having to pause a few times wasn’t normal.

He’d described it as accurately as he could: the sudden appearance, the motive, his attempt, the result. As he went on, he became painfully aware that it had been him that did all this. Him that survived this, and judging by the looks on their faces, it was shocking even to them. Hide should really be more affected by this, right? He should. So why wasn’t he?

“Thank you,” said Hide softly, his desire to talk growing thin. This wasn't like him! He wanted to smile and laugh and . . . make sure everyone knew he was fine, right? He was. He was very fine. He was the most fine. So why couldn’t he stretch his face into that wide, friendly smile? Why couldn’t he?

So pathetic.

He gave the document a quick once-over. There were no surprises. Medical bills covered. Tuition bills covered. Students were to attend cram classes for the first two years, or an accelerated summer class that Hide would no doubt be roped into. He’d be required to spent the second year working as a Rank 3 in a Ward Branch Office, and he would be eligible for promotions either during the next three years with independent field work, or if he achieved excellence in either the field or investigation.

How much were the Washuu willing to toy with these laws? Why was it that he always felt them breathing down the back of his neck? Dammit.

“You read, right? Do you remember that line in some book—it was a bad book, I had to read it for school I think—where he talks about taking men from hell or something?”

Kaneki nodded. “It’s a Takatsuki Sen book. Part of the ‘Monochrome Rainbow’ collection. ‘One may take the man from Hell, but no one make take Hell from the man.’”

He signed it. Handed it back. They packed up the video equipment. “I think they’re sending you in early,” said Akira soberly. “For the treatment. The Washuu specifically said that you would be getting to be part of the new trial medical procedure.”

That sounded fun. Unfortunately, he had read in the agreement that they were allowed to do that once he gave his consent if he ticked that box. Looks like Hide had, after all. sh*t, he was tired.

“It means you’ll be transferred to the CCG hospital,” she went on.

“Okay,” he said, sprinting the mile and stretching his lips out to a small smile. “I think the meds are making me tired, I’m sorry. Looks like I’ll end up working with you all for even longer, huh?”

Akira gave him a polite smile, but he could see she was worried. She was like that. Always calm, cool and collected, but where her subordinates were concerned she went the extra mile. She was a little bit of a mother, Hide supposed, but if he said that to her she’d probably beat him up, already in hospital or not.

“They say that with the treatment, you could be discharged by the end of the week,” Amon said, gathering his coat. “You’ll be fine now, Nagachika.”

“Thanks, guys. I’m sure you all have work, so you can leave me to the nurses. They’re nice. Like their uniform.”

Akira looked ready to smack him, but relieved.

Hide watched them go, waving merrily. It was fake. It was so, so fake. Damn.

He was tired of this.

Kaneki had arrived there when Hide realised he’d drifted off. He woke up, seeing the other sitting in the chair, reading a well-worn copy of The Black Goat’s Egg. So he still was a reader, huh?

“Yo,” he said, smiling. He didn’t have the nerve to say it, but his initial thought when another person appeared in the room was ‘oh sh*t not more’.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to talk,” Kaneki said without looking up from his book. He turned the page. “It gets tiring after a while, lying.”

Had Kaneki read him that easily? No, surely not. Had he been sleep-talking? Maybe Kaneki was quoting the book. Was that something he’d do? He didn’t know.

“I’m not lying,” he said cheerfully. “It’s nice to see you.”

Kaneki closed his book calmly. He stared into its closed shape, every thin page pressed together between the soft covers, turning and peeling with age. “Not the words,” Kaneki said, “the sentiments.”

He looked up, and Hide thought he was being seen through, like Nagachika Hideyoshi had been condensed into a collection of spindly characters written onto a page for Kaneki to read, each thought easily seen and comprehensive. Cohesive. Simple.

“A-Aren’t guests meant to be more cheerful?” he tried again, tentative. He was not going to start crying about this whole business again. “You’re really ruining the mood, here.”

Kaneki looked back down. “I’m sorry.”

It was a Monday night, and Ayato asked Kaneki for help.

“The essay wants me to analyse his effect on the story,” Ayato said, “talking about language conventions and sh*t, but I don’t get what any of that means.”

Kaneki couldn’t help himself: he smiled.

“Whoa, get away,” Ayato growled, inching back. “Who are you?”

“It’s literature!” Kaneki said, pulling the task sheet his way. “What they want you to answer and discuss, basically, is his role on the story. Is this . . . this man isn’t a main character, so talk about his relationship with the main characters. When they talk about language conventions, they mean how he addresses them, his speech pattern, the way he’s described. That sort of thing.”

“The only thing they really talk about him especially is the magical properties of his cloak, though,” Ayato muttered. “Like . . . symbolism? I think that’s what the teacher called it.”

“It’s a symbol. They relate it strongly to predatory cats, from memory. The whole idea of an animal symbol is also a form of anthropomorphism.” Please know what that is, he prayed.

“Yeah. Early on, they call it a tiger, then a lion, and then a black panther. I don’t really know what that means.” Ayato’s prejudice seemed to fade as he went on. Kaneki couldn’t keep the smile of his face. Ayato was doing work. Ayato was doing literature work.

“Well, what I would say is that the tiger is meant to represent his regal status, as maybe, like, a ruler. He is a ruler, isn’t he? In exile, yeah. Relate it to the national animals of countries. It has some royal influence. Then, they change it to a lion. The lion is the whole ‘king of the jungle’ image, so just talk about it. That’s when he’s reinstated to the throne. Then he gets overthrown, and he runs away. They start calling it panther after that. I don’t really remember what its exact symbolist meanings are, but generally they have the same values as big cats, just more . . . shady? Yeah.”

Ayato side-glared him. “You spoke way too fast for me.”

Kaneki glanced down at his notes, which were still on ‘tiger means royalty’. “O-oh . . .” Kaneki started. He’d never spoken that long in ages. It almost left him tired.

“Kaneki? Earth to sh*thead? Are you high? You’re high, aren’t you?”

“I haven’t even smoked in three days,” Kaneki said levelly. Ayato’s eyes widened as if an electric shock has passed through him.

“Ew.”

“Well, fine. That’s one paragraph done. What will you do about the next two?”

“Excuse me?” Ayato’s annoyance turned to horror. “That doesn’t make up the entire essay?”

“That’s just one assertion,” Kaneki said patently. “One of your points of focus. It’s a good start. You need two others that aren’t too far away from that general point to talk about for the next two paragraphs. You need an intro which discusses these points, and the conclusion that summarises everything you’ve said.”

“That’s it, I’m quitting school.” Ayato put his pen down, shell-shocked. “I have no idea how I’m going to make it through.”

“What? But you do all this in the first ten minutes of an exam!” Kaneki took another one of Ayato’s notebooks. “You understand the question, right? Then you just brainstorm. You can do it any way you want. This is the annotation phase. This usually takes a few minutes.”

“Kaneki, you need to slow this down.” Ayato ran his hands through his hair. “I’ve never written an essay that detailed in my life.”

Kaneki felt his excitement drop. “Ayato,” he started, “what are your grades even like?”

Yosh*toki had to re-read the letter a few times. In the envelope were two letters, one from Yoko, his estranged sister, and one from Washuu Hiyori, his grandmother. One of the few people who had had power over his father. Had. Until she died.

One of the letters was just that: a letter. It discussed her motive—unnecessary—her relation to Hideyoshi—his mother—and furthermore, a seal that could not be broken by the highest power of the Washuu main branch family. At first, he thought she was kidding.

She wasn’t kidding.

A copy of Washuu Hiyori’s will was enclosed in the letter. Legally binding. Still powerful, and a document that had been previously unknown. His grandmother’s will. A will that stated everything of value in the Washuu name be passed to Yoko, the brightest, most brilliant of the siblings. “In the event that I should die, I leave everything to her and her next of kin.”

When he’d shown Tsuneyori, his father, he’d not been impressed. “She was always crafty,” he remarked, “and unfortunately, this binds us.”

“Can’t we just destroy it?” Matsuri asked, unimpressed. “They’re just papers.”

“It’s not that simple,” Yosh*toki said calmly. “If grandmother is truly dead, then Yoko, wherever she is, owns the entirety of the CCG.”

“Then why give it us?” Matsuri didn’t look impressed. “If we destroy it, then that is nothing.”

“This is a copy, Matsuri,” Yosh*toki said. “Yoko has hidden the real copy. She’s cut out grandmother’s stamp. This means nothing.”

“If we find her,” Matsuri started, “then we just—”

“What? Then we kill her? And leave the CCG to her son? Or what else? We just ask her? She’ll have hidden it. We could tear up the globe looking for it but never find it. You don’t remember how crafty she was, Matsuri. She could wear your prized possession on your throat and you wouldn’t notice until she killed you with it.”

Matsuri was silent. Yosh*toki scolded himself. Even when surrounded by family, he couldn’t lose his composure like that. After seeing her in person, in her house-wife, farming shape, he could all but see Yoko smiling at him, smug as he was put in place. Overly zealous, brother?

Like hell.

“You underestimate her, Yosh*toki,” said his father, his voice echoing in the room. His position as the head of CCG made him especially weak to this document. Whatever could Yoko have pulled to get this?

If word got out, then Tsuneyori would be powerless.

“The boy would not know either,” he went on. “She would know it poses a threat to our safety. She and us are probably the only people in the whole world who know this, along with my mother, who is dead.”

The papers were there, telling every man in the room that they owned not a shred of the CCG. After his grandfather had died, his grandmother, Washuu Hiyori, had expanded the CCG and raised their son herself. Naturally, his wife had died, as was the nature of all who married into the Washuu name. Yoko had been the younger of the two, and by far better at everything the CCG stood for than her older brother. She had been number one.

Yosh*toki had been number two.

Brilliant in all fields, a quick wit, always aware of her surroundings and a constant ability to escape any situation by laying flawless groundwork. She had become invested in trying to end the curse of the Washuu, when one day, at the age of twenty, she disappeared without a trace.

What if it was fake? What then, he wanted to know. The dates were more recent than the pre-existing one that his father had taken and used. The most recent, the real will, made in secret, signed by lawyers and witnesses who had taken it with them to the grave, was the real deal.

Yoko clearly saw no use in destroying the CCG, but rather bending it to get what she wanted.

“She’ll find a way to know if we harm her son,” Yosh*toki said. “We’ll have to abandon our hopes for him now.”

“I leave it in your hands,” his father told him. “I have no doubt he is probably more excellent than his mother, once we give him the right training. Use him well.”

“He’ll be drafted into the advanced summer classes with the academy graduates,” Matsuri said. “He’s only joined through general admission, so—”

“You may be silent, Matsuri,” Yosh*toki said, eerily calm but carrying threat. “The meeting is over. Thank you, Chairman.”

His sister never ceased causing trouble, damn her.

“My mother—there’s a letter that I need. It’s in my room, in my dorm. She told me I had to get it. I’d have texted you, but—”

“Your phone got destroyed,” Kaneki finished. “I can find it for you. Let me guess; tucked away in a drawer?”

“In plain sight. I think I underestimated its value. The bottom drawer of my desk. Yellow envelope.”

“Got it.”

Hide really couldn’t help himself, could he? The curious mind is the most brutal, after all. He said it before he could overthink the decision.

“Did you have black hair at one stage, Kaneki?”

Kaneki closed his eyes, as if it were a question he had been long dreading and expecting. Hide watched the boy swallow, until with great effort, Kaneki forced out the answer. “Yes,” he said. “I did. A very long time ago, when things were different.”

Kaneki stood. “Visiting hours start soon. I should leave you. I’ll go and find that letter and bring it back, so be patient. I think you . . . I think you’re someone who can rely on people. I think you should.”

“What makes you say that?” Hide said, genuinely curious. Kaneki shrugged.

“No idea.”

Kaneki pushed his glasses back on, reaching for his coat. Before Hide talked himself out of it, he grabbed at Kaneki’s wrist, biting back the dull pain that burst from his hand.

“You’ll come back, right?” Hide asked. “You’ll . . . you won’t—”

“I told you I’d be back, right?” Kaneki’s face had the same softness Hide remembered from that night in the club, but now the only light he saw was the harsh white light from the hospital’s exterior. It made him look white-washed, transparent and ghostlike. “With your letter.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Hide insisted. “I mean back. Again. Tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after, or maybe all of them, or . . .”

Don’t make friends. Don’t rely on others. God, Hide wanted to be able to live up to that, but he was already relying on someone’s company that was so far removed from his usual interactions that he couldn’t put it into words. Kaneki was distant, obstinate and constant. Hide knew that was stupid, but it was like he’d clung to Kaneki’s words from the alley, covered in blood and dripping wet in the rain.

“Feel that? It’s a heartbeat. It’s mine. It won’t stop, I promise you.”

Kaneki’s face was unreadable. Hide began to feel as if he’d scared Kaneki back into his shell, like a snail that had been poked. He steeled himself to let go of Kaneki’s hand. Clearly, Kaneki hadn’t meant him when he talked about relying on anyone.

“I’ll . . . I’ll see you tomorrow,” Kaneki said. “I don’t know how I’ll make it, since Kimi doesn’t work on Tuesdays, but I’ll be here.”

He wasn’t lying, Hide noticed. It was honest.

During the transfer to the next hospital, in which Hide was put into a wheelchair and carted off, all he could think of was his mother’s parting words.

“They’ll want to destroy everything Nagachika means,” she’d said. “Affection, the capacity to be overwhelmed by emotions—they hate that. It’s weakness to them. That’s one of the many thing I hate about them, and they’ll want to get rid of anything like that they see in you.”

He’d been silent. At that time, it had been far too much to handle. The atmosphere of this hospital wasn’t the same, but the more and more clear he became mentally, the more he began to realise what was really happening.

“That friend of yours—the one who delivered the letter? I know you already know about them. I don’t approve of it, but right now you need someone like that.”

Hide didn’t have the nerve to speak. He’d let her talk, relishing every word she said, hanging on for the ‘maybe we’ll stay’.

It didn’t come.

“Don’t rely on other people, don’t make friends, don’t make ties. The Washuu will destroy them just to hurt you.”

Hide sighed, trying to relax his hands where they gripped the chair he sat on. The change of scenery was nice, but the wheelchair had a limit to its stability. Calm down, calm down. He would be going in for surgery later tonight. He couldn’t afford to be so stressed.

“Show them how smart you are so they leave you alone. It’s inevitable that one day they’ll try and get to you. Inevitable. Stay safe. Look after yourself, and don’t let yourself get hurt like this again.”

Then had come the parting of ‘love you’ and ‘stay safe’ and his father’s stoic embrace and the usual details that were already growing faint in his mind. All he could do was numbly watch them go and wave them off, praying that they stayed safe.

Just more people leaving him. At least they were alive.

Ah, sh*t. Kaneki didn’t know about the transfer. sh*t. Now he wouldn’t even have someone to talk to. Damn.

Okay, Hide, he told himself. You’ve been sad and depressed long enough. You’ve had your fun. You have one more week of hospital care and rehab. Stop being like this.

More than anything, he just wanted to talk to Kaneki about everything that he’d thought. He wanted to tell someone and not be deemed mentally ill. He wasn’t. He knew he wasn’t, but sh*t, sometimes it felt like he was, and it was suffocating. It was stupid. He didn’t want to tell someone his problems that had no idea how to relate. He wanted to tell someone who lived in a world where it happened. He wanted someone who would play it down, not up, as stupid as that felt.

He’d been mentally ‘shelving’ his issues for so long he felt like the supports were bending, about to collapse from the weight.

Chapter 30: Crystals

Chapter Text

“This didn’t really conclude anything,” Akira said, nervously tapping her pen against her finger. When the others were in the office, on any other day, she would have been composed and made of steel. Today, when only Amon was there, she didn’t really have a chance.

Hide had made it sound like Takashi was the one being targeted, but through the entire recount, Akira’s intuition, her prized, honed intuition, was telling her she was missing some detail, or that maybe Hide didn’t know one of the details. She knew she should stop this; they had other cases to work on, after all, but she couldn’t put out of her mind that they were missing something.

What had occurred before the incident? What had led into it? Hide had said simply that they were just walking to the car garage when the man had appeared, which was probably the truth, but something must have triggered him to appear at that moment. How did he know that Takashi was going to be there if no one had told him? Who had set him up to do this?

How did he die?

Hide was not the killer. Someone in as bad a state as Hide could never have done that much damage. But then, why had they found him propped against the wall? Who had called the CCG? If it were an innocent bystander, why would they have left?

Akira chewed on her lip. If she had it her way, she would go and question Hide again, as delicate as he was. There were so many holes that she couldn’t let it go, even if the person responsible for the actual act was dead.

Could Hide be connected to the underground?

Akira put her pen down, leaving her fingertips pressing it against the desk for a beat too long. Her instinct was to say no, he didn’t, but everything seemed to point in that direction. The voice was not one the CCG voice recognition system recognised, so maybe it was a petty criminal Hide happened to know. Sure, a petty criminal could do that to the assailant.

Akira closed the document. Not now. Right now, the police had found the scene of a gang clash in the eleventh ward before anyone had had the chance to hide the evidence. This was a crucial step for anything to be done, right? Normally, someone would hide the bodies, pick up the weapons. Normally, these clashes were during the rain—an intelligent decision, because it disguised the sound of the struggle as well as washed away the blood that would no doubt be left along with any evidence. It was smart.

So why had they broken this pattern? What could have possessed them to fight now, of all times? It had occurred in the early hours of Tuesday morning, late march. Around seven in the morning, in what seemed to be a very quiet, industrial area of the place. People were waking up and making breakfast, whereas the gangs were slitting each other’s throats.

Once again, the evidence pointed to a lone man from GLG: Kaneki Ken.

Odd, how two very unrelated people seemed to be taking up her headspace. It was as if the whole thing was connected.

Amon finally looked up at her, shrugging on his coat. “Do you want to get some lunch with me, Akira? I’m sure—”

“Thank you, Amon, but no thank you.” She said the words as politely as she could, but she couldn’t care less for lunch. “I’m thinking of going to visit our Rank 3 Assistant Investigator, however, so you can come with me there.”

Hide didn’t want to admit the flood of disappointment he’d felt when he’d woken up alone in the room. The sinking, horrible feeling that no one had been lying to him, that in fact the world was what they’d said it would be. He’d woken up alone in an unknown hospital, in a new room, with no person in the chair beside him, reading books, and no parents that would dote on him, or yell at him, or laugh it off and remark on how stupid he was. No one.

It was tempting; to let himself lie there and wallow in the injustice he decided to feel. So very tempting.

He decided not to.

Still groggy from the anaesthesia, he pushed himself up, first on his elbows, then up on his hands until he was comfortably upright. There was no sleeping boy, slumped forward on the bed. There were no parents in the chairs. There were no friends at the foot of his bed, ready to have a laugh.

Was this his new life?

Without thinking too hard, he swung his legs over the bed, expecting to see a cast or some bandages or something of the kind holding his muscular tissues in place. He expected the movement to cause him pain. In fact, Hide half-expected there to be blood gushing from his leg when he moved it, or even that there was nothing there at all.

Both legs swung over easily, and Hide saw that there were no bandages at all on his leg. There was no cast on his arm either, he realised. Why? sh*t, had he been in a coma for like, thirty years, and now he was healed and fine but fifty yeas old?

He reached up to touch his head, finding it missing the beanie Kaneki had left him as well as any bandages of the kind. Whoa. He looked around and found the grey beanie lying simply on the bedside table, beside the clock that told him 13:03, as well as the date: March 4. The day after his transfer. Thirty years had not passed, and he was waking up after probably being operated on the night before.

That was all well and good, Hide reasoned, so why the hell were his injuries gone?

Okay, Hide decided, great philosophers said divine epiphanies came to them while they dealt with bowel movements, so maybe that was a good place to start.

He stood, swaying dangerously, but with no warning lights blaring. He half expected SWAT agents to come bursting into the room and scream at him to get back to bed. Had he died? Was this heaven?

Oh, God. What if it was?

He looked around, taking in the empty room. Compared to this, Tokyo hospital was a f*cking childcare centre, with bright colours and caring slogans painted onto the walls. Everything in this room was white and silver, except for the beige vinyl chairs. Jesus. The linoleum floor beneath his feet was the familiar grey patterned kind that was icy cold against his bare feet.

He glanced down, lifting up the flimsy gown to inspect his leg post-gunshot injury. All he had was a tiny indented, circular scar. Okay, maybe it wasn’t the flashiest option, but compared to what he had expected to see following it, it was kind of amazing. If he didn’t know better, it was like there had never been stitches at all.

As if the tissues had healed on their own.

“Good, you’re awake.”

Hide jumped, dropping his gown and stifling an embarrassingly girly squeal. The nurse was old, hair pulled back tightly and tucked behind a cap. She walked over and handed him a wrap-around gown. “Two Investigators are here to see you,” she said, dropping a pair of slippers on the ground. “From the twentieth ward.”

“Ah, thank you!” Hide said, smiling broadly. Amazing, how much mobility lifted his mood, even if he was distinctly aware of how tired and drained he felt. “I feel human again.”

“Don’t get used to it,” the nurse said sharply. “You’re being discharged this afternoon, once the doctors are certain the effects of the anaesthesia have worn off. Then you’ll be sent to the CCG dorms.”

“Ah, that’s a misunderstanding. I actually already have a dorm here, so it’s fine—”

“There’s no misunderstanding,” the nurse snapped, brushing past him to strip the bed of sheets. “It’s the rules. You joined. Anyway, the Investigators will explain it to you. They’re in Visitor Room 16. Get going!”

“Um, okay. Thank you,” he said, picking up the beanie and holding it too tightly to be normal.

“Out!”

Love the compassion, Hide wanted to say as he left.

Amon was busy reading his emails explaining how the additional Investigators that the ward was meant to receive months ago were finally coming next week when Hide walked in.

“Friends! Lovely, kind people who will not tell me to get lost, hello!”

“Sit down, Nagachika,” Akira snapped, the relief clear in her face. She’d been worried, too. She smiled.

Hide mock saluted, dropping himself into the chair. It was like an interrogation room, with Akira and Amon seated on one side of the desk while Hide was alone on the other. He looked better than he had, despite the general look of fatigue that Amon had expected from his situation.

“How are you?” he asked. “Honestly, I’m surprised to see you moving so soon.”

“That’s the weird part,” Hide said, leaning forward, “I woke up, completely healed, without a single bandage.”

“Maybe they should have bandaged your brain,” Akira sighed. “Remember when you signed that CCG form, it said that you would be allowed to be part of developmental therapies? Yeah, you’re one of them.”

Hide’s smile twitched nervously. “Say what?”

“It’s a new system of treatment,” Amon elaborated. “It’s only come into practice this year. They’re using a type of stimulant that makes stem cells multiply at a faster rate, meaning tissues are formed much faster. That’s what I understood about it, anyway.”

Hide didn't look convinced. “Yeah, but one night?”

“Maybe you had a positive reaction,” Akira shrugged. “It usually takes two days, but it’s not that uncommon, since your wounds were mostly small. This was a treatment developed for people who had lost entire limbs or suffered severe injuries.”

“Wow, so am I, like, Deadpool now?”

“Who?” Amon asked.

“No,” Akira cut him off. “Get wounded after the next three days, and you’re back to square one.”

“Damn,” Hide laughed. “I was sure it was time for my superhero debut.”

Amon, despite himself, chuckled. “Anyways, we came to, well—”

“I’d like to question you further about what happened on Saturday night,” Akira supplied. “Not the actual attack, I know that’s not pleasant. Just what happened before. Who was the fourth person?”

Hide scratched his head, thinking. He did a great job of downplaying what he must have been feeling, Amon knew. He’d been distant yesterday, but it seemed his condition had improved. “Her name was Kurona,” he started. “She had, like, black hair. She was nice. She caught a chauffeur on her way home.”

Kurona? “What was her last name?” Amon pressed. It was foolish, he knew. Kurona was a common name. There was no way.

Hide pondered this. “Uh . . . Kurona, Kurona . . . Yasuhisa, I think. Yeah. Yasuhisa Kurona.”

Yasuhisa Kurona.

“She had black hair?” Amon pressed. In his memory, she had brown hair. She was youthful and talented with her twin sister.

Until she’d disappeared.

“Yeah,” Hide said. “She had like, a fringe. I think she had a small scar under her left eye.” Hide reached up to touch the same spot on his own face. “She was nice, I guess.”

Amon swallowed. “Kurona Yasuhisa is a former CCG student that went missing several years ago.”

In all honesty, he’d expected Hide to look more shocked. Behind the obvious front of surprise, Amon could see the cogs turning in his brain. So he had suspected it, hadn’t he? That there was something dangerous in who he was talking to.

He’d realised it too late, apparently.

“Jesus!” Hide said, sitting up straighter. “But it looked like she was living properly, so—”

“Did she mention anything?” Akira interjected. “Anything personal? What was your conversation like?”

“Well, she wanted me to talk about my family,” Hide said. “She mentioned that she had a sister. After that, the conversation sort of . . . drifted.”

“She does have a sister,” Amon confirmed. “An identical twin, Nashiro.”

“That’s kind of creepy,” Hide admitted.

Hide had seen Kurona. She’d wanted to talk about his family. Why? What was so important about it? If Kurona talked about her sister, then Nashiro was still alive as well. He’d seen her to a car, and she’d left the scene. Was it possible she had contacted the killer? Was it possible that Kurona had been there to ensure that the three would be together?

No, he told himself, he first had to make sure that they were two things that connected to the murders. Whatever had occurred involved a girl that had been listed as missing for years, and then a murder of two teens and an attempted murder of a third.

Maybe Kurona had been the one to call the police. That was an option.

No, if she’d been in the car, then she would have left. She would have, so—

“I think she’s connected to what happened with your friends,” Akira said calmly, delicately. “It’s a very strong correlation, and I’d like to investigate this. You said it was to get Takashi’s uncle—which we’ve found was to stop him from buying a certain company. He was affected by Takashi’s death.”

Silence. One second. Two seconds.

“Then what was her role?” Hide wondered aloud, apparently fine. “You think she has a position in this turn of events, don’t you?”

It was amazing how well Hide could turn his attention solely on a case, Amon remarked. Fearsome, almost, the way he drove a divide between work and whatever he was feeling. “Well, I leave it to you guys,” he said, his tone breezy and casual like usual. “You’re much better than I am at this. Also, the nurse told me I have to stay in some dorm?”

“Yeah, for the crash course, basically,” Akira said. “They’ll do all your measurements, fit you with gear, give you some intensive training and more. You’re required to have a formal meeting with a psychologist at the start and the end of the week to see how mentally fit you are.”

“Oh,” Hide laughed. “Well.”

“Because of your entrance, they’ll probably keep you an extra week. The plan is to accelerate your program and catch up with the current one that graduates at the end of spring. That makes two weeks before you’re sent back into society to make up for about ten months worth of missing training.”

“Am I basically going to a prison?” Hide asked. “Like, for two weeks?”

“Yep,” Akira said. “We’re not allowed to see you, either. No visitors. It’s an attempt to help you bond with the other members in training in preparation for the field.”

“Did you ever go?” Hide asked. “Should I be scared?”

“I entered formally in High School,” Akira said. “Father’s recommendation. None of that was necessary for me.”

“Academy,” Amon supplied when Hide turned to him, only half paying attention to the conversation. Already, his mind was whirring. What could she have to do with this? Where had she been all these years?

Amon didn’t know.

“Your doctor just sent me a message,” Akira said, checking her phone. “They say you’re discharged already. That was fast. You’d better hurry over, because they’re waiting for you.”

Hide grinned. “When I get back, will I be buff?”

“It’s two weeks, not months,” Akira snapped. “Do well and get back to work, Nagachika!”

Hide winked at them. “Sure thing, boss!”

Kaneki Ken was a killer.

He was also a smoker. He also did drugs. He also dealt drugs. He did a lot of things that, if someone else had looked upon it, would probably not condone and even try to stop. These were things he could be convicted over. Because of his status, they were things he could be shot over. Shot dead.

Despite this, Hide had liked him.

The more time that stretched between seeing him, Kaneki could only feel overcome by guilt. As if he’d failed Hide.

He’d failed since the start, hadn’t he? Yet Hide had stayed. Hide had waited. Hide was smart and kind enough to not wallow in his self-pity like Kaneki did, and accept Kaneki without even knowing the story. He had asked Kaneki to stay, but Kaneki had still run. He’d still been scared.

Had he failed Hide?

Staring at the empty hospital bed, he could only think he had. When people left him, when people gave no indication nor explanation for leaving, it was usually for only one reason. The same reason as Ryouko.

That it was unintended. That it was permanent.

f*ck that, Kaneki wanted to scream. f*ck it. f*ck it all. In the space of two days, Hide had given Kaneki the courage to do what he had been discarding for too long. He’d talked properly to Ayato, he’d rearranged is school life, he’d looked forward to school for the first time in his whole life, all because he had convinced himself someone had asked him to stay.

Looks like Hide hadn’t convinced himself.

Kaneki knew it wasn’t fair. He knew it wasn’t smart. There were a multitude of other explanations, each less favourable than the last, could have this same outcome. It could have been anything, and Hide had no way of telling the rest of the world. Not a single way.

It was his fault. Kaneki should have stayed.

He should have known. He should have come back, he should have—

Was this how Hide had felt, when Kaneki left? When Hide had told him so adamantly that he would ‘wait’, had he felt like this? Kaneki hated it. He hated the feeling. It was a feeling he knew well. One he wouldn’t forget.

So be it, Kaneki resolved. Watch him be Kaneki. Watch him live this life. Kaneki would wait, this time. He had Tsukiyama to go to Kamii with. Maybe he didn’t know what came after that, but he would at least do that for now. He would work, he would study, and if Hide came back, if Hide would—

It didn’t matter whether Hide still liked him, Kaneki realised. He just wanted to tell Hide the same thing. He wanted to let Hide know what he meant to him, just once.

Maybe Hide would stop him. Kaneki chuckled. Maybe Hide would fix this mess he called himself.

Just maybe, he could wonder what it would be like to have more than this.

Chapter 31: St Jude

Chapter Text

“Oi, Hide, wake up, sleeping beauty!” snapped the dorm leader, Renji. “Clean yourself up! Morning training starts soon!”

Hide groaned. f*ck, he was tired. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes as if he could reach that piercing fatigue that had only grown during the week behind his eyes. Every muscle hurt. The last six days had been spent doing training. The dreaded ‘morning training’ consisted of a six kilometre run, before a circuit that alternated between aerobic and anaerobic exercises.

sh*t, he was sick of it.

Hide let himself stumble out of bed, noting dully how much his legs hurt. f*ck. When he tried to grab the steel rails of the bunk to pick himself up, his arms burned. Ugh.

“Get your sorry arses up! We don’t have much time! Get your gear on, if you haven’t eaten yet, well, suffer.”

Renji enjoyed this far too much. Hide didn’t like to admit he didn’t mesh with people, but he really couldn’t wait to be rid of Renji’s influence in his life. Renji was the top student in the physical fields. He’d joined after quitting his sports team in pursuit of a proper career. His class marks were average—the only thing Hide tied with him at. He knew he’d do better if he could be bothered to focus in class or study, but every day he dragged himself back to bed and passed out almost instantly.

One more week of this, he told himself. One. More. Week.

He pulled on the CCG-issue training clothes he was required to wear. For the first time in his life he had organised a bag with a change of clothes for the classes that came after morning training. Then came the worst part of the day, when he had to put the same sweaty, smelly clothes from the morning on for afternoon training. Then more classes. Then ‘study’ time. Then dinner.

Then some sleep, because f*ck staying awake for this.

He tied up his shoes and yawned, following the eight other bleary-eyed trainees. Their dorm was probably the worst, if he was honest, which was why they usually had to wash up. He didn’t know any of these people, and he’d never felt more isolated, because every conversation had him thinking of his mother’s words:

Don’t rely on anyone. Don’t make friends. The Washuu will use them against you.

What was left, after this, than to go back to his other dorm, where Nishio wouldn’t talk to him and to his classes where he’d sit alone. Properly alone, now, because he didn’t have any more friends.

It was creepy how easily he’d come to accept that fact.

The jog was as painful as always. His legs ached, and after a while, when everything started to just hurt in general, and he couldn’t breathe anymore, well, that was that. Then came the glorious five-minute break where Hide was joined by several others who also threw up on empty stomachs. He knew their names. He knew their stories. They probably knew him, too, but he’d never really made much of an effort. Easy, breezy, complaining and tired. That was his job.

f*ck.

Anaerobic circuits were not fun. Hill sprints. Jump squats. Anything involving jumping and biting at the grass. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. It went on and on. It never got easier because it got worse every day.

Morning training finished. Vomit break. Shower time. School. Hide was ahead because he’d already studied Criminal Psychology and Forensic Studies, but he’d never been trained on how to be a detective. How to investigate. To him, ‘investigate’ was a command term on an exam question that dictated what they wanted as a response. Now, it meant they were taught how to construct those fancy graphs of red string, how to analyse connections, how to organise witness reports or questioning. It should have been interesting. In fact, it probably was.

Hide spent the entire time asleep on a pile of notebooks.

Lunchtime. Blessed, blessed food. This consisted of wolfing it down as fast as possible. Rice, meat, vegetables. Drinks. Anything that would sustain him. Wash up. Do study, if that was possible. At lunchtimes, all students had the option of using the gym. Like that would happen. Hide enjoyed that, because it meant the delightful Renji was out of his hair for a solid hour. Beautiful.

More classes.

Afternoon training. It alternated between weapons training—which Hide lived for, because it meant no running—or gymnasium training, which could be anything from weights to bikes to rowing machines to kendo to self-defence. If he was good at anything at those sessions, he could at least fire a gun in the right direction. Something that the others struggled with, he found.

More classes.

Study time.

Dinner.

Washing up.

Sleep.

Day seven.

For most of them, they were moved on without much fuss to the next stage. For Renji, who failed his final exam check on the studies and Hide, who scraped through, it was another week of the same gruelling routine. The psychologist was calm, nice, someone who Hide didn’t think twice about. Basically all she did was present him with a situation and if he gave an adequate response, that was a pass. Bingo.

Unfortunately, it didn’t mean much because at the end of the week he packed up and moved onto another dorm with, lo and behold, Renji.

One week, Hide told himself. One week.

The only problem was that Renji had been moved onto the same training classes as Hide—the older ones. Because of his full score in the physical component, he was given that chance. He just sat the same classes. Hide, on the other hand, had to deal with that.

Maybe he should have picked officer training, he groaned as he fell asleep.

“There’s been a lot more clashes lately,” Seidou said, handing Amon a case report. “It’s Kaneki again. The GLG is getting pretty open, aren’t they?”

“It’s worrying,” Amon admitted. “Their nighttime crimes may well become daytime at this rate. The distribution of their goods has become commonplace at parties again. It’s like he took a break and is back in action, or something.”

“Maybe he is,” Seidou shrugged. “We’ll have to catch him to find out.”

Amon chewed on his lip. “Is that even possible, though? He’s been on our radar for nearly two years, and we still don’t have a picture of him.”

“Yeah, but an influx of witness statements are coming in, with his new activity,” Seidou said. “The scarf, the hair, the face. It’s hard to miss a guy with white hair going around the city.”

“I’ve heard white hair is actually a trend lately,” Amon said. “That makes life a bit harder.”

Seidou sighed. “I guess. But, like, why? Can you imagine me with white hair, for example?”

“You’d have to be old,” Amon agreed. “Well, it’s just hair. They can do what they want. Looks like Kaneki was quite the trendsetter.”

“Looks like it,” Seidou agreed, sipping the instant coffee from his mug. “Hey, when are those other Investigators coming? Isn’t it this week?”

“Monday,” Amon confirmed. “I still don’t know who they are, though.”

“Trainees?” Seidou wondered aloud. “It could be.”

“No, they’re qualified Investigators,” Amon said. “We just haven’t had a meeting in so long I don’t know who they are.”

“Hmm,” Seidou murmured. “Things are quiet on the CCG side, aren’t they? Despite the gangland war going out there.”

“Do quiet down, boys,” Akira snapped. “Some of us are trying to work.”

Hide, looking back on it, had been lucky to make it through the first week. He’d been so tired that his brain didn’t have the energy to ruin that. Blissful, sleepless nights—

Disappeared.

“If you can tell me,” said the gunmen, leaning into her, “which one of these boys is Takigawa Takashi.”

Satsuki whimpered, trying to press herself back into the wall.

Hide panicked. This was it. They were dead. They were dead. They were dead. He was dead. Satsuki was dead. Takashi was dead. What was so utterly terrifying was the way Hide felt so powerless.

“It’s him!” Takashi yelled.

What? It didn’t go like this! Hide wasn’t—he wasn’t Takashi.

The next second, skipping the details, Hide was being held close to Takashi’s face while the gunman pressed a gun to his head. sh*t. This is where Takashi died. Where was Hide’s knife? Where was the knife? He could change this, he could change this—

There was no knife. He couldn’t move.

One shot. The gun had a silencer but it shot a thousand times louder than anything Hide had ever heard. Takashi was dead. Takashi was dead.

The same image of Satsuki’s face, turned away from him and pressed into the ground appeared. He studied the way the perfect drop of blood dripped from her lashes, somehow untouched by the rainwater. Pure, pure red. Like a jewel.

This time, the gunman stood above him. The metal didn’t feel like anything when he pressed it against Hide’s head. Hide didn’t have the nerve to move. All he could do was look at this man in the eye. The man who had killed his friends. The man who had ruined it. His everything.

“What are you waiting for?” Hide whispered. “Just shoot.”

Hide woke up, breathing hard. He pressed a hand over his mouth to hide the noise. The room was deadly quiet, touched only by the whispers of the breathing of six other people. His eyes stung, and his cheeks were wet. sh*t.

It didn’t matter how disjointed it had been. It didn’t matter. It had been too real. Bile rose in his throat, his mind replaying the images, over and over. Hide stumbled through the dorm, looking for the bathroom. He reached it, closing the door and slumping against it, desperately trying to hold in the acid rising up his retching throat.

The toilet. He flicked on the light and threw himself at it, emptying what felt like his whole stomach as it churned. Blood. There had been so much blood, and there had been so much death.

The fan whirred, and Hide spat. He’d become far too used to throwing up from exhaustion to even be disgusted by it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and flushed, making sure to clean it properly. What was next? What did he have to do next to compose himself?

He stood by the sink, still shaking and his heart thumping, looking at himself in the mirror. His face was pale and blotchy with red. What a mess. He turned on the tap, scrubbing at his face with his hands before reaching for his toothbrush. He had one more week. He only had to make it through one more week.

Six nights. Six more times, he had to brave sleep.

Hide rinsed his mouth, confident he’d removed any traces of this episode. Only six.

That wasn’t counting if he went back to sleep now.

Hide looked out of the bathroom door, squinting to see the clock on the far side of the small kitchenette. About two in the morning. People would be waking up in three hours to get ready for training. Others, like Hide usually was, would be sleeping for that extra blessed hour.

Sleep sounded good, he told himself. There was no way this could go wrong. None. He turned off the light and padded back to his bunk in the dark. It was just a nightmare. There was nothing wrong with him. It was bound to happen eventually, so he should just make do.

When he looked in the bathroom mirror again at four o’clock in the morning, he regretted that decision.

“How are you, Nagachika?” the dorm therapist, the one that was meant to give them a check at the start and end of every week, greeted him as he walked in. She was chirpy and happy, but Hide was well aware that she didn’t stay with a place as bloody as the CCG without some sort of strength.

“Tired,” he said, laughing. “I never realised I was so unfit.”

She smiled timidly. Politely. “The CCG will do that to you. Now, your case file says that you were admitted after being injured.”

“Yes,” Hide confirmed, trying to be serious and not give off any bad signs at the same time. He knew the whole point of these people was strongly related to the fact he hadn’t slept in two days, but the last thing he wanted to do was confide in someone like this. Not the way he was now. Not the way he was being held captive, almost, at the CCG. It was the sort of problem he wanted to talk about once he’d conquered it. Or something.

How naïve.

“You don’t want to talk about it?” she asked gently. “It’s up to you to decide, but it is my job, and I am qualified to discuss it with you. Everything in this room is strictly confidential, of course. No one gets to see in.”

No one except the Washuu. And everyone else important. And probably my superiors as well.

“I’m okay,” Hide grinned, careful to keep his hands on his knees. “If I ever need a hand, I’ll let you know.”

“Well, if you say so,” she said. She shuffled her papers for a moment. “But you know, sometimes it can affect your sleeping pattern. A good thing to do is listen to some music. The CCG gives a few earphones and devices you can use on loan. I recommend it.”

“Will do,” Hide said. He didn’t really know if he’d walked into her trap or not, because her smile didn’t change.

Hide brushed his teeth, tired. It was one-thirty. Only three more nights after this, and the thought of going to sleep only got worse. Every night, he was in the same scene, but something would change. It became more and more real every time, and Hide failed worse and worse every single time.

He rinsed and spat. Dried his face. He wouldn’t do the same thing this time. This time, he walked over to the table, pulled out his notes, and studied for the first time in his life. Less than five minutes in he decided that he was grateful he never had, because it was boring as f*ck.

Following the psychologist’s advice, he put on some ear buds and listened to the playlist called ‘Popular’. He studied, trying to zone out. The words were distracting. He found himself following the story instead of the characters on the page. He changed songs. He didn’t want to hear about someone’s love life, or their boyhood, or their individuality. He wanted words, but he didn’t want to listen to them.

English. An English song. It had a beat, an immersing syncopation, and a good set of vocals. He didn’t know many of the words, but he realised what the therapist had meant. It was like listening to a distant conversation, the distant bustle of life to remind him other people were there.

Realising that felt very, very pathetic of him. First nightmares and now this. At least he should be grateful that they weren’t night terrors where he woke the entire dorm. That would be pathetic.

“The grades give the final verdict,” announced the psychologist grandly, handing him a report. “Looks like you scraped through for academic excellence, despite nearly failing it last time. Your physical exam results, well, they pass. Just.”

“Fifty-one per cent,” Hide breathed out, nervous. “You weren’t kidding.”

“They’re not exactly an accurate measure, considering your condition and all, but it was the lowest score in the class, despite the female scores.”

“Loving the positivity,” Hide said through gritted teeth as he smiled. “Does this mean that I get to leave prison camp?”

She smiled back. “Not yet. You have to pass my tests to ensure you’re capable to go out into the field.”

“Oh.” Hide felt his spirits fall. Okay, just one test. She didn’t think he was crazy, did she? Oh crap—what if she did? Even worse, what if she was right? His sleeping had been reduced to three hours a night, sometimes even less. Would that drive him insane in the future?

“Okay, Investigator,” she said. “You’re in a situation where you have the ability to shoot to kill a known and wanted criminal under the “Kill on sight” act. The only problem is that he is holding an underling hostage. Do you shoot both, or convince the criminal to let the subordinate escape?”

How is this a question? “Do I have more than one underling?” Hide asked. “Because if I had more, then—”

“I respect your attempt to devise a plan,” she said levelly, pen at ready, “but this is a character test. For this, assume that there is only the two of you.”

She was making him choose this? Again? “Save the underling,” he said. “Who cares about the criminal? He’ll live for someone else to shoot.” The words came easily. They were probably the most honest he’d ever been with her.

The psychologist smiled thinly. “Empathy is not a good trait to have in the CCG,” she reminded him. “Official guidelines would say to shoot both.”

“But that’s crazy!” Hide insisted. “Your underlings don’t have to die for you! Why should anyone in that situation at all have to die? That’s not—” Hide bit down on to his lip hard. Stop talking, he ordered himself. Don’t be so opinionated. What they know they’ll hurt you with.

Were those his words, or his mother’s?

The older woman scribbled down a few notes. “Now, the next scenario,” she said. “Imagine that you meet a high-profile member of a gang outside of that. Their civilian façade, you could call it. What do you do? This is assuming that you know, of course. What action do you take?”

“Do I know before I meet them, or instantly, or—?”

“You discover it,” she elaborated, her thin smile, though unchanging, began to become terrifying to Hide. He’d lived through this situation, and done something very not-CCG. Did she already know? No, no she couldn’t. No one knew.

“You know them as their normal identity, then discover who they truly are. What actions do you take?”

“If they don’t know that I know,” Hide said, “I’d probably report them.”

“If you were a CCG member?” she prompted. “Then what?”

“Arrest them.”

“Nagachika, you have the ability to kill,” she reminded him. “It is the order. Shoot to kill. You are given a gun to use at all times. After a few years of service you are given a special, tailored weapon known as a quinique. If you have these, why not use them?”

Kaneki isn’t like that, he wanted to say. He swallowed hard. This wasn’t anything to do with Kaneki. Why was that so hard to remember?

“High-profile members are sure to have valuable intel on the inner workings of the gang world.” The answer was as fluent as the text in the book. “If I were to kill them, their intel would die with them. Arresting them means we have a better chance of using them not only for this information, but future knowledge of the underworld’s plan.”

Textbook. Normal. Not illegal.

She smiled. “Good.”

Was that it? The end of the test?

“One final question,” she said, putting down her pen and leaning back in her chair. “I’ve been told that you’re the first up in the morning, and that you’ve been borrowing an mp3 player. Have you been following my suggestion?”

Hide weighed up the options of lying. She’d probably see through it. That, and didn’t following suggestions follow a desire to improve? The only problem was that it hadn’t really helped that much. He got that extra hour, but he still woke up.

Just go for it.

“I usually wake up early,” he admitted, ruffling his hair. “I don’t sleep very well, unfortunately. I mean, I’m fine, but my sleeping pattern’s out of whack. Yes, I did follow your suggestion, and I find music very helpful. Yes, I did.”

She grinned. “That’s good to hear! You pass.”

“Thank God,” Hide groaned, throwing himself over the back of his chair. “I’m free!”

Kaneki had established a rhythm with Tsukiyama for attending school. He’d walk in, just in front of the taller man, and take a seat towards the back of the hall. The raised slope of the seats meant he had a greater view of the hall below, and that he could see Tsukiyama’s actions and everyone around him. Most of them were girls, busy fawning over him and asking with genuine concern where he went. Kaneki supposed that was okay. He didn’t recognise any of them down there.

He sat alone. It was just like old times. He took notes, cramming every page full of text to save paper. He couldn’t afford to buy so many notebooks when he had a household to pay for.

Day two. Repeat.

He told himself to stop looking at the door. People hurried past, looking for their room. They were not Hideyoshi Nagachika, about to run in late with an armful of books and breakfast in his mouth, dump his books next to Sasaki Haise and start up a conversation. They weren’t.

Yet Kaneki found himself looking. Waiting. Every shuffle of footsteps drew his attention. Every yell, every conversation, every fleeting glance into the room made his stomach churn, waiting for him. Any second. It could be anyone.

He didn’t come.

The week passed like that, even in Literature. His usual attentiveness had dropped away, and his books lacked any markings. His essays were textbook and repetitive. There was no joy.

God, it felt like he was back in high school.

“You seem down,” Tsukiyama said as Kaneki walked him to his car. “Don’t you have that friend of yours?”

Kaneki shrugged. “He’s not here.”

He went to work. He did the jobs only Kaneki Ken would do and made life worse for the residents of neighbouring wards. He sat in the dark office all night and wasted away. Had his life not changed? Had nothing changed except lingering feelings for a guy he wouldn’t see? Was Hide even real, or had his mind made it up?

No, Tsukiyama knew him. He had to be real. Kaneki was not getting worse.

He came home in the early hours of the morning, made a coffee, and sat down to study. He wrote essays. He left annotations in the margins of books. This was easy. This was routine. He sipped at a hot, bitter coffee, reminding himself that tastebuds existed, and worked by lamplight until dawn.

Then he packed up. He showered. He changed. Touka woke up and put on a civilian face. She covered his hands, his face, his throat. He looked human enough to venture into society. He made them breakfast. He left it on the stove, cooling down for Ayato when he woke up in half an hour. He left.

He picked up Tsukiyama at the car park. He walked them to Tsukiyama’s class, watched him sit down, and then he left. He had so much free time.

He sat down at the same tree he’d run into Hide at. A futile attempt to see him. God, maybe he should give this up. It had been a week.

He didn’t.

He went to class. He walked Tsukiyama home. He went home. He changed. He went to work.

Rinse. Repeat.

Saturday morning, the end of the week, rolled around. No sign of Hide. No one spared a glance at Sasaki Haise, the shy nobody that for once in his life didn’t seem to be asking for trouble from his fellow students. That wouldn’t last. Eventually he’d breathe someone else’s air and get beaten up for it.

That was fine.

He was just Sasaki Haise, after all.

He went home. He went to work. He didn’t study. He did his runs. He made his money. He tried to wash the blood off his hands. He tried to scrape away the lingering smell of iron under his fingernails, out of his scalp. He tried to wash the white out of his hair and the scars from his body.

The water had gone cold. Who was he trying for?

Food was terrible. Rice. It stuck to his mouth like he was eating maggots. Chewy and clumpy and tasting of nothing. He assured Touka it was a good meal. He tried to lose himself in the sense of family. These were the people he worked for. Made money for. Studied for. He tried to listen to Ayato talking about school. He was saying good things. He smiled. He hadn’t started a fight all week. That was great. That was so great.

In Ayato’s shoes, that was great. In Touka’s shoes, that was great. In Kaneki’s shoes, that was great. But in as Kaneki Ken he couldn’t quite remember how it felt great. An abstract splattering of feelings he knew to identify, not react to.

He drank a lot of coffee. He sat in his room alone. He slept. He woke up. Followed routine. Went out. Worked. Came home. Washed it away.

He realised, then, he had done this to Hide. He had left Hide like this for months. It had been one week, and Kaneki didn’t want to go back. He had to. He knew he had to. But this? He had done this? He couldn’t care less about slitting throats, but this hurt. He had made someone uninvolved feel this while he had a merry old time being the same catatonic mess he was so good at.

He went to Kamii.

He waited.

"Nice to meet you!" sung the boy or girl. Amon wasn't sure. They had a small, feminine frame, but their girlish voice and delicate features were disconcerting. "I'm Suzuya Juuzou!"

"Good to see you again, Amon," Shinohara said, his huge frame dwarfing his tiny partner. "I hope to work well with you all."

Chapter 32: Three in the Morning (Aftermath)

Chapter Text

He was lying on the desk when Hide walked in. His face was pressed into his arms, crossed on the stack of textbooks in front of him. His beanie was new, scrunching at his hair. His jumper was big and a pale grey, his shirt its usual creamy white underneath.

He was there.

Sasaki Haise. Kaneki Ken. Two different names that together encompassed the whole that he was. The quiet, dorky boy who read books, and the man wanted by the CCG. The man who had killed gunman, and the same one who had come to see him in hospital. Him.

Hide couldn’t move.

He watched the man look up, still slumped forward and scanning the room below, until eventually his gaze travelled to where Hide stood by the door, clutching his books to his chest, completely unlike him.

His eyes widened.

They were the same grey eyes Hide had seen that night. With every death that he followed, those eyes came with them. Surely, that had to mean something.

Mutely, Hide walked in. In his mind, he saw what he could be doing. He could be running, yelling, hugging. He could be doing any of that. Why wasn’t he?

He put his books down, the two of them still silent. Hide stared intently at the curling corners of his textbook, of the pressed notebooks beneath them.

“Want to skip class?” asked Sasaki with the same confident lilt as Kaneki.

“Yes,” Hide said, picking up his books. “Let’s get out of here. Please.”

Kaneki gave a wry smile. He hoisted his books and the two of them hurried out before the lecturer could sneak in.

Okay, now was the best time to reinvent himself, Hide assured. He gave Kaneki a smile, who didn’t seem impressed at all. Okay. That was not good. “How do you feel about a playground?”

“I’m not ten years old,” Hide pouted. “Ah, what a poor date spot.”

“No one’s there,” Kaneki said. “It’s not even that far.”

“Kaneki, this is why we aren’t dating yet.”

Kaneki shoved him off, face red. “You only just came back and you’re already dumb.” Hide watched him glare at the ground. “Where were you, anyway?”

“CCG prison camp,” Hide said. “Just you watch, I’m buff now. I would definitely beat you, Mr Notorious.”

“If you say so.” Kaneki fell silent again. Hide fell into step beside him, wondering where on earth they could even be going. Kaneki had said it was a playground, and that it wasn’t far. Odd, because Hide was sure he’d been all over this particular segment of Tokyo, but he’d never seen a playground this close to the university campus.

“You’re not trying to kidnap me, are you?” Hide said, pulling a ninja-like pose. Kaneki sighed beside him, as if he were used to him already.

“No,” he said. “You’re going to have a nap. I may not be good at many things, but it doesn’t takes an expert to tell when you’re tired. And you’re bone tired, Hide.”

“Am not,” Hide said, pouting. “I’m fully energized.”

“Tired,” Kaneki repeated. “Let me guess: a week of less than three hours sleep?”

sh*t.

“You underestimate me,” Hide said, grinning. “I’ve actually had around four.”

“Less than three, then,” Kaneki decided. “For how long? A week? No.” Kaneki looked up at him as they stepped outside, receiving a blast of early-morning sunlight. “A bit more. Eight days.”

“Am I being read?” Hide laughed, smiling. “Damn.”

“I don’t know anything,” Kaneki admitted, “but it only takes one sleep-deprived man to recognize another. You’ve got some serious raccoon eyes.”

“I do not,” Hide insisted, laughing. “You’re so mean!”

Kaneki gave him another of his wry, almost cheeky smiles. “This is why we aren’t dating.”

Now it was Hide’s turn to go red, and he looked away, ears burning. “Shut up.”

Kaneki chuckled, and Hide whipped back to him as if called. “We’re nearly there,” he said. “You wouldn’t find it if you didn’t grow up with it. There’s the walking path, but on the other side of the trees, there’s another playground. The trees never used to be there, so everyone used to know about it.”

“Everyone?”

Kaneki fell silent. “No one goes here anymore.”

Hide followed Kaneki onto the road, where the boy navigated his way down a bike path. Hide knew this path, he walked it every morning. The familiar stand of sakura trees, their leaves beginning to bloom and cast the area in a glow of pink.

Kaneki ducked between the trunks, and Hide saw a small playground, nestled against an embankment. It had only a set of swings and a large whale, domed and studded with climbing fixtures. Beneath it, Hide knew there was nothing, and kids would play under there, like magicians and sorcerers in a secret tunnel.

Kaneki dropped his books and bag onto the tan bark and climbed up onto the top of the whale. “This is it,” he said. “Nap time.”

“You’re no fun,” Hide repeated, but dropped his bags next to Kaneki’s and climbed up. From their spot, they could see the rising towers of Tokyo city. It was so close, yet it felt like an alien world. They were just ants.

“I spent a lot of time here as a kid,” Kaneki said, leaning back on his hands. “You’re the first person I’ve shared this with.”

If Hide spoke, he felt like floodgates would open.

He said nothing.

He turned his face to the sun, basking in its warmth. Spring. Soon, it would be summer, and his worries would melt away with the heat. He knew it. Over time, maybe the memories would grow distant, and he could forget about it all.

Forget about it all? About Takashi? About Satsuki?

“I know I’m not very good at talking,” Kaneki said, breaking his silence, “but you can talk if you want. About anything.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Hide said, not looking at him. If he looked at Kaneki now, he’d spew it all out. It would all end in tears, and Hide didn’t want that. He’d survived it. He’s survived the CCG. He was now an official Rank 3. He’d go to work tonight, and then he could start getting on that train to Get The f*ck Over It.

“Okay,” Kaneki said. “If you sleep.”

“Like I said, I’m not tired,” Hide repeated. He swung himself forward, turning to look at Kaneki. “I’m—”

Kaneki was staring at him with the intensity of molten steel. Had this been his plan? To make Hide talk? He clenched his jaw shut and looked away. “And ruin a perfectly good outing? You’re terrible, Kaneki.”

“I don’t know about you, but I end up regretting a lot,” Kaneki said quietly. “All the ‘could have’s and ‘would have’s eventually become ‘should have’s.” The words were small enough that Hide felt he would blow them away if he tried to respond to them. “I could have died. I would have died . . . I should have died.”

Hide felt his stomach sinking. That was exactly the way he thought.

“Can we not?” Hide asked. “It’s not a nice topic.”

“I was there, remember?” Kaneki’s voice didn’t change. It wasn’t empty. It wasn’t mean. It was . . . gentle. It was weary around the edges like Hide’s textbooks. Worn and curled with age, seen too many lessons, been used too many times. It was the voice of the author long sick of writing their story. “I saw the aftermath.”

“I never would have thought you of all people would ask me to have a heart-to-heart,” Hide laughed. “The humour of it, eh?”

Hide had been scratching at his face again. Kaneki reached out and took his hand in his own. They were warm hands. “You have scabs on your knuckles,” Kaneki murmured. “Who have you been fighting, huh?”

“I always imaged this going the other way, you know?” Hide looked at the tan bark beneath them. “Me asking you this.”

“Maybe if you sleep a little,” Kaneki said, patting his legs. “I’m no lap pillow, but you should sleep.”

“I don’t want to,” Hide said indignantly, squeezing his eyes shut. He took the chance, however, lying down over the other’s legs. He shuffled around so he was lying properly, the sun on his face. “And you can’t make me.”

“Then get off,” Kaneki said, obviously embarrassed. “Don’t just lie there.”

Hide cracked open an eye to see how red Kaneki’s face was. His ears were glowing so hard Hide had to laugh. Kaneki went even redder. “Shut up.”

“Okay, fine,” Hide said. “I’ll sleep.”

If Hide didn’t look at him, then maybe he could tell him. He closed his eyes, the red glow of the sun present even under his eyelids. He breathed out. It was comfortable. It was warm. It was safe.

“I dream about it,” he admitted to the dark. “So I don’t like sleeping.”

Kaneki was a good listener. Hide felt the shift of his breathing remain unchanged. He swallowed. It was meant to be healthy to tell people, right? Then why was it so damn hard?

“If I had been smarter,” Hide started, “then I could have saved them. I think that a lot. If I start to tell myself that I won’t forget, that I’ll never fail again, the thought of trying to move on from that is terrifying.”

Silence. Breathing.

“Hey, Kaneki, if Takashi had told the guy that he was actually Takashi, would I have died? Would that mean that Takashi would be alive? Could he have saved Satsuki?”

“I doubt it.”

Hide’s eyes flew open. Kaneki wasn’t looking at him, instead looking at the city far ahead. “You had a weapon, right? That good-for-nothing knife. Takashi didn’t.”

“Don’t say that! You don’t . . . he could have, I’m sure.”

“I don’t really care if he could have or not,” Kaneki admitted. “To me, I only really care that you live.”

Hide bit his lip, covering his eyes with the back of his hand. “But I’m never going to see them again. That’s what gets me. I’m never going to even hear about them again, because they’re gone. They’re gone, and the last thing they have of their life is terror.”

“Being shot in the head doesn’t hurt that much,” Kaneki said. “You die.”

You’re missing the point! Hide wanted to tell. God, he just wanted to scream. Anything. He knew it would go nowhere, that he would feel no better, but he wanted to just scream wordlessly. He wanted someone to blame that wasn’t him that was alive. Someone he could blame.

“How would you know, huh?” Hide said instead, trying to recover his good humour. “Eaten some bullets?”

“I doubt they blame you,” Kaneki said. “I don’t think you even crossed their minds. When you told them to run, they didn’t. They couldn’t hear you. They couldn’t see you. They’d already decided they would die.”

“You don’t— they wouldn’t. They’re not like that. They weren’t like that at all, Kaneki. They weren’t . . .”

“When you think of it,” Kaneki started calmly, “do you think it’s happening to someone else, or do you know it’s you?”

“Are you my therapist?” Hide laughed, cracking a smile. Beneath his hand, he hoped Kaneki didn’t see how hard he was scowling trying to keep his eyes from tearing up. “I know it’s me. I can’t believe it happened a lot of the time, but all I can think of how much it’s me, and how bad I did.”

“Then it’s fine,” Kaneki told him. “You’ll get over this.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I wonder,” Kaneki said. Hide considered lowering his hand to see the boy’s face, but decided against it. “Anything else?”

“I don’t get you,” Hide sighed. “You’re so casual about this.”

“Sorry.”

“That wasn’t—” Hide lowered his hand, and saw Kaneki once again looking out past him. There was something in their quiet moment that seemed to separate from the reality Hide had come to endure. In this one, Kaneki Ken was the quiet student, without a touch of brutality. In this one, maybe Hide was successful at saving people.

Hide studied the line where his shirt collar rubbed against his neck, leaving the slightest trace of makeup. Kaneki had makeup on his neck too? Why?

“Why do you wear makeup?” he asked, breaking the tranquility. “I’m just curious.”

“You’re embarrassing,” Kaneki groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Why would I tell you?”

“Because the delightfully attractive Hideyoshi is asking you.”

“Because I look like death without it. Fine. Stop avoiding the topic! Sleep!”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Hide laughed. “Are you gonna fight away my nightmares or something? What if I wake up? Do I get a kiss to make it better?”

“Your nightmares would sh*t themselves if they came near me,” Kaneki murmured. “Go to sleep, Hide.”

Kaneki, who had long known that reading people was not his forte, had the answers presented to him after a single look at Hide. He knew those lines around the eyes, the familiar pallor to the skin, the same look stance. He knew them all very well.

Seeing them on Hide made him sick to the gut.

Studying him now, with his sleeping face, Kaneki felt a little better after his spell of sleep. Sure, the idea that someone would come through and see them made his face heat up in embarrassment, but he decided to ignore it. Hide wasn’t okay. That meant he should sleep. Kaneki was confident that Hide would do better after he’d slept.

If Kaneki had come sooner, Hide wouldn’t be here like this. He wouldn’t have to be tired. He wouldn’t have had to endure that. If he hadn’t hesitated, he’d . . .

He was such a hypocrite, wasn’t he? Telling Hide not to be like that while that’s exactly what he was. Damn.

This had happened because he had abandoned Hide. If he hadn’t, if he had just . . . he wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t make the mistake again. Hadn’t he been told already? That Hide needed him?

Being around him . . . being around him, no matter when, was dangerous. Now Kaneki couldn’t let him stay away for the same reason. He hated choosing. He was so, so bad at choosing. Why? Why was everything a choice?

Kaneki stared at the scuffs on Hide’s hands. They were the same scabs that you got from punching. From fighting. From rubbing your hands too much. From washing your hands too much. Why were they on Hide’s hands? Why wouldn’t he just take wounds from people? He’d be fine. It wouldn’t hurt him, so why couldn’t he?

Why did other people have to be hurt?

“Aw, man, I can feel your self-deprecation from here,” Hide groaned, turning on his side in Kaneki’s lap. “Why aren’t we dating?”

“Because I told you to go away and threw sharp implements at you,” Kaneki supplied. “And got you into a giant mess. And, like, a sh*t ton of other things.”

“Hmm, okay,” Hide mumbled against his leg. “Well, I don’t really care about that, so could you please go out with me?”

“G-G-Go out with you?” Kaneki stammered, shuffling nervously. Hide sat up, staring the other directly in the eyes, which were wide and silver with shock. Damn, he had beautiful eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “Why not?”

“But I’m—I’m not—I’ve got all these problems, and, well, I don’t lead a good life, and—”

“I know,” Hide said, nodding. “I know all that. Why don’t we?”

“It’s not that simple!” Kaneki said, gesticulating wildly. “I’ll get you into trouble! You’ll get hurt! Everyone always does, so—”

“Kaneki,” Hide repeated, “I already knew that.”

Kaneki bit his at his lip, looking down. His brow knotted in anguish and confusion. A look Hide never thought he’d see on his face. Slowly, as if not to spook him, Hide reached out and pried the glasses of his face.

Kaneki didn’t look up. “But what will I do if you get hurt? What if I can’t save you? What if—”

“If you don’t want to, I guess it’s fine,” Hide waved him off. “I guess I’ll just go and be sad on my own. Geh.”

“Don’t,” Kaneki said, finally looking up. “But . . . it’s . . . it can’t end well, Hide. It can’t. Not with my life. Not with yours.”

“Then quit,” Hide supplied. “Why don’t you?”

There it was: Kaneki closing up. His eyes lost their spirit. He wiped his face clean. It was terrifying when he did that, Hide realised. Almost like his feelings didn’t matter to himself. “I have to,” Kaneki whispered. “I have no other choice.”

“Sure you do,” Hide pressed on, trying to coax him back out from under his shell. “You have Kamii. You can get a job. I have a job. The CCG pays big bucks when you get to Special Class, you know?”

“No,” Kaneki insisted. “I can’t choose. I have to. I have to do this.”

“Then—”

“I have to.” Kaneki’s hands balled into fists. “It’s not your fault. You don’t know anything. I know. I know. I know. I’m sorry. f*ck, I’m sorry. No. I can’t choose, so—”

Without thinking, Hide pulled him to his chest, holding on for dear life. In that face, in that profile, Kaneki held an eternity of pain Hide couldn’t understand. He’d never understand. He didn’t know anything about Kaneki.

He didn’t want to lose anyone else.

“If you have to,” Hide said, “then I can’t stop you. But I want to be there for you. I want to. Because today, you were here for me.” His throat burned, the words stretching past the lump that had grown there. Was he really going to cry here? Really?

“Thanks for the beanie,” he said instead. “I have to hide this terrible hairstyle.”

“Yeah, it looks terrible.”

“Don’t agree with me!”

Kaneki chuckled into the fabric of his hoodie. “Sorry.”

“You’re so mean,” Hide murmured. He noticed the way their bodies fit together. He smelled the strong floral scent of Kaneki’s shampoo. He felt Kaneki’s warmth against him. It felt real. It felt safe. It felt warm.

“Will you tell me one day?” Hide asked. “Your story, I mean.”

Kaneki began to relax against him. “I hope not,” he said. “It’s not something people like to hear.”

“There’s no rush,” Hide insisted. “Even if it’s just a little. I want to know about Kaneki Ken, the guy. Not Kaneki Ken the man CCG keeps tabs on.”

Hide felt the shift of Kaneki’s face through the layers of fabric he wore as he gave that familiar, wry smile. “Only if you believe in ghosts.”

Hide ran a hand through his hair, feeling the familiar softness. “Maybe I do,” he said. “Is that so bad?”

Hide didn’t even register the seconds before Kaneki’s lips were on his. It was the same kind of burning intensity as when they’d first met. “No,” Kaneki whispered between kissing him. “No, it’s not.”

Kaneki’s weight pushed Hide onto his back, still balanced on the whale. The jolt knocked them apart, and Hide was left staring up, dumfounded, into pink face.

Hide couldn’t help it; he grinned. And Kaneki grinned back.

Thank God, Hide thought, for Kaneki Ken.

He reached up and their lips met again, messy and knocking, teeth bumping and an ungraceful mashing of faces, but it felt right. Hide took Kaneki’s head in his hands, letting his fingers run through the soft hair, his fingertips skimming over small scars in his scalp. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

He felt Kaneki’s hands travel down his shirt, and Hide—f*cking hell, he was such a child—wriggled because it f*cking tickled.

This wriggling caused them both to lose their balance, and they rolled down the side of the whale, hitting the ground below in a tangle of limbs.

Blinking away the shock, Hide stared into Kaneki’s face again, this time blank in surprise. Hide laughed, and soon the two of them turned into a snickering, giggling mess on the grass.

Chapter 33: Home

Chapter Text

They would part, Kaneki knew. The class would finish, and they would run off and live their own lives. Something Kaneki wasn’t so sure he wanted to return to yet, if ever. When he returned Hide’s smile, he remembered how good and real it felt. Rare smiles, to valued people from Before, when he valued it. The feeling of another hand in his, completely safe and returning the warmth Kaneki knew, despite everything he told himself, was affection.

He didn’t want to be tired, for when his eyes were closed he would miss a moment of their time. He didn’t want to forget a second, because Kaneki already felt like he knew how it would end. It would always, always end. He’d be left. It was inevitable. It wasn’t unreasonable.

But he wanted to remember it all the same.

He wanted to believe it was infinite.

They’d snuck back in, still stifling their immature giggling at the end of the lecture, hearing about some task. Under the desk, Hide kept a firm hold of his hand. Kaneki didn’t even listen to the words, instead forcing his eyes onto the pages of his notebook, despite glancing to the side and seeing Hide doing the exact same thing.

God, what was this? How old was he? Was he forgetting who he was? Was he neglecting the ghosts in the room? His ghosts? Was he forgetting that at the end of the day, his life had not changed, there was just an extra addition?

Would that change his life?

There they were: doubts. How familiar a place to find himself. Hide must just be pitying him. Maybe this was his way of repaying a debt. Surely, no one could spare a second to care about him. That was the way of the world. The weak are trampled underfoot by the strong. They are destroyed.

They are devoured.

“Hey, Kaneki,” Hide’s voice, bubbly and happy, despite what Kaneki knew was still inside his head, broke through his thoughts. “What’s your favourite movie?”

Movie? Kaneki could count the movies he’d gone and seen with a single finger: The Conjuring, with Hide. Some of his favourite books had been made into movies, but he’d never seen them. Was this a normal thing to ask?

“Why do you ask?” Kaneki responded, trying to be casual. He propped his head onto his hand, a hand under his chin. Casual. His right hand, safely clasped in Hide’s, had grown cold. f*ck, what did ‘casual’ even mean? When he glanced at Hide’s face, the other didn’t look impressed with his attempt. Was he that readable?

“I’m just curious,” Hide said. “I couldn’t choose one, I think, but horror movies aren’t my forte. Besides, I want to know about you.”

Kaneki felt heat flood into his face. It wasn’t even that bad a statement, but the sheer fact that he existed in his state of natural being was the most shameful part. “The CCG knows about me.”

“You’re no fun,” Hide sighed dramatically. “Like, what’s your favourite colour? Can we start there? Or what about your favourite food? Book? Pastime? Dreams?”

Colour? Food? Past-time? Did Hide realise what he was asking?

No, Kaneki realised as he studied the other’s lazy smile, Hide knew exactly what he was asking.

“I don’t really know what my favourite colour is,” Kaneki admitted, “I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Then, what do you think it is? Personally, as a man of great colours, I like orange. Typical, I know.” Hide grinned, obviously proud of himself. Kaneki couldn’t help the smile he returned. It was infectious around Hide.

His favourite colour? That seemed like the best one to answer, compared to food or past times. “I guess . . . I like brown. Or, just dark colours—like coffee brown. That sort of colour, or maybe a lighter brown, like burnt caramel . . .” his face heated up as he realised what he was saying. The colour of Hide’s eyes, the familiar shade of burnt caramel he had thought far too much about to be comfortable admitting. sh*t.

Was he forgetting who he was?

Hide stifled a laugh with his hand. Kaneki could basically see the red glow of his skin from embarrassment. Goddamn.

“You’re so cute, you know that?” Hide was grinning. “What even are you?”

Kaneki could have shrunk into his chair. “Shut up,” he muttered. “What’s your favourite food, then?”

“Hamburgers,” Hide said without hesitation. “Speaking of which, there’s this place I heard about called Big Girl, and we should totally go there one day.”

“Hamburgers.” The food brought back a tangle of memories: his mother’s cooking, the feeling of it on his tongue, but he was sure it tasted like something. He couldn’t remember what, though. They were warm. To him, those moments of love and kindness from his mother went the world.

Because when she wasn’t—

“I like hamburgers too,” he murmured. “I haven’t had them in a while, though.”

“Come with me!” Hide was excited now, talking louder with the bustle of people rising to leave the room. “We can go now! I’m on break.”

Food. The thought of it made Kaneki sick to the stomach. He could barely eat it normally, so how would he force himself through a meal in public? sh*t.

“If you don’t want to, it’s fine,” Hide said hurriedly, sensing his discomfort. “I mean, it’s up to you. You probably have things to do, don’t you?”

“I have to look after Tsukiyama,” he said. “I’m his . . . minder.”

“Minder,” Hide mused. “Well, if he comes with us, then we can go, right? Do you have more classes after this?”

“I have Literature at night,” Kaneki said, shuffling his books with his free hand. Seeing this, Hide released his hand slowly. God, Kaneki hated himself. Hide was so good, and he was so bad, and he couldn’t find a way to fix that.

If it were night, and if he were working, he’d be thinking the opposite. f*ck.

“So . . .” Hide draped himself over the desk, staring at the ceiling. “Wanna come? I’ll pay.”

“You will not,” Kaneki said calmly. “I am.”

“No, I am.”

“Me.”

“Me.”

“Me.”

“Me!”

“Monsieurs, what is happening?” Tsukiyama appeared behind him, dressed in his outrageous clothes and finally shaking off the people who wanted to keep him company. Kaneki sighed, straightening the heavy glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Hide has invited us to lunch,” he said. “I will be paying. Because I can’t leave you, you can come.”

God. It was hilarious how f*cking different he was at different times of the day. He couldn’t keep this up. Could he?

“Are you sure about this, Kaneki?” Tsukiyama stooped to whisper in Kaneki’s ear. “Does he know? I’m not against it, but the odds are—”

“He knows,” Kaneki said simply, his tone too sharp for the appearance of Sasaki Haise. Internally, he winced. Sasaki Haise was meant to be shy, kind, soft-spoken, everything Kaneki wasn’t.

So why was he speaking with his usual voice?

Hide had turned away politely, choosing instead to bag his textbooks. They could go out. They could. It wouldn’t be the worst experience of Kaneki’s life, and—

“Whoa, dude, I’m sorry. I just remembered that I have CCG work now!” Hide stood abruptly, looking apologetic. “I’m so sorry!”

Kaneki hated himself for the relief he felt. God, he hated himself.

Why did Hide have to leave?

“It’s fine,” he said, stretching his face into a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Hide grinned, saluting. “See you!”

Kaneki watched Hide exit the door before standing. “What’s this about, Kaneki?” Tsukiyama asked. “This can’t go well.”

“I know that,” Kaneki said softly, packing his books. “I know.”

Hide had been lying.

He didn’t have work until that night, but seeing the discomfort in Kaneki’s face as soon as the topic of food was brought up was enough to make him feel terrible. When Tsukiyama had came up, and Hide saw Kaneki willing to put him through something uncomfortable, Hide made the call: he ran.

It was pretty trashy of him, wasn’t it?

Food. It was something Kaneki had been averse to before. The first thing was the muffin, months and months ago. Back then, Sasaki Haise had told him that it was just that he didn’t like the flavour, but what if it wasn’t? When they went to the movies, Haise had again refused even a single kernel of popcorn. What was so bad about food?

Hide walked to the train station, just in case Kaneki was tailing him. In all honesty, he didn’t put the idea out of his head: it was definitely his new ‘boyfriend’ would do.

It sounded so weird to even think that. Still, that’s what they were, right? They were going out, apparently.

They were starting slow, it seemed.

Standing amidst the group of students, Hide pressed a finger to his lip in thought. Not so long ago, Kaneki’s had been on his. Hide felt his face grow red at the thought. God, why was he so ticklish? f*ck.

Stay focused, he reminded himself. The food issue. Hide ran through the possibilities: Kaneki did work in a very violent occupation, so an old injury was possible. Brain damage? Hide remembered the scars on his scalp, buried beneath all that white hair. Stark, white hair. It was possible. In fact, it was very possible. That, or maybe Kaneki had some other issue that made the act of eating uncomfortable for him.

He had seemed fine bringing up the idea with Tsukiyama, though. sh*t, that man was creepy. When he talked to Kaneki directly, he seemed fine, almost normal—but as soon as he looked at Hide, it was someone else. That alone didn’t set Hide on edge, it was just the way he screamed snake oil merchant with that French lilt and flourishing actions. Jesus, he gave Hide the heebie-jeebies.

That and he was, like, twice Hide’s size.

sh*t.

The worst part was that the same switch could be flicked in Kaneki. When he spoke to Hide, he had the same demeanour as Sasaki Haise, if not a little more talkative, but when he was with that other guy, it was like he was someone else. Someone Hide hadn’t seen yet. Someone Hide was sure Kaneki didn’t want him to see.

Kaneki Ken, the dangerous member of Tokyo’s underground wasn’t a mythical figure, and he had to remember that.

Because Hide had already decided to save him.

It was clear that Kaneki was part of a world Hide would never see. He and Tsukiyama, and he was sure with many other people, were part of a big group that Hide would forever be excluded from. Hide would be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel the slightest bit left out, but it was clear from meeting Touka that she didn’t want him there. She agreed: Kaneki deserved better.

Black hair. White hair. The thought of eating with company made him uncomfortable. Black nails. Scars on his scalp and hands—Hide had seen them, the same scars on his knuckles that Hide had developed, but it was clear who had them longer.

That, and the mystery that was Kaneki Ken’s neck. It was more or less exposed with shirts, but even then he wore makeup. What did Kaneki have to hide? Was it actually a tattoo? According to the CCG records, however, he had no official affiliation with any group, so what could he be hiding?

This was all based off the assumption that Kaneki used the makeup to hide the seriously bad health on his face. If Hide had raccoon eyes, then Kaneki’s would be f*cking black holes. Did he even sleep? Ever? Why?

Why not?

God, there he went again. Maybe he should just ask.

He doubted Kaneki would actually tell him, though. He’d do the same thing: retreat into his shell. For all Hide knew, it was warranted. Hide didn’t really know anything about the guy.

Absently, he climbed onto the train. There was one more thing: the nails. Sometimes, they were black, and other times they seemed normal. Did Kaneki paint them? Black, for aesthetics? No, Hide doubted Kaneki was that petty.

Were his nails naturally black, then? What the hell could cause that? A disease? An injury?

Okay, Hide thought to himself, he’d been taught to do this. The CCG had taught him the common ways to find links, to solve cases. First, once the facts have been analysed, create possible scenarios. Using these as assumptions, create an ideal scenario where all these connections tie up. That was Hide’s abridged version, because most of them required asking other people, and Hide didn’t have that luxury, because while Touka had known him before, she didn’t know why.

Was this an invasion of privacy? How would Kaneki deal with Hide knowing?

He wouldn’t, because Hide wouldn’t let it change anything. He’d be the one to look after Kaneki this time.

“Ah—excuse me!” Hide stared down, finally aware that he’d bumped into someone. They had fair, almost-white hair, large red eyes and a doll-like face. Hide was taken aback by their sudden appearance. It was an unnerving shock to find someone who looked like that. Not helping it were the red stitches on the bottom lid of their right eye and the red pins holding their fringe back.

In the split second once-over he gave him, he noticed the bright polka dot shirt, suspenders and loose pants over slippers, along with continued red stitches, arranged in tiny x-shapes, running down their throat and arm. Their entire being was small, but Hide was more than cautious.

“No, no, it’s my fault,” Hide insisted. “I’m sorry.”

“CCG!” the other cried, grinning. Hide realised he was stumped: their figure, their face and their voice were all quite feminine, but they was dressed like a man. “You’re working at the CCG, right? I’m Suzuya Juuzou, nice to meet you!”

It wasn’t a particularly masculine name, either. They sung it, voice lilting and cheery, almost birdlike, but Hide was at a loss. There was nothing predictable or conforming with the person he’d just met. Hide watched him pull his ID from his front pocket, ad Hide saw the same rank as his own: Rank 3.

“Nice to meet you too, Investigator Suzuya,” Hide said, grinning. He reached for his ID, but saw it was already gone from his pocket. Suzuya held it up to his face.

“Hideyoshi, right?”

Crap. How had Hide got pick-pocketed so easily? He’d have to be more careful. “That’s me,” he smiled. “But ‘Hide’ is fine. Which ward do you work in?”

“I got transferred last week,” Suzuya smiled, doll-like face smiling serenely. His skin had the same paleness as Kaneki’s, Hide realised. In fact, he had the same dark eye sockets as Kaneki too. God, seeing so many similarities to Kaneki in a stranger could not be a good thing. “I work in the 20^th ward.”

“Same!” Hide held his hand out for a shake, and Juuzou took it, grasping surprisingly hard. “It’s a pleasure to work with you!”

Are these the recruits Amon mentioned? They took a while to get here. Who’s his superior? A Rank 3 isn’t allowed to go around alone. Even worse, if he is a Rank 3, why didn’t I see him at the academy? Why wasn’t he part of my class?

Is he an exception?

Yeah, Hide rationalised, he probably was.

“You can have this back now,” Suzuya said, handing Hide back his ID. Hide didn’t like the mischief in that face. “Be sure to look after it!”

You wouldn’t want to lose that.

Their parting was weird. Suzuya literally turned and walked away without a word, disappearing into a sea of people. His gait, Hide realised, was smooth, but there was a stiffness to one of his legs. What was that about? It was definitely related to him being an exemption from academy classes, so maybe he’d been injured? But then, why hadn’t the CCG used that special treatment on him to grow back limbs?

He should research that.

After, Hide decided, he bought a new phone. It felt far too spur of the moment, but he’d been meaning to for weeks and now he had a moment to himself to actually buy the thing. He kept a cautious hand on all his valuables as he did.

Once he had a phone, he was definitely going to spam both of Kaneki’s phones with texts.

It was nearly two in the morning when Kaneki’s phone rang. Not his school phone, his phone. The one with no contacts and no numbers, only short text messages for his work. It was ringing with an unknown number.

“Hello?” he said, picking it up. He was sitting at the bar again, the small group of members who he’d never actually spoken to barely talking. Who would be calling? Touka? Ayato?

“Kaneki!” Hide’s voice screamed through the speakers. Kaneki jumped, instantly trying to smother the mic from the other people in the room. How did Hide get that number? Why did Hide have this number?

“What?” Kaneki hissed into the phone. “Now isn’t a good time!”

“Are you free on Wednesday?” Hide asked, completely unfazed. Kaneki gave a cautious glance over his shoulder, no one was paying attention to him, it seemed. Still, it wasn’t safe to relax. He’d be putting Hide in danger by letting them so much as hear his voice.

“Yes,” Kaneki said. “I am. Let’s talk somewhere else.”

“No, I have to check now,” Hide protested. “Amon wants me to work an extra shift this week, and I was hoping Wednesday night movies are still a thing.”

Hide wanted to plan a f*cking date? Did he realise Kaneki was sitting in one of the most dangerous rooms in the whole f*cking city?

“Yes, it is. Fine. Please hang up.”

“Yeah!” Kaneki could imagine Hide giving himself a fist-pump. Jesus. “Well, I hope you’re happy to come to my dorm on Wednesday. Nishio won’t be in, anyway. Don’t try and run away from our date with destiny, Kaneki!”

He hung up.

Kaneki defiantly didn’t look up to see Uta’s smirk. He knew that Uta wouldn’t have heard the phone, but the fact that he’d seen Kaneki talking in an outrageously friendly way was sure to pique his curiosity.

If Kaneki told him he couldn’t come in on Wednesday, then Uta would know. If he rang Uta on Wednesday and said he couldn’t come, Uta would probably remember what had happened because he was that kind of guy.

Sometimes Kaneki wished he could call in sick. It would make a great excuse.

Wait, had Hide said his dorm?

Chapter 34: Backyard

Chapter Text

“No, don't move,” Touka hissed, prodding at his face with her trusty make-up brushes. “We can’t have you coming in Death couture to a date.”

“It’s not like that,” Kaneki insisted, already realising it was a losing battle. “We’re just watching movies.”

“Yeah, right,” Touka smirked. “Just watching movies.”

She let him tilt his head back, dabbing over his throat with the concealer, followed by the expertly-chosen foundation (by her own methods) to cover the whole area. Throughout the whole process, she was careful not to let her skin touch him. It was just the sponge and brushes. That was all.

That was the best way to do it.

“Okay, you can button it up. You’re good.”

“Thank you,” he said, carefully pulling the collar over his neck. Touka busied herself with sorting out the dirty brushes, looking for the cleaning spray. She’d made a fuss about Kaneki visiting him in hospital, but she’d be lying if she actually considered a reality where Kaneki went to someone’s house like a normal person.

Wow.

“So, what’s the game plan?” Touka fought the smugness out of her voice. She was smug. At last, she was pushing him in the right direction. She didn’t know half of the sh*t Kaneki had actually done, but she knew none of it was for the faint of heart. She was so used to seeing him so dead inside that the past few weeks, when he had been so full in general, getting embarrassed and smiling and talking, studying hard and admitting that he was tired at breakfast—these were all things she had only ever hoped for.

It almost made her jealous that one boy had accomplished in a few weeks what she had been trying to do for years.

“Movies, I guess,” Kaneki said, standing. “Apparently I have a very poor film education.”

“That happens when you can’t afford a television,” Touka couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “Now, get the f*ck out of here. Don’t you dare me late to your first date.”

“It’s not a date!” Kaneki repeated, sighing. He headed to the door. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“If you’re lucky, it’ll be tomorrow,” Touka snickered. “Oh, but, yeah, movies are important too. Maybe.”

Kaneki didn’t say anything, only pouting to himself. “Not a date,” he muttered to himself.

“Oh, are you going on a date?” Ayato appeared from his room, rubbing his eyes blearily. He’d fallen asleep. “With who? Why? When?”

“It’s not a date!” Kaneki groaned.

Hide didn’t even try and lie to himself: he’d stood in front of the door, looking at his phone, for a solid thirty minutes before the bell was rung. After he’d finally shoved Nishio out the door for his night with Kimi at her apartment, cleaned up the place as best he could, dug up every movie worth watching and tested to make sure the signal actually came through the TV, he’d walked to the door, pulled out his phone, and waited.

Was that desperate? That was pretty desperate, wasn’t it? Goddamn.

He’d given a half-assed attempt to clean up his room, which basically mean straightening the pile of books and papers on his desk, making his bed, and cleaning up all the undies and socks off the ground, as well as chucking the dirty clothes into stolen Laundromat hampers.

It wouldn’t get any cleaner, and he knew it.

He felt as if he was staring at his texts, waiting for anything. Half of him was terrified that he’d get a text saying that Kaneki wouldn’t be coming.

Then the doorbell rang, and he threw it open the instant it started.

“Kaneki, my dude!” he yelled, grabbing the other’s shoulders. “Are you ready for some serious movie-watching?”

Kaneki was dressed thoroughly as Sasaki, right down to the glasses. His shape wilted under Hide’s explosion of an entrance before he relaxed, smiling nervously. “I guess . . .”

Can I kiss him?

“Well, come on in. It’s kind of gross, sorry. That and neither of us can cook, so it’s probably going to be some take-out for dinner. Is that cool with you? Wow, I’m sorry this is such a bad date.”

Kaneki only nodded, and Hide felt the relief instantly. His hunch had been right: Kaneki was very averse to eating. He didn’t look emaciated, which meant he ate, but then maybe eating in front of people was the problem after all.

One mystery solved.

“Well, there is a couch, there is a television, and we have this thing called the Internet to choose every movie in the world from.” Hide tapped on the computer hooked up to the TV to prove his point. “Any requests?”

Kaneki sat himself down on the couch, crossing his legs under him. “Um, no?” Hide watched for a moment too long as he took off his glasses and beanie, placing them on the coffee table in front of him. Hide turned back to the computer, tapping the plastic in thought.

“Well,” he mused, “I guess we’d start with the classics.”

“Classics?”

“Disney, Kaneki! Disney!” Hide searched through the possible films. “Where to start . . . ?”

“I was told that Frozen was good,” Kaneki interjected. “It has ‘good music’ apparently.” He made quotation marks as he spoke. Hide could only grin back. Kaneki was there, in his dorm, on the couch where Hide spent far too much time asleep.

“Some great sing-along material,” Hide affirmed, pulling it up. “Good start. You must join in the ways, Young Kaneki, of singing along.”

“I’ll pass, thanks,” Kaneki said quickly. “I’m not good at singing.”

“Nope, you have to.” Hide hit the play and dropped down on the couch beside Kaneki. “It’s mandatory. It’s also kind of inevitable that you start singing the words anyway.”

“What is this, a disease?” Kaneki smiled, amused. “Fine then.”

They lapsed into silence as the film started, with its icy credits montage.

“What a good ice-breaker,” Kaneki said suddenly.

Hide had to stifle his tears from the terrible pun.

Kaneki didn’t do a lot of singing, but when Hide was basically screaming the words out, Kaneki hummed along.

That was enough.

“Ah, good times, good times.” Hide made a show of wiping tears from his eyes. “So moving. I am moved on a spiritual level.”

“I guess you could say it gave me chills,” Kaneki offered. It took Hide a very, very long second to get it.

“Punny.”

“I aim to be cool-headed.”

“Stop.”

“Ice cold.”

“Kaneki.”

“It’s okay, that whole movie had some ice for these burns.”

“Argh!” Hide covered his face with his hands, sighing. “Goddammit, Kaneki.” He dragged his hands down his face, unable to flatten out his smile. He looked across at Kaneki, and the two of them burst out laughing.

“You’re the worst, Kaneki,” Hide laughed, giving him a shove as he stood. “Okay, okay. Great one, Ice King. Now for the next Disney movie, I decided to go for a little history, now. Aladdin.”

“More singing,” Kaneki noted, and Hide grinned.

“We’ll have you singing in no time, Mr Kaneki, just you wait. Disney is a disease. You can’t help it. You’ll wake up in the night singing it in your sleep.”

He heard Kaneki’s snort of amusem*nt behind him as he loaded up the second film. Apart from Hide having to pretend he didn’t see how uncomfortable Kaneki was in the clothes he had worn, it was a good date. Great, even. Hide’s hypothesis had been right: after dark, Kaneki was a lot more talkative. That wasn’t a bad thing, in fact he lived for Kaneki’s puns, even if he’d never admit it. (But seriously, some were terrible, and he wouldn’t defend those unless he really needed to.)

This left him with only one problem: Kaneki not being awkward as f*ck in clothes. Solutions?

Oh boy, did Hide have many solutions, but he doubted that they would go down well at 8pm at night. No, it was still early. He had to be mature. Intelligent. Mature. Very mature.

“Pyjamas!” he yelled, swinging around. “We need pyjamas!”

“What?”

“This is a movie marathon,” Hide insisted, “therefore, it is necessary that we sit in blankets in pyjamas and eat sh*t all night long. Necessary.”

Kaneki, bless his soul, looked hopelessly lost. “What?”

Hide grinned. To be honest, he had expected this. He hated to admit that, but he had. Taking Kaneki’s life and his suspected upbringing into account, Hide had found it unlikely that he’d ever had a movie marathon before, unlike Hide who as a positive movie marathon hoe when it came down to it. He’d go, no matter the type or people. As he got older, the tone of them changed, but he still went. Movie marathons were important, dammit.

“You brought pyjamas, right?” Hide asked. “Or is that too childish? Damn. I hadn’t thought of that. No matter! I’ll lend you clothes. You stay right there, Model Clothes.”

Kaneki’s face went red, and he began to stammer excuses as Hide made his way to Nishio’s room, where he’d go through the remains of his cleaning scrambles. “Wow, first date and I’m already seeing you in a boyfriend shirt. I’m impressing myself, Kaneki.”

“You don’t need to,” Kaneki insists. “Really, it’s fine. Don't worry yourself over me, it’s—” he stopped as Hide chucked a pair of tracksuit pants and a baggy t-shirt over his shoulder.

“I think that t-shirt is one of Nishio’s that I stole by accident,” Hide said. “Sorry. Now, let’s find you a jumper.” Hide dug through the layers of clean-smelling cotton. “Hoodie? Jacket? Is it cold, Kaneki?”

“Hide, it’s really—”

“Found one!” It was Nishio’s unfortunately, but Nishio had probably stolen far more things of Hide’s already for him to care. It would probably be subjected to the roommate cycle anyway, and end up in Nishio’s hamper again. He shoved the bundle into Kaneki’s arms, who was thoroughly embarrassed now. Hide only grinned. “You’re welcome,” he said, trying to bat his eyelashes like the Disney princess currently on the screen with her tiger. “Do I get a thank you kiss?”

Kaneki pouted and turned away sharply, heading to the bathroom. “Maybe later.”

‘Maybe later’ appeared to include three more Disney films, the rest of the crash course Hide had planned, and then some. Kaneki, now geared in baggy, oversized clothes, enjoyed the evening a lot more, which Hide was glad about. That, and Kaneki had made sweater paws at one stage unknowingly and Hide couldn’t deal with that.

“So, the purpose of having sing-along fairy tales with conventionally attractive characters is to inspire the imagination of children,” Kaneki mused. “There’s nothing wrong with that, except accurate descriptions of the history would say otherwise.”

“Kaneki, my guy, just let the kids believe,” Hide quipped. “If they found out that exposure to icy elements left burns and scarring, they’d be traumatised. Think of Elsa’s ice palace! Imagine telling them it would be inhospitable! Imagine telling them that going into a blizzard without a cloak would actually kill you!”

“Not to mention the fact that snowmen are not sentient.”

“No,” Hide said seriously, staring at Kaneki very seriously. “That’s too far.”

Kaneki gave him a single, quizzical raise of his eyebrows. “What about the fact that Elsa would never be allowed to be queen without a king?”

“Right, it’s time for food.” Hide stood sharply, playfully crossing his arms and pulling a sour face. “Because, as a mature adult, I will not accept this injustice.”

Kaneki stared up at him with those great, wide eyes of him for a second, registering that Hide was being sarcastic. Hide didn’t even mind, because it meant he got the full movement of Kaneki’s face into a smile.

Into a toothy grin.

“But, Hide, the world of an adult is full of unfairness,” Kaneki said, mimicking a wizened lecturer. “You must learn to see the . . . what was it? The lotus in the weed? How does that saying go?”

“I swear, that saying does not exist,” Hide laughed, heading to the kitchen and squatting down to dig through the minibar he and Nishio shared as a fridge. It was mostly filled with energy drinks and snacks, with the occasional doggy bag from going out the previous night. Hide looked around at the stuff he’d stocked up on. “What do you feel like, Kaneki?” he asked. He already knew the answer.

“I’m fine, don’t worry.” The words were fluid and natural, Hide noted, despite the fact Hide knew he was lying. He could all but hear his stomach growling.

“Nope,” Hide said, moving on and looking through the pantry. “I can’t have a guest going without food. What would my country heritage do? I should have prepared, like, ten courses to give you when you arrived.” He pulled out a bag of chips and some crackers. Dry, crunchy, simple-to-eat foods that even Kaneki wouldn’t refuse, regardless of whatever ailment stopped him. Hide was confident.

After looking for a bowl, he decided that there were no clean ones and instead decided to use just the bag. God, what a terrible host he was. Oh, well. He dropped back down onto the couch beside Kaneki and placed the bags on the table. “Help yourself,” Hide said, “but bear in mind that if you don’t eat something I may just have to order proper take-away so that I know you’re eating right.”

Kaneki was silent beside him, and Hide found himself hoping that he’d struck the right chord to let Kaneki know that he knew.

“So, up next we have a fine selection of rom-coms. That, or like, just romance. Straight romance. And by straight, I mean like, just complete romance but they are also all heterosexual, thank you for asking.”

“You’re welcome,” Kaneki said absently. Hide watched him reach forward and take a single cracker, before placing it in his mouth and chewing. Hide, watching as subtly as he could, couldn’t help but see the discomfort in his face. Smoothed out expertly, tamed and trained, but still there. Kaneki swallowed and turned his attention to the television, thinking.

“The choice is yours,” he said. “Educate me.”

“When in doubt, put some cheesy American romance on,” Hide shrugged. “Let’s watch The Notebook.”

“I’ve heard of that one,” Kaneki said. “A lot of raining and making out, I hear.”

“Basically.” Hide hit play and let himself slump back against the couch. “See, now this is a movie marathon. Pyjamas, trashy movies, and snacks.”

They lapsed into silence, watching the film. It had the peculiar hypnotic quality that extinguished a conversation, until it got to one of those scenes where Hide just couldn’t contain himself, like the ferris wheel scene.

“If we lived in 40s America, I would so have asked you out like that,” Hide said. “Definitely.”

“I’m sure you would have,” Kaneki smirked. “And interrupted my prior date, of course.”

“Naturally.”

They fell into silence as the movie progressed, and it became increasingly awkward when Hide remembered the amount of sex in the film. Oh boy, what a choice. Great work, Hide. Great work.

“I waited for you,” Hide sung along the lines in falsetto. “Seven years.”

Kaneki snickered beside him.

Hide ended up eating the majority of the snacks. To his relief, Kaneki did seem to eat a few, but the way he fell silent whenever he ate, even if in mid-conversation, was enough to ring a few alarm bells. Later, Hide told himself. Later.

It was fitting that Hide began to drift off to sleep. Trust his brain that no matter who the date was, no matter what the movie was, no matter what he was doing to stay awake, it hit the switch for bedtime. Useless.

He was drifting off when he jolted away, realising he’d fallen sideways onto the arm of the couch. God, that was embarrassing. He should—

A weight rested on the top of his head, and Hide realised that the surface he was leaning on was moving and breathing. Holy sh*t, he’d fallen onto Kaneki.

Except now Kaneki had full on put their heads together and sh*t he couldn’t move now what did he do? Play it off? Try and act smooth? He’d just started to fall asleep, f*ck.

“Smooth,” Kaneki muttered, still watching the movie. “I completely believe you when you say that was intentional.”

“It definitely was,” Hide said. “Can’t you tell these smooth moves are intrinsic?”

Kaneki hummed in response, ever so softly. Hide thought his voice would be lost in the volume of the movie, which had just started to end with the female lead running from the car with suitcases.

“What a happy ending,” Hide murmured. “That’s nice.”

“Are you a philosophical drunk?” Kaneki asked, and Hide could hear the smirk in his tone. “You sure seem like one.”

“Just a stupid drunk, sorry,” Hide sat up, stretching. “I once tried to climb over a fence, forgetting that it was too high and the drop was onto a hill. That was a story.”

The incredulous look on Kaneki’s face was priceless. “Don’t get drunk again.”

“T’was but a scratch,” Hide smirked, suddenly feeling bold. “Besides, I’m sure I would have got it kissed better if I had a boyfriend at the time.”

Kaneki’s ears turned pink. “If you say so.”

Hide grinned. “Speaking of kisses, do I get a thank you kiss yet?” he leaned on his hand. Personally, he didn’t see any problem with what he was saying. Kaneki’s ears grew redder, and the blush extended to his cheeks.

“I guess . . .” Kaneki stared at Hide’s arm. Ah, sh*t, maybe that was too far. Hide stood, trying to command his legs to walk to the computer to change the movie.

“Well, there’s no rush. And now, because I am so tired, let’s do some scary sh*t.”

“How scary?”

“The Shining.”

There was another moment of silence as Hide changed the film before he heard Kaneki giggle quietly into his hand. “You’re hopeless.”

Hide flashed him a grin over his shoulder. “I try.”

He stood, shaking his legs to try and get the feeling back into them. His joints felt stiff and disused from the sudden change from training to lazing about. Well, if he counted running around at the office as lazy.

“Man,” Hide said, “I’m gonna regret this.”

“Yeah,” Kaneki agreed. “I’ve never seen it, but the book was scary enough.”

“Believe in me, Kaneki,” Hide exclaimed with pride as he fumbled across the dark ground, trying not to stumble on something he couldn’t see. “Believe in the me that believes in you.”

In true Nagachika Hideyoshi fashion, he stubbed his toe on the foot of the table and stumbled. What a great impression to make.

He was caught in an instant, receiving a face of cotton and chest. He froze, his hands finding a set of arms to cling to as he looked up, seeing Kaneki’s face above him. “Are you—are you okay?” Kaneki stammered, face bright red. “You could have fallen, so . . .”

Hide’s chest felt painfully tight. They were close; they were so close, and all he could take in was the familiar face and the familiar lips and the memories of kissing him. Was now an okay time? He’d felt awkward that entire movie from before and tried to ignore it, but f*ck, he wanted to kiss Kaneki Ken.

Hide smiled, ignoring his worries. He gave Kaneki’s lips a peck. “That’s my thank you kiss,” he grinned, wriggling his eyebrows. “Feel free to learn from the master.”