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Read on AO3. Words: 4886 Summary: Apologies, truth, and Touka's mean right hand. Chapter 17 Chapter 19 Master Post

How could Sen have been so blind?

She had to have slipped up somewhere, but when? How? Did Shachi or Kuzen rat her out? Was there a leak that she hadn’t noticed? Each was its own possibility— Shachi’s heart was too big, Kuzen was a survivor, and she wasn’t exactly sure of everyone she had who was gathering information on V, but there were far more reasons for all not to betray her or Haise. Which only left—

She stopped right before the door to Haise’s apartment.

— Donato. Shit. It was obvious now. Working with that guy, a member of the unpredictable and chaotic Clowns, had always been like navigating a minefield. He was the only one whose interests lay with himself alone, meaning he could be convinced by V. Not even his affection for his son could trump a lifetime of greed. Donato’s alliance with Sen had always been a matter of convenience, where she could exercise his selfish revenge while he was stuck behind bars.

Knock, knock.

However, whatever he’d told V, they ended up going for Haise instead of her, which meant they wanted something. As for what, there were a number of things: her books, her connections, her findings— All were thorns in V’s side, and restricting any would do wonders. But what would they be doing now?

The door opened, revealing Hina. “Hey…” she said, a little uneasily.

“Hi.” Sen kept her voice neutral, not wanting to alarm Hina any more than she already was.

Hina stepped aside. “Um, come in… Hide’s still out, so we’re just waiting.”

Sen stepped through and kicked off her shoes. It was a surprisingly nice and clean apartment, far different from her own. Lots of space, too, what with the kitchen and living room separated by tile and carpet, then what appeared to be two bedrooms and the bathroom in the back. If only she could appreciate it under better circumstances.

Ayato and Touka were sitting on the couch on opposite ends. He, upon seeing Sen, opened his mouth, but Touka beat him to it. “Coffee?” she asked, moving to the kitchen.

Sen, after a moment, nodded. “Sure…”

While Touka searched the cabinets for the kettle and beans, Sen sat in a chair at the counter, feeling Ayato’s eyes on her back. Hina entered the corner of her vision and took a nearby cup of water.

Once upon a time, Sen might not have even shown up here, let alone entertained Hina’s call as long as she had. Time passed, people left, she used to say, especially after Papa’s death and Arima’s transfer. Much how you outgrew things as you got older, people tended to outgrow or outright ignore Sen as she went through the motions of life. That was just how she had seen herself.

But things were different now. Miza and Naki supported her. Tatara and Fei befriended her. Shiono was a caring father. The Bins worked splendidly for her. And Haise was— he was just— he—

Sen sighed, a smile playing on her lips. It seemed as though there were some things even a scribbler like her couldn’t describe. This must be how Haise felt whenever she asked him to express his thoughts about her; though she preened with satisfaction, there was something to his countenance that suggested he had more to say.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “About the get-together, about what I said— For everything that happened, I’m sorry.”

Hina tittered. “I-It’s really not a problem, Ms. Takatsuki. I think—”

“It is a problem,” she interrupted. “You’ve all known Kuzen for a long time, and it was insensitive of me to trample on that the way I did.”

The kettle began to hiss as the water inside reached a boiling point. Hina thumbed her glass of water. Ayato intentionally looked away, staring at the muted TV. Touka, with practiced ease, ground a handful of coffee beans.

“He’s hurt me a lot, in more ways than one, and I’ve learned he’s— I know he’s hurt others in worse ways.” Sen picked at the hangnails on her fingers. “It felt wrong letting him enter without saying something, so I… Look, I botched it for you guys, and I’m sorry.”

There was silence as Touka poured the coffee. She slid it across the counter to Sen, who took it with a quiet thanks. Ayato glanced over, sensing that she was done, and Hina took a sip of water.

“I…” Hina searched for the right words. “I don’t want to say that you were wrong. You were… You weren’t ready for him to appear when he did, and you were caught off-guard. At least, I think so.” She looked up at Touka to continue.

Touka sighed and put her elbows on the counter. “I’m sure you remember I was next in line for Anteiku’s manager?”

Sen’s mouth became a thin line, and she nodded. She remembered putting two and two together as they talked at the get-together. The way Touka danced around both her aspirations and her job— having to make a choice between them was tearing her up inside far more than Haise made it seem.

“Well, I was also recently accepted into the Chigyou School of Medicine, for their spring term. If I chose to go, and things went awry for Mr. Yoshimura at the wrong time, then Anteiku might very well shut down before I can come back. But if I chose to stay, then I’d be giving up my selfish dreams to keep up the place that helped me and Ayato at our lowest.” Touka traced a circle on the counter, as though she were running back and forth between the two choices.

Sen took a sip of the coffee. It was really good, she had to admit, even without the sugar she personally liked to take. No wonder Touka could be manager, if this was anything to judge it by. Ayato, for his part, pursed his lips at memories she’d never know, but she could take a guess from her own.

Touka suddenly stopped, and pushed herself from the counter. “You took that choice away from me. With what you said, I felt like I had no other option but to take the path that was best for me, and not for Mr. Yoshimura. Because otherwise, I’d be someone willing to play dumb for the sake of feeling good about myself. I’d choose to do nothing.

“Hina’s right; you weren’t wrong, and Mr. Yoshimura shouldn’t have hid his skeletons in his closet from us for as long as he did. However—” Sen grunted when she felt Touka’s fist collide with the side of her arm— “have some class next time, okay?”

“O-Ow…” was all Sen could say.

“Sis and I totally get having beef with shitty dads,” Ayato said from the couch, amusedly watching her nurse her new bruise. “We really do, but she’s right.”

“Always am.” Touka chuckled. “By the way, how’s the coffee? I usually make sure the two oafs that live here have the good beans, but, well— you know.”

Sen smiled through the pain. “It’s good. Really good. I almost feel more guilty.”

Touka smiled back and almost said something else, but just then, the doorbell rang. She went over to answer it, and Hide was revealed. “Welcome back.”

“Hey, guys. You—” He paused when he saw Sen. “Oh. Hey, Sen.”

The corner of her lip curled. “Hide.”

Haise’s famous— or rather, infamous— little source of information along with Chie. An information smuggler that traveled the world and collected dirt on all sorts of organizations that could be taken down a peg or ten. She was honestly shocked by how lucky she was; because of Haise’s little slip-up on how he acquired Donato’s files ahead of her, she was able to piece together the identity of someone who had, until now, kept it completely hidden.

And oh, how Hide knew that she knew. The moment he paused at Nishiki’s, where they met in person for the first time, he had known. The Scarecrow was outed, at last, by sheer dumb luck.

Her smirk faded; much as she wanted to squeeze more information out of one of her most anonymous and valuable sources, there was something far more important at hand. “Do you know where Haise is?” she asked instead.

Hide cleared his throat, appreciating it. “Well, no, but I mean, I brought someone.”

He pushed in a familiar figure on a wheelchair. Frail bones, thin white hair, and gaunt cheeks that clung to their last vestiges of life. He was dressed in familiar black leathers, with a fedora atop his head.

Kuzen Yoshimura, her father, a shell of his former self.

Sen took the time to, finally, really look at him. This barely functioning old man was who she had despised all this time? This… thing in front of her, declining in real time, was the cornerstone of her revenge?

Even then, however, her anger wouldn’t disappear overnight. She doubted it would disappear at all; Kuzen had twisted and altered her circumstances against her will, and even if good came out of them, it was by her hand and not his. She had climbed out of the muck he poured onto her out of spite, and she would do it a thousand times over to remind him of his failures.

And so, she sighed, glared, and asked the obvious question: “Why are you here?”

———

“I-I’m sorry.”

That was not the first thing Haise expected to hear when he came to.

His hands were individually bound to separate chains, and there was a dim light to give him some semblance of his surroundings. He tested out his bonds, and saw a rusty chain mechanism a few paces away struggle against him. His feet were free, at least.

Then, when he looked up, he saw the driver, sitting in a creaky wooden chair. He wasn’t just tall; his limbs were far longer than his torso needed them to be. His hair was a tousled black, with dark circles under his eyes and gaunt cheeks. He wore a loose collared shirt and torn jeans, both colors faded with time.

“H-H-Hey, Mr. Kaneki,” he said, waving. “I’m, uh… I-I’m Karao Saeki.”

Haise didn’t answer immediately, instead darting his gaze around to see if there was anything he’d missed. No such luck. “Where am I?” he asked shakily.

Saeki tittered. “That’s a little, er, c-c-complicated. Y-Y’see, m-my boss—” His phone suddenly rang. “S-Sorry…” He answered. “H-H-Hello? Yes, I have him… N-No, he’s— he’s totally fine!! I-I-I used chloroform…”

Haise listened to the conversation quietly. It seemed that, for now, he was safe; whoever Saeki’s boss was, they needed him alive and unharmed. That was a load off his shoulders, but the next question became: why him? Was there something he knew that they wanted? Was there some one? The possibilities were endless until he could glean something, anything about these people.

Saeki’s conversation continued. “S-So, M-Mr. Kaiko, what should I—?”

‘Kaiko’? As in Kaiko Industries? As in V? Wait, could Haise even make that assumption? If this was V’s doing, then why target him? He was completely useless; wouldn’t it have been better to target Sen? Then again, the idea of Sen in the same situation was worse; he should just be grateful she was (hopefully) free. She could continue her work, continue helping people who deserved help, and not waste her time with people like him: burdens who treated mines like eggshells, never caring for the consequences. She probably— no, she definitely hated his guts now, as she should.

Sen— no, no, Takatsuki had infinitely more important things to think about than him. Hopefully, his drafts of the last few pages were enough; he’d hate to be more of a burden than he already proved himself to be.

Saeki clapped his phone shut and stowed it away. “S-S-Sorry, Mr. Kaneki,” he apologized again. “B-Bosses, right?”

Haise, not wanting to take his chances, decided to nod.

“W-Well! Make yourself c-c-comfortable, because you might be here a w-while…” He twiddled his thumbs.

“Why… Why me…?” Haise asked cautiously.

Saeki flinched slightly. “W-Well, um…” He seemed to grapple with something internally, then relented. “Well, o-okay, you d-d-deserve to know… T-T-To save you from the d-details—”

———

“They promise the safe return of Kaneki,” Kuzen, settled in, said, “once you stop your investigation of them.”

Sen scoffed. “That’s it? That’s all they want?”

Kuzen pursed his lips. “It is an obvious choice, no?”

“Obvious— are you fucking kidding me?” Sen stamped her foot down. “Sacrifice everything that I— that we’ve— worked on these past ten years for— for one person?!” Even as she said it, her heart twisted in agony. “That’s the best they can do, huh? I— I can’t even begin to imagine—!”

“What are you talking about?” Touka interjected, stepping in between them. “You know the people who have Sasaki?”

Ayato came forth. “What the fuck did you get him tied up in?!”

“G-Guys—” Hina began.

“Did they kidnap him because of you?” Touka’s voice shook. “Does he even know about—”

“Touka, Ayato,” Hide stepped in, “let’s take a breather, and—”

“You’re awfully calm about this!!” Touka whirled on him, all but grabbing him by the shirt. “Our best friend has apparently been kidnapped by some— some group we know nothing about, and the reason might be right in front of us! Why aren’t you—!”

“I just think that antagonizing Sen isn’t the play here.” He put up his hands in defense. “Look, we’re all in this together to try and find him, so—”

“So you’re just gonna let her keep secrets from us?! Real good ‘working together’, pal! Are you fucking—”

“I’ll talk!” Sen said, turning all eyes on her. “I’ll talk… You deserve to know.”

She carefully left out the part about Hide being the Scarecrow, but laid out the basics of V, as well as her and the others’ involvement in exposing their deeds. Kuzen hung his head slightly the further she went, especially when she mentioned Ukina. It was a small consolation prize.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” Touka muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Okay, so a secret government lobbyist organization, who works with serial killers, has Sasaki because you—” she jabbed a finger at Sen— “are getting too close to ‘exposing’ them?”

Sen nodded stiffly. “Yeah.”

“You realize how stupid that sounds, right?” Ayato complemented Touka. “Just ‘cause you broke some laws, he’s gonna pay?”

Another nod. “Yeah.”

Hina was the only one who didn’t seem phased when she spoke. “Ms. Takatsuki… Are you going to stop?” was all she asked.

Sen curled her fingers into a fist. “I… I can’t stop,” she said, wanting her tongue to betray her just this once. “I’ve… We’ve come too far to stop now.” She trembled. “I won’t— I can’t choose him, even if I want to.”

And she did, desperately so. She wanted to choose Haise over everything and contradict her own words. Her lungs longed to cry out in protest, to throw everything away for him, because now that she’d felt the warmth of the sun, she wanted to bask in it forever.

But there were people besides her who were a part of the investigation, and they were people who put so much on the line. Now it was her turn. Ugh, she was the worst.

She bowed her head as low as it could go, as if it would absolve her of her sins. “I’m sorry.”

Silence, as her decision hung in the air and everyone digested it. It was likely that none of them would ever see Haise again. That lovely person, full of boundless kindness, would be forever lost to the world. No one would ever see him smile, laugh, or cry ever again.

Touka reacted first. She walked up to Sen, pulled her up by the collar of her shirt, and punched her square in the jaw, knocking her to the ground.

“Touka!” Kuzen shouted as best he could, but it went ignored.

Ayato and Hide had to grab her by both her arms before she could advance. Hina, meanwhile, helped Sen up and checked for lasting injuries.

“Fuck V,” Touka breathed. “But fuck you too. I don’t care what the hell you’ve ‘discovered’ or whatever, but you don’t just give up like that, you hear me?!”

Sen, leaning on Hina, massaged her second bruise for the day. “It isn’t that,” she muttered.

“Then what is it?!” Touka ripped herself out of Ayato and Hide’s grasp. “Don’t you care about Sasaki?! Don’t you— Why are you just letting him go?!”

Sen bit her lip, trying not to tremble.

“That look on your face makes me sick, you know that?” Tears welled in Touka’s eyes. “Thinking you’re making the right choice, that this is all for some ‘greater good’, and maybe it is! Maybe, if you let Sasaki die, we’ll all eventually be in a better place, but I—!” She raised her fist again, but let it hang at her side instead. “I don’t care. I won’t care until we try something else.”

It was a pretty thought; when you didn’t like your choices, force a new one that did. However, Sen had made her choice years ago: she would fight. And whenever you fought, blood would spill. The blood of the innocent, the blood of the guilty, and worst of all, the blood of your loved ones.

She simply hadn’t realized how much the latter would hurt. “Say we did try something. What would we try? Where would we even start?” She hated the question as soon as it left her lips. “We don’t even know who—”

“He is with the Torso,” Kuzen suddenly said.

It was like dropping a bomb. The name hovered in the air, taunting all who recognized it. Hina’s eyes widened in horror. Hide, Ayato, and Touka swallowed. Sen thought she’d heard incorrectly. Did Kuzen— did he really just—

“He is with the Torso,” he repeated, his grip on his armrest like iron. “I do not know where, but… that is who is with him.”

“Torso…?” The word was practically foreign on her lips. “He’s with the…?”

“He’s with the Torso…” Hide mumbled, putting a hand on the side of his head. Suddenly, he gasped. “H-He's with the Torso!!”

“Uh…” Touka looked mystified.

Sen, instead of explaining, joined Hide with the same realization. “Yes… Yes, he is!!” She laughed, her heartbeat picking up with hope and her stomach flipping. “The Torso!!!”

They jumped up and down together, cheering and whooping and confusing everyone else.

Ayato palmed his face. “Are we just gonna be lost all day?”

Sen ignored him and grabbed Hide by the shoulders. “Nashiro. Did Nashiro leave anything behind? Please tell me she—”

“She did.” Hide nodded enthusiastically. “All of his hiding spots, every single one!!”

“Um, excuse me!” Hina got their attention. “What’re you two talking about?”

“We’ll explain later,” Sen said, pulling out her phone. “But right now— Ayato, call Tatara and tell him we need men. Hide, give him the addresses; he’ll understand. I’ll get Miza, Naki, and the Bins.” She called the first of their numbers. “Miza? Miza, it’s Sen. I’m sorry, I know you’re busy— really, I know— but I need a favor—”

According to Nashiro’s final investigation, Torso had a number of hideouts spread across the 13th and 23rd wards. Tatara and his members of Chì Shé would cover the ones in the latter, while the former fell to Sen and the others. But there were still some places that needed to be covered.

“Is there anyone else that could help us?” Sen asked. “We need tough people, able to kill a man.”

Touka, who caught on quickly, snapped her fingers. “Apes & Dobers! I’ll call Kaya.”

“Great! Hide?”

Hide scrambled for his phone. “Kimi’s got a few rowdy volunteers; they’d break the law!”

“Hina?”

“I’ve, um… I could see if Mr. Banjou knows anyone!”

Calls were made, groups were assembled, and addresses were passed around— all in service of finding one artist who, apparently, could move mountains without even trying.

Then, just before she left, Sen glanced at Kuzen one last time. “Hey.”

Hesitating, he looked up at her.

“Thanks.”

She didn’t stay to see his reaction.

———

The next few days were spent in an odd cross between dread and comfort. Even in the face of his inevitable doom, Haise couldn’t complain about how he was being treated. The chains on his wrists weren’t going to come off anytime soon, but he was given limited space to roam until mealtime.

As for Saeki, he was a strange man. He didn’t talk much, but Haise sort of preferred it that way. He’d never been one to converse with strangers, especially if said strangers were working for lobbyists with a penchant for kidnapping and killing anyone who disagreed with them. Less talking usually meant less trouble, and it was paying off.

However, despite being fed regularly and never being touched, Haise knew it was only a matter of time before he was killed. Takatsuki wouldn’t come for him; he would have to try to escape himself. The problem was that he didn’t even know where to start. Besides some beams holding up the ceiling, he had nothing he could grab.

Then, one day, things changed.

Saeki came in at the expected time, but there was no meal in his hands. Instead, he made straight for the chain and yanked on it. Haise was forced against the wall, then secured when Saeki slotted a rusted nail into the chain.

When he stood over Haise, the neutral politeness he had exerted in both the taxi cab and over the past few days was gone. Haise swallowed.

“Y-Y-You knew,” Saeki seethed, teeth gritted, “didn’t you?”

“I-I’m sorry?” Haise was confused. He knew something? What did he supposedly—

Saeki’s foot suddenly plunged into his stomach, evacuating all of the air from his lungs.

“Y-YOU KNEW, D-DIDN’T YOU?!” Saeki repeated, much louder this time. “You sick fucking freak— you knew! YOU KNEW!!!”

There was a scene in The Metamorphosis that suddenly came to mind. Gregor, having been locked away for some time after his transformation, left his room and incidentally frightened his mother, causing her to faint. Because of that, Gregor’s father stood over him, much like how Saeki stood over Haise now. After a moment, Gregor’s father pelted Gregor with fruits, with one of them lodging permanently in Gregor’s backside and beginning his spiral into useless, wretched death.

When Saeki kicked Haise again, he felt his kinship with Gregor renewed.

Haise gasped for breath. “What… What are you…?”

“About ^%*’s scars!! You knew she had them!!” Saeki kicked him twice more, hitting the solar plexus with deadly precision. “M-M-Mr. Kaiko told me!! So why didn’t— why didn’t you tell me?! Why did you keep that away from me?!”

Takatsuki’s scars? How had Saeki found out about that? She was always so careful about concealing them; she’d only ever shown them to him, as far as he knew… Had she lied to him? Had she simply pitied him and shared an open secret? Just his luck, and just like him. Always ignorant to others, and only thinking of himself.

Still, in the face of that ugly truth, he fought for his life. “I… I didn’t know…”

“LIAR!!” Another kick, this one to his head. White flashed across his vision. He thought he heard something crack. “YOU’RE A MAN, AND SHE’S A WOMAN!!! WHAT ELSE CAN YOU DO BUT LOVE HER?! WHY WOULDN’T SHE TELL YOU?!”

Another kick, then another. The face, the chest, the diaphragm, the legs, his face. It was a familiar feeling. Haise couldn’t even begin to decipher why this was happening, not with his head throbbing and breath straining as they were. As the assault continued with no end in sight, Haise shrank away, and Ken Kaneki, a small and pathetic child, rose back to the surface.

His ears rang. His jaw was sore. His head throbbed, pounding and deafening the room with pain.

Kaneki remembered begging for his mother, his aunt, and his uncle to stop, but they wouldn’t, and so he stopped begging. Stopped asking. Stopped being selfish. He patiently endured the slew of words thrown at him, existing to be hurt so that they could stop hurting. He was alone, and so he endured alone.

“I-I-I’ll teach you a f-fucking lesson!!!” Saeki yanked Kaneki up by his hair, making him yelp. “T-T-Teach you to— to KEEP ME FROM MY PRIZE!!”

He slammed Kaneki into the wall, forcing the nail in the chains loose. Kaneki’s world spun from the impact, but he definitely heard Saeki’s last claim.

Takatsuki was going to be his next victim, which meant this was—

“Shit, shit…” Torso muttered as the nail rolled uselessly on the floor. “S-S-Stupid thing, c-can’t even stay on right…”

Kaneki, slumped against the wall, looked up as Torso fiddled with the nail.

Tragedy was a thing born of inaction— The hero succumbing to their flaw instead of overcoming it; a poison being allowed to spread in a lake until it is wholly undrinkable; a small group of greedy people seizing power and then treating people like toys. Over and over, as a result of ignorance, arrogance, and bystanding, tragedy struck like a knife.

Torso pulled on the chain and tried to put the nail back in, but he dropped it and swore.

Kaneki’s thoughts turned to Takatsuki, as they so often did. Specifically, they turned to her stories. Though dense at first glance, he’d come to realize that not only were they deeply personal works, but they were also warnings. Warnings of inaction, warnings of standing by and doing nothing.

After this, whenever it was over and Kaneki was dead on the floor, Torso would leave and pursue her. She’d end up just like Nashiro, Mr. Yasuhisa, and Ryouko. Another notch on V’s belt, next to thousands upon millions of others. For each one, Kaneki had been helpless to stop, always at mercy of the great flow they forced upon others.

Torso secured the nail, tested it a few times, then cheered in triumph.

Ka— Haise wouldn’t allow it. He would protect Sen, no matter what. If he was going to die for her to win the fight against V, he would take any of her enemies down with him. It was the one thing he could do, the one thing he should do.

“N-Now,” Torso stood over him, raising his fist, “w-w-where was I…?”

Haise curled up against the wall like a cornered animal: wounded, afraid—

The nail snapped in two.

— and unpredictable.

The human jaw, supposedly, is able to exert up to 125 kilograms of force.

“FUCK!!!” Torso screeched, and stumbled backward with one hand clutched to his head.

More than enough to tear the human ear off.

“F-FUCK… FUCK!!! Y-Y-Y-YOU BIT ME?! WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?!”

With all the strength he could muster, Haise grabbed whatever parts of Saeki he could. Cheeks, ears, throat— anything to cause pain, anything to cause death. Even as Haise’s wrists burned themselves on his wrist, he had to do this. He had to kill Torso because it was the last thing he could do. He would die, and Sen would be free. He would help her, he would—

However, it was a brief encounter. One moment, Haise was reaching for Saeki. The second, he saw a flash of silver from the corner of his vision. The last, he felt unbearable pain crossed from one of his temples to the next. His vision went dark, and he collapsed on his side.

“Bastard… BASTARD!!!”

What happened? Why did it suddenly go dark?!

Why couldn’t he see?!

“The last thing he saw was the door of his room being pulled open, his sister was screaming, his mother ran out in front of her in her blouse—”

Something wet tickled his cheek. A liquid. What kind of liquid? Something smelled metallic. Something sweet. Like honey. Was honey supposed to be like lava?

“W-Wait… Sh-Sh-Shit! Shit shit shit! Did I—?! Oh, no no nonono—” Saeki’s footsteps stumbled out of the room. There was rummaging in a distant room. “B-B-Bandages, bandages—! Can’t let the hostage die—!”

“Aah… Augh…!”

Stumbling again as Saeki returned. “C’mon, pick up pick up pick up—! PICK THE FUCK UP!!!”

“— stumbling over the skirts she pushed herself to his father, her arms around him, uniting herself with him totally—”

“H-H-Hello?! Mr. Kaiko?!?! Hello, hi!!! I-I-I need bandages sent, r-r-right now!”

“— now Gregor lost his ability to see anything—”

“Treatment, medicine, a-a-anything! I-I-I’ve made a mistake; I’ve damaged him! B-By accident!!! BY ACCIDENT PLEASE!!!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—”

“H-H-H-He bit my ear off, okay?! I-I-I panicked!!! Shit— Please, please, I just—”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—”

“WOULD YOU SHUT UP! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!! I’M TRYING TO HELP YOU!!!”

He couldn’t see oh no he couldn’t see he couldn’t see he couldn’t draw he’d never see Sen again and

he was as good as useless she was going to leave he was going to be alone it was his fault

“— her hands behind his father’s head—”

how could he—

A crashing sound. Familiar, light footsteps, like a storm breaking through the windows and doors. Saeki’s voice.

“WH-WH-WHO—?!”

“— begging him to spare Gregor’s life.”

#blank canvas #writing #hehe font playing

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thehuggamugcafe · 8 months

Text

Forget Me Not

Summary: Winter. A season believed to be centred around parting; a season of separation.

But losing Ken is the one thing you can’t do.

Characters: Ken Kaneki/Haise Sasaki, Reader, Kishou Arima, Sen Takatsuki/Eto Yoshimura.

Relationships: Ken Kaneki & Reader.

Tags: Reader-Insert, Adoption, Mother!Reader, Black Reaper Kaneki, Forehead Kisses, Winter, Heavily Themed Around The Idea Life Is Like A Play, A Lot of Theatrics In This Scene, I Don't Know Why, It Just Sounded Intriguing To Me

Ao3 Link: Forget Me Not

Words: 4.9k

This winter is particularly cold compared to last year’s, you muse, absentmindedly dragging the tips of your fingers down the glass of the window you’re staring out, feeling the sharp prick of cold kissing the pads of your digits, zigzagging and spreading through your palm like lightning.

You wonder if it will snow.

It’s a thought birthed from idle boredom, but a spontaneous one all the same. You pause, the motion of your arm stilling as it descends to the counter to pick up your cup—white fumes waft up from the hot drink it contains, rising to dance through the air and disappearing quickly, fleeting—before resuming the action with a wry smile flirting at the corners of your mouth.

This isn’t like you at all, to occupy yourself with such trivial thoughts and even more meaningless actions. For as long as you can remember—and you remember a lot, the pain, the heartbreak, and the loneliness that you so desperately wanted to be rid of in your younger days—you’ve always been trying to accomplish something. To know that your life would mean something to somebody.

To your parents, your grandparents, your late husband, Hide, Touka and everyone else associated with Anteiku, with :re—and to Kaneki above everyone else.

“Like mother, like son. Selfish is as selfish does.” That’s what Sen—no, Eto Yoshimura had told you when you visited her in Cochlea. “You’re still trying to fill that lonely void, aren’t you? A feat that no one can accomplish, not even you.” That’s what she had told you through a smile that was as sweet as poison, pausing before tacking on: “Everything you’ve done all this time hasn’t been for anyone else but you; you want to have a feel-good moment. And yet you go around parading the idea that it’s for them, that it’s for your darling son. And maybe it is. But really, all you’ve been wishing for is for this insane circus act you’ve found yourself in to stop. For the pain to stop. To not let the loneliness to return, knowing that it’s never truly left you for a moment. To not feel powerless and weak. To keep dear Haise safe even if it means you die in the process—oh no, silly me, it’s Kaneki now, isn’t it?”

Perhaps, ultimately, it’s all been for you.

Everything you’ve done, every sacrifice you’ve made for the sake of others, it’s all been for you. Because you’re a selfish woman.

Suddenly, the brisk weather is all the more pronounced; the chilly sting of the glass and the way your breath fogs it up as you exhale sharply is more palpable. You hold onto your favourite mug a little tighter and continue staring out at the grey skies, mentally likening the lights of Tokyo to lit candles.

The scar that runs diagonally across your cheek a few inches, just below your right eye, decides to randomly flare up at the memory of how you came to acquire it bulldozes through your mind like a runaway train. And who had given it to you. Strange that that is where your mind chooses to wander. It’s not something you like to think about; it’s a memory you do your best to avoid dwelling on.

Considering how much Kaneki changed back then. How much Haise’s changed now. Did anyone else at the CCG stop and wonder about the recent 180-degree shift to the joke-cracking Dove’s personality?

The doorbell ringing yanks you free of your musings.

The melodic ding makes your lips form a smile, a real and genuine smile, the first sincere one that’s successfully pulled at your mouth in what feels like forever. It’s true that you aren’t expecting any visitors except for one; you just bought this apartment a week and a half ago. Most of your things are still meticulously packed in cardboard boxes. All you’ve felt like putting in place is the coffee machine sitting on the counter adjacent to where you stand, as well as miscellaneous plates and cutlery in the drawers and cupboards, your favourite mug among them.

You haven’t seen much of him since his request to be dismissed as a mentor to the Quinx was granted; it feels like it’s been years, centuries even. His courtesy towards you has been lukewarm compared to others at the CCG, giving practically everybody the cold shoulder, his conversations short and curt.

The incident last week, when a co-worker had accidentally splashed coffee over you during lunch, is still fresh in your mind. So is the way Haise’s eyes reminded you of a knife’s edge, sharp and cold. You remember the way his glasses shimmered beneath the florescent lighting as he glared at the unfortunate man who spluttered apologies at you, at Haise, looking ready to shrivel up and cry like a child.

Haise Sasaki won’t say it, but you know that Shirazu’s death has affected him and Urie’s confrontation hasn’t helped him.

A knock at your apartment door jostles you free of your thoughts, leering at it in your peripheral vision. You bring the mug’s rim up to your lips and partake in one final sip, setting it on the white marbled surface and approaching the door, fully intent on opening it and letting him inside. The closer you get to the door, however, the more a feeling squirms in the pit of your stomach. A feeling of concern. This is the first time in a couple weeks that you’ve asked him to pay you a visit. You didn’t dare ask him until this morning, figuring he must be busy with his duties as an Associate Special Class.

But now…

Smile, smile! If you answer the door and you’re frowning, he’s going to worry!

Yes, it’s good to smile, but don’t go overboard with it!

How can I not be happy seeing him again?

Even if he’s not Haise anymore?

Haise Sasaki, Ken Kaneki—he’s still my son, no matter who he is or isn’t.

What a time for you to question yourself—again—and to have a mental tug-of-war with you flip-flopping between certainty and a shaky confidence. You don’t even bother to look through the peephole. Your hand goes straight for the knob, unfastening the chain and deadbolt before twisting the round knob, pulling the door open to see—

“May I come in?”

Relief floods your face; the one before you is in as much monochrome as you are. You quietly let the tension that possesses you leave bit by bit, dripping out of your system as you open the door a tad wider.

There he is, in all his black-clad glory (inundated by death, you feel), Haise Sasaki.

“You’re early,” you say, stepping to the side and giving him enough room to enter your apartment. “I hope I wasn’t intruding when I asked you to visit tonight?”

“No.” That’s all he says as he removes his shoes, setting them by yours and shrugging off his black coat and hanging it on the wall hook. You breathe a hum and you know he’s taking in the state of your apartment as you shut the door behind you, locking it before following him as he stands in the dead centre of your living room. “You’re still unpacking?”

It sounds more like a statement than a question, but you laugh sheepishly as you rub a hand up and down your arm. “Not everything is out yet; I’ve just been busy.”

“I see.”

Silence is your answer, but he doesn’t press for a reply. Not that you’d expect him to. Ever since Haise “fell asleep” and Ken “woke up”, you’ve felt something was off. It was only after accidentally overhearing Furuta telling Haise that Yotsume’s—Hinami’s disposal date will be coming up soon that you realized what was amiss.

You’ve been caught up in a play all this time. Characters going through the motions when the curtain is drawn up, the audience allowed to watch and speculate what will happen next before the curtain is closed, the first act of many reaching its questionable conclusion.

Charades, theatrical plays, everything and everyone around you moving in such choreographed synchronicity that it feels normal. So disgustingly normal that you can’t question it.

Ui Koori doesn’t know, Special Class Washuu might not know—you’re positive that Akira Mado doesn’t realize it—but you’re certain Kishou Arima knows and has known about it before you picked up on it.

You saw the Death God’s face when Haise—Ken returned from his battle with the One-Eyed Owl, covered in blood like he bathed in it and missing an arm. Saw a flicker of recognition in the White Reaper’s face, in his eyes that set your nerves ablaze more than any of your fights during the Tsukiyama Family Extermination mission did.

You’d been ready, preparing to jump in and go to bat for Kaneki, knowing that you’d fail and fall, slain by Arima, acting on maternal instinct alone, fearing that he might imprison or kill your son then and there. But he didn’t. Kishou did nothing, surprising you.

But even being unable to understand the enigma that the Special Class is wrapped up in, you remember you were still on-edge after returning to HQ, juggling consoling the Quinx Squad (Urie had rebuked you, not that you faulted him for it) and keeping a silent watch on Haise whenever he was around you.

You’d gotten the distinct impression that he wasn’t trying to avoid you, not intentionally, but you quietly respected what he was asking of you.

“Give me some space.”

What could you do then but to abide by the script that was handed to you? You think you’ve performed your part in this maddening play well enough, sticking to the script that’s been drafted for you phenomenally that nobody can question if you’re fit to star in this obscene act or not. It’s for the best that you don’t slip up and you swear you won’t.

And yet you can’t seem to stick to the script when it comes to Haise Sasaki, the old one or the new addition standing before you. You can’t lie to Ken Kaneki, no matter how many fibs he spoon feeds himself, you, or anybody else.

Realizing that you’ve spent the past few minutes in silence, you clear your throat and address him properly, lips quirking at the corners. “Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?”

“I can get coffee for—” He falters mid-sentence, watching as your eyes narrow and you shoot him a look. One that you know he knows all too well. It’s the look of a woman who won’t take “no” for an answer.

“You’re a guest. Sit.” Your words are soft but firm. He exhales a silent sigh but he does as you ask. You eye him for a moment, watching as he settles down in an empty chair belonging to the dining table, turning your back to him and facing the coffee machine.

There’s already a black mug sitting innocently on the white marbled surface, a rich brew that you know is piping hot since you prepared it in advance of Ken visiting you tonight. You take the pot of coffee off of the warming plate, pouring the brew into the mug before setting it back where it was.

As you turn to look at him, pausing only to take hold of your mug to carry it and his over to where he sits, you catch him looking away from the window he’d been looking out to look at you, watching as you approach and set the black mug down in front of him before taking the empty seat on his left, setting your white mug down on the polished surface.

Kaneki doesn’t pick up the mug; he stares into the murky blend as if he wishes to be swallowed up in it. For once in the time you’ve been around him, you’re at a loss of what to say. So in place of your voice, you decide to take in the state of him. The bags under his eyes are more pronounced tonight; how many hours of sleep has he lost? Beneath the florescent lighting his complexion seems more pallor than it normally is.

Is it your mind playing tricks on you or is that what you’re actually seeing?

You don’t know. And a part of you doesn’t want to know. It will only make you worry more about him.

Suddenly, the longer you look at him, the more apparent it is to you how the colour black suits the Reaper sitting at your dining table so disturbingly well. You realize that the colour scheme you settled on for your apartment is no coincidence. White walls. White marbled counter tops. White pillows, sheets, curtains and a bookcase that you painted white for your bedroom. Black dining table set. Black couches and chairs for the living room. Black and white dishes fill your cupboards.

White and black are heavily associated with death.

The dance you and Ken have waltzed to all this time is one so woefully nostalgic to you: a dance of death, pain and loss, battling a crippling loneliness all the while. Life isn’t fair; you knew that from an early age. Losing parents you were too young to remember. Losing the grandparents who raised you in your parents’ stead early on in adulthood. Losing your late husband to a terminal illness. Gaining and then losing a child not once, not twice, but three times.

Life has been no kinder to Ken Kaneki. Losing himself in books because books don’t talk down or hit you. Books don’t ostracize you or criticize you because of an inferiority complex. Almost devoured by a binge eater. Getting pinned under steel beams and all he wanted was a nice date night. Becoming Frankenstein’s creation. Kidnapped and tortured only to turn on his tormentor. Tried to get himself killed by Arima’s hands. Woke up in a ghoul prison without remembering who he is, who he used to be. Who you were and are to him, or any of his friends.

“Are you okay?”

The question leaves you before you realize you’ve let it roll off your tongue. It’s a question that comes so natural to you, a born and bred worrywart. You see the hand reaching for the mug freeze, fingers clad in leather halting from taking possession of the black object. His body may as well have been frozen solid by the breath of winter; he’s as still as a statue.

For a moment, you swear you forget to breathe. Did you just say that? Judging by his expression—or lack thereof—you must have said it, even if it was partly an accident and largely because it just comes so naturally to you.

His hand drifts away from the mug of coffee, slowly, keeping his bespectacled leer locked on you. “I’m fine.” No sooner do the words leave him, his gloved fingers reach for the black mug again. A lie if you’ve ever heard one, and you’ve heard plenty of them.

To be fair, you’ve told your fair share of half-truths and fibs.

Deciding it’s best to keep your hands busy, you instinctively reach for the sugar bowl, fingers stopping when you grab air instead of porcelain. Then you remember where it is: on the counter across from the coffee machine. Sighing, you get up, shooting Haise an apologetic smile. But the sound of his own chair scraping as it’s dragged across the floor tells you that he’s already moving.

“Hey, I can get the sug—” Sasaki stops and gives you a look. The same look you gave him when he tried insisting that he could brew his own cup of Joe. But unlike him, you don’t acquiesce. No, you do the exact opposite; you follow him.

He no doubt hears you trailing after him, but he doesn’t tell you to sit down so he can bring the sugar bowl to you. He knows you’re as stubborn as he is. His hand’s just barely touched the sugar bowl when you stand on his right, exhaling a sigh as you shake your head.

“You’re a guest, remember?”

Before you realize it, your hand is raised and placed on top of his. The difference between your bare palm and the smooth leather is obvious, but you ignore it. You don’t know why you did it. Maybe you wanted to gently take his hand off of the sugar bowl, showing that while you appreciate the gesture, you can accomplish this simple task. Maybe you wanted to confirm that he’s here, that the Black Reaper who stands in your apartment isn’t an apparition cooked up by your overactive imagination.

“I can do this.” “For you.”

“I know you can.” “And I appreciate it.”

But then again, that’s how he’s been for the past three years, hasn’t he? Coming and going like a mist rolls onto the shoreline, there one moment and gone again when you blink.

“You…” You hesitate, flicking your tongue out to wet your lower lip, pausing to inhale before continuing. “You are not Haise Sasaki, are you?”

You know he isn’t. He isn’t the Haise Sasaki that you once knew; he’s just using the name. You know who is standing by your side. But you need to hear it from him.

He says nothing. The only things that answer you is the ticking of the clock hanging above the entry to the adjoined kitchen and dining areas, and the silence that seems almost deafening.

“…Will you care if I’m not?”

A tender squeeze to his leather clad hand answers him, but you tack on: “You’re still my son; that’s never changed.”

“But I have.” Try as he does to hide it, cracks are forming in his voice as it rolls off his tongue.

Your hand gently squeezes his, but you don’t relinquish the soft but firm hold this time. “I won’t deny that you have changed, but you’re here right now. That’s what matters to me.”

The breath he takes in is a shaky one, quivering noticeably as the hand you’re covering with your own trembles before stilling. Your eyes haven’t strayed from Ken’s face for a moment, but he finally is able to meet your stare.

“You’ve been chasing a shadow, a ghost of a man. A living corpse. A memory.”

The smile that curls your lips is a sad one, nodding at the Associate Special Class’s words. “And I’d follow him to the ends of this Earth.”

The florescent lighting overhead makes his glasses glint. “And if something were to befall you?”

A familiar prick of wet warmth stings and fresh tears pour down your face. “Come what may, I’d get up and trail after him.” In a whisper so faint that it may as well be carried upon the wintry air outside, you add: “Beyond the end of this world, if he lets me.”

Your fellow actor has stopped his scripted motions, lines he’s rehearsed over and over freezing in his throat, quietly waiting to see what you’ll do next. So, too, have you turned away from him, turning on your heels so that he’s no longer looking at your tear-speckled face. A foolish attempt, you know this; you know he’s already seen the wetness staining your cheeks.

Because you know as well as Ken does that you can’t perform backstage and onstage. Rather, you know that he’ll keep up with the charade for as long as he desires to keep using it, but you’ve not been abiding by a script that was handed to you for some time now.

And nobody can force an unwilling actor to play their part.

“And if he doesn’t let you?”

For some reason you can tell he knows that you’re still smiling before you turn to properly address him, slowly.

“Then I’ll wait for him.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

You don’t dare speak those words, but you know that he’s read between the lines that you’re unable to utter.

A pause. The stillness that fills your small, shaded sanctuary is all the more noticeable now, so deafening that you’re half-expecting a noise to disrupt the quiet. But nothing happens. Finally, after what seems like an eternity of waiting, he speaks.

“You’ll be waiting a while.”

“A song and dance I’m not unfamiliar with; I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

“My, aren’t you a cruel one?”

You don’t say that either.

“The breath of life is faint in you as well.” Eto’s voice makes you pause, swallowing a gulp that feels like you’re trying to dislodge a wad of cotton balls. “He may have everyone but a certain Death God fooled, but he’s not pulled the wool over your eyes, has he?” A bead of cold sweat drips down your cheek, your eyes wide and wild, gaze affixed to the one standing to your left. To preoccupy yourself, you stroke his leather clad knuckles with the pad of your thumb. “Should he go off into the reaper’s arms, you wouldn’t be long following him, would you?” The laugh that shook the caged One-Eyed Owl’s form made ice kiss the curve of your spine, made your blood freeze solid, made the confinement cell that much more cooler. “You know he wouldn’t survive your passing; it’s why you fight so hard to stay alive. You wouldn’t be able to live with the thought of indirectly killing your beloved child.”

No… You dismiss the thought with a shake of your head, pursing your lips to form a thin line. Ken surely wouldn’t—

He would and will and is going to do it. He’s attempted it before with the White Reaper, but he failed; second time’s the charm, so they say. Despite your silent mental protest, you know what he’s planning. You could ask him what he plans on doing, but you know he’d never tell you. Knowing that you know. Wanting to go through it despite you knowing what he plans on doing. Pining everything on the hope that you, his dear mother, and his friends—humans and ghouls—might remember him fondly.

It’s only now that you see why Ken was such a perfect fit for you all those years ago, when you plucked him from the orphanage and brought him home. Brought him to a real fucking home and nurtured him the way he should have been.

Ken Kaneki is just as selfish as you are.

“Do as you like.” That’s the answer you get after a glimpse of eternity of waiting. Waiting for a sign, for an answer from him. Nothing you haven’t already done before. You weren’t joking when you said you’ll wait for him as long as it takes.

“Insistent and stubborn as always.” Is what you think he’s saying to you.

“I will.” The smile that pulls at your lips widens a tad, betraying a hint of teeth.

“Takes one to know one.”

You wonder if he knows that is what you want to say to him. Is he agreeing because he thinks it’s what you want to hear? Or is it because that’s what he’s actually thinking? Perhaps after all the time you’ve known him, you don’t know your son as well as you like to think you do.

In the end, does it really matter? No, not really. You’re not okay with this just because of your bond with him. Your maternal feelings for Ken Kaneki and Haise Sasaki are both the same. They haven’t changed. But perhaps neither have his. You aren’t sure.

All that you’re sure of is that you wave your hand up and down once you take it off his, signalling for him to stoop down a tad. When he doesn’t do it right away, you tack on: “Please.” Unlike earlier he doesn’t sigh, his shoulders don’t rise and fall as he takes in or expels air from his lungs; he simply does as you ask of him, pulling his gloved hand away from the sugar bowl.

Ken’s tie flutters forward as he stoops down just as your hands are raised, cupping his face in your palms, your thumbs caressing his cheekbones with a touch as light as air. You catch his breath hitching, a noise that you and he both know you’ve heard. You see his lashes fluttering but his eyes don’t slide shut, not fully; you see a sliver of white and grey peeking through his half-lidded gaze.

One hand drops to trace the curve of his jaw, noting that for once, there’s no tension before returning to cup the cheek you neglected in your hand.

“You’ve grown so well.”

A compliment for one who spends his time kicking himself for simply existing, but as far as you’re concerned, you’re holding your dearest treasure.

You pretend not to feel the renewed onslaught of tears budding, pricking at your vision like hot needles. You feign ignorance and deny many things.

You pretend not to notice the sadness in Ken’s gaze as he watches you as you’re watching him.

You pretend not to notice the way his crown wrinkles ever so slightly for a moment, worry lines creasing his skin. There and gone in the blink of an eye, as if they were never there.

You deny that the memory of the same hands that hold his face were crushed by Jason is haunting you, back when Ken still worked at Anteiku.

You deny that you’re touching Ken to familiarize yourself with how he feels, imprinting a memory of him into your mind to keep it behind lock and key.

You deny that you’re worried that he’ll end up doing what you know he’s thinking of doing.

You’ve climbed a rugged, impossibly tall mountain on bloodied hands and feet to stand by Ken’s side; what else is there for you to fear, besides Kishou Arima himself?

You know the answer to that question, of course. You just choose not to acknowledge it.

Still cradling Kaneki’s face in your hands, you press your lips to his forehead. And like the last piece of a puzzle is set into place to complete a picture, it feels like everything makes sense. The violent, thrashing waves of a raging sea are slowly calmed. Everything that’s happened up to now is clear, pristine.

Ken’s first night in your home. The first time you cooked his favourite meal. The first time he called you “mom.” Hide befriending Kaneki. Rize Kamishiro. Dr. Kanou. Touka. Ryoko and Hinami. Nishiki. Tsukiyama. Yomo. Yoshimura. Banjo. When he was taken by Aogiri. His first death. Haise Sasaki. Akira Mado. Kishou Arima. Shirazu. Urie. Saiko. Mutsuki. The CCG. The Washuu. Seidou. Furuta. The organization V. His second death—

“You’re crying.”

Ken’s voice makes you snap back to reality, opening your eyes (you didn’t realize you’d closed them) and his stare locking with yours. You’re smiling as you lean back, even though you don’t want to. You breathe a laugh but there’s nothing to chuckle at. You nod, but you don’t know why. You don’t—can’t—muster up a verbal reply, so non-verbal cues are all that you have to fall back on for now.

Your hands slip away from his face, eyes still leaking tears and a smile still pulling on your mouth. You raise a hand, wiping your wet eyes on the crook of your knuckles. “Oh, I just remembered something!” You spin on your heels, crossing the bare floor and approaching the cabinet where you store miscellaneous items, pulling out the top left-hand drawer. You take out a little box encased in black velvet, shutting the drawer. Turning to face Ken once more, you walk back to him, holding out the small box in both hands.

He looks down at the box, then back up at you, blinking once. “What’s this?”

“You didn’t think I’d forget your birthday, did you?”

Silence is golden, so they say. Silence is what answers you because all Kaneki does is stare at you. “I, ah.” Shifting your feet, flicking your eyes around and looking at nothing in particular before looking back at the black-clad young man standing before you, smiling sheepishly. “I wasn’t sure what to get you, but I heard great things about this jewellery store. And I know you aren’t too hung-up on that sort of thing, so it’s nothing fancy or anything. I just hope you’ll like it.”

Wordlessly, Ken’s leather clad fingers reach up and take possession of the little box, gently plucking it out of your hands, which you drop to hang uselessly at your sides. You watch as he gingerly pries open the box a crack, looking back at you anxiously anticipating his reaction before looking down at the box, opening it further.

“So how is it? Do you like it?”

Beneath the florescent lighting, a turquoise gem and your birthstone shimmer on the crown of the pinky-sized silver ring. Ken stares down at the box, blinking a few times. “That time I asked for your hand measurements? This, um, this is why. I wanted to surprise you—”

A sudden momentum pulling you forward rips a gasp from you, your chin gently knocking against his shoulder. In your peripheral vision, you see his free hand holding the box slightly aloft, not wanting to risk it falling out and onto the floor.

A breath escapes him, a whisper soft enough for you to mistake it as belonging to the boy he once was. “Thank you.”

You smile, raising your arms and wrapping them around his waist, tightening around him, breathing a whisper of your own.

“Happy birthday, Ken. I love you, my darling boy.”

#tokyo ghoul #ken kaneki #black reaper kaneki #reader-insert

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