A/N: I'm aware that there're other things that I need to update; calm your tits, I'll get there (eventually). In the mean time, have fun I guess.

This is an AU; they're not ghouls in this. Disclaimer: shockhorror, I don't own Tokyo Ghoul or anything associated with it. I don't own much really...

Also, gonna be OOC! here. Shiro!Kaneki

He smiled, all sick and twisted, as it sunk in deeper and deeper. Finally, he thought. I should've done this sooner! It's amazing.

Blood dribbled from the sides of the knife as it slipped further inside of the abdomen that he was stabbing. The dark crimson colour contrasted beautifully with the pale, creamy tones of the flesh.

Letting out a dark chuckle, he pulled out the knife once ensuring the incision was deep enough, and dug his hand into the cavern. The inside was hot and wet, just right for what he had in mind. It's like a luck dip, he chuckled with child-like glee hidden in his tone. When his hand grazed against something silky and squishy, he grasped it tenderly and tugged it out.

Laying in his palm was a glistening red organ. Most likely her kidney, he noted as he recalled pushing past what must have been her intestines to get that deep. His lips twitched upwards at the sight as got to his feet and made his way over to the canvas he had set up. He had a beautiful backdrop of the town from his window; that, coupled with the wonderful (to him; others, for some reason, disagreed) meaty smell of decaying flesh and bodily fluids, made for a very relaxed state of mind for him.

With the kidney still clutched in his hand, he raised it to the canvas and, like a fleshy sponge, spread it across the surface in broad strokes. In its wake was a lovely red streak. Continuing with brisk, even strokes, he began to build up his masterpiece.

This'll be the one, he thought with determination.

A few hours later, as the sun peaked over the hills in the distance and bathed his apartment in a soft orange/yellow glow, he stood back to admire his work.

"Perfect", he mumbled to himself. It was a gruesome recreation of the mangled corpse laying before him, all done in red, with blank holes for eyes; he had cut them out earlier thinking that they would be adequate painting tools. He had been wrong and, in his frustration, threw them against his blank wall leaving behind two distinct splotches of red before they dropped down to rest against his scurting board.

He walked back over to the body, the blood now dry and congealing, the flesh a sickly pale colour, and dragged it through a darkly painted door frame. He left the body there while he gathered his cleaning supplies from the cupboard to his left. He spent a good half-hour folding up and putting away the sheet that he laid the body on top of and scrubbing up any specks of blood that that may have escaped from the sheet.

After washing his hands,changing his clothes and putting away his painting, he walked back over to the body and pulled it inside of the room. Inside the room two tables stood next to each other; one held tools and the was bare. Next to them was a stack of paintings leaning against the wall, all dry and flaking (slightly).

On the top was his new one, still a bit wet, the red glistening in the artificial glare of the lights.

The rest of the room held nothing of interest; a few photographs of mangled bodies hung on the wall, nicely framed. On the opposite side of the room was a freezer with a glass door. The contents of said freezer were what he liked to call his trophies - rows of heads, all with the eyes neatly, professionally, removed.

Sighing in contentment, he turned back to the body he was holding by its wrist. The flesh was slightly spoiled on the inside, rigor mortis having long since set in, but a few good cuts for pleasure were still manageable he judged.

He hoisted the body over his shoulder and strolled over to the bare table where he carefully deposited the corpse. After musing to himself about where to start, he grabbed a specially sharp knife from the table to his left and raised his arm. He giggled to himself before he brought his arm down, already anticipating the sharp tug of ridged metal against stiff flesh and bone -

There was a series of three sharp raps against his front door.

Grumbling to himself, he set the knife down and left the room, closing and locking the door behind him.

He marched towards the front door, wiping his hands on his jeans before opening it. Outside was a male around his age (22, thank you for asking) with white hair and drab, dark clothes. His features were nicely proportioned, dark eyes with an odd red hue staring back at him dully.

"My roommate heard screaming and banging earlier. I was coerced into coming up here and checking on your well being." He had a monotonous voice, as if the very thought of there being any type of trouble bored him right to his very core.

"I'm fine, thank you for asking." He made to shut the door and found that he couldn't as there was a hand gripping it, keeping it open.

"Yes? Was there something else?"

Dark eyes flickered down to his jeans and then back up to his face before a set of thin, red lips opened:

"You may want to clean up after yourself properly next time. There're still leftovers of your hobby on your trousers." The strangers' mouth curled up into a smirk, the red hue growing more pronounced - a hungry, almost ravenous, glint to them.

Hand almost stroking down the door to the handle, the stranger grasped it and pulled it out of the other's surprised, loose grip.

Just as the door was about to close he heard a diabolical voice say, "I recommend Vanish. It's always been efficient when I've used it," the smirk prominent in his voice, coupled with a chuckle that sent shivers running up and down his spine.

When the door closed behind the man, he exhaled softly not realising that he had been holding his breath during the encounter.

Peering down, he saw that there were indeed specks of blood staining his jeans.

He's... interesting, he thought to himself as he walked back over to the door, unlocking it and making his way inside. I'll have to find out more, I suppose.

He strolled back over to the body. But not just yet. I have work to do. Grinning, he gripped his knife and swung swiftly, making a clean cut through the neck and moaning at the resistance he felt, eyes rolling back in his head.

Alas, the blood was already congealed inside and fell out in undignified reddish-black clumps.

Grimacing slightly at the sight, he swung again and shuddered in pleasure as the bone cracked and gave way underneath his powerful blow.

This, surely, was the best way to feel alive.

Right, so this one won't end happily. It's Kaneki/Ayato, yes, but it's purely lust with no deeper feelings. I've already written the next two chapters so they should pop up pretty soon.

-TH.