Title: "Yellow Light"
Summary: (I'm looking for a place to start, But everything feels so different now. Just grab a hold of my hand, I will lead you through this wonderland.)
"Ugly colors," he murmurs, reaching his hand to pluck a long yellow petal. It's waxy against his fingers. He presses it to his lips, closing his eyes and inhaling the faint scent of flowers. His eyes sting, his mind dripping in whites and reds.
Disclaimer: I do not own Tokyo Ghoul, nor do I own any of its characters.
Chapter: "Somewhere Deep in the Dark"
Hide's eyes meet their reflection, the mirror starting to fog at the edges from the hot steam of the shower. The sound of water hitting tile fills his head, a gentle rhythm that consumes him. He takes a deep breath of metallic air, nostrils burning and eyes watering. The hospital smell is familiar, too familiar, and his left shoulder aches in response. The short stub of his arm fills with dull pain as memories resurface, images flashing in his mind.
He closes his eyes, focusing on keeping his breathing even as he remembers the events of two years previous. His desperate plea to Arima Kishou before the raid on Anteiku; investigator after investigator being slaughtered by Ghouls; his journey through the battlefield of carcasses to find Kaneki, and severing his own arm in the sewers.
He scrunches his eyes tighter as the feeling of blood washes over him, as the feeling of loneliness, of being left behind, builds its way up, up, up until his chest is tight and it's hard to breath. Hide grits his teeth, trying to keep the sobs building up in his throat silent. He takes deep breaths through his mouth, exhaling shakily as he grips the counter with his right hand.
Slowly, he peels his eyes open, staring into his own gaze. He looks a million years older, his eyes no longer shining with the bright gleam they once held. His hair, once bright blond, is now a dull shade of brown, short in the back with bangs falling into his eyes, brushed to the right. He tugs on a strand gently. Maybe I should dye it.
Almost mechanically, he strips his clothes, throwing them into a corner near the door, and steps into the hospital's shower. The water is scalding. Hide's body tingles from the heat, the burning sensation calming into a warm embrace as he allows the water to glide over his skin. Hide turns the temperature up, and the burning returns. He goes into routine from there. Shampoo hair, rinse; condition hair; scrub body with soap; rinse hair.
He turns the water off, skin tingling as he steps out of the shower, grabbing the towel he set on the counter. He dries off, dresses in baggy pajama pants and a loose shirt, and leaves the bathroom. The hospital room is untouched, besides the bed, just as Hide had left it.
The four walls are tragically white, the ceiling is white, the bed is white; everything is white. The color burns Hide's eyes. White, white, white. He feels his breath hitch in his throat, choking on nothing, panic rising up. Hide drops his gaze to the smooth floor, glaring at the dull shade of gray, but his breathing returns to normal. Gray is okay; he can deal with gray.
Gray is the color of the sky in fall, when the heavy smell of rain lingers in the air. Gray is the color of the kitten he had when he was a child. His fingers twitch, recalling the feeling of soft fur under the pads of his fingers, pressed against his palm gently.
Gray is the color of cement, of footsteps tapping, of calming walks through the city with him. Gray is the color of his favorite comforter, back in his old apartment (It's no longer there; torn down and replaced with some local business. Hide tries not to be bitter). Gray is the color of his eyes, shining like starlight. Gray is Kaneki, with his small smile, gaze of silver staring at Hide.
He feels himself drifting back to the old days, slipping out of now and back into then. The hospital room is gone, replaced with tables and customers. The metallic odor turns to the tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The blaring buzz of machines morphs into a quiet hum of conversations. The sight of gray floors and white walls mixes to form a blurry image of Kaneki, smiling, laughing.
Hide smiles back, ignoring the pellets of water dripping onto the image of his best friend. His lips quiver, watching at the picture is torn, burned; the ashes drifting away like a balloon. His eyes, half-lidded and glazed over, snap open as the image returns. But instead of pools of stars and warm grins its mismatched eyes being pierced, of blood pooling down Kaneki's pale face. Hide's ears ring with Kaneki's anguished cries of pain, and he claws at his face, his neck, his shoulders; he claws until his fingernails break skin.
He falls like the sun sets; slowly sinking to the cool, gray floor (no, it's not gray. It's just another shade of white. Cold, horrible, saddening white). He clutches his left shoulder, silent sobs racking through is body. His eyes are screwed shut for eternity, and when he opens them, the stains of blood, of Kaneki, are gone. Anteiku is gone, and the hospital returns.
Hide watches the sky of black ink turn to blinding day.
He supposes, that maybe, he can't handle gray after all. Gray is just tainted white, not yet black. Gray is an empty stage, and if the stage was life, then life was empty.
"If I were a color," Hide muses aloud, "I would want to be yellow."
Gray can't be the protagonist of a story, it'll end up as a tragedy. So let me write with my yellow words, let me write you a blessing.
Touka visits. Her gaze is bittersweet when she looks at him, her smile genuine but reserved. Her presence is welcomed, but Hide feels his skin crawl as he realizes where he is. Touka visiting meant he was back in the 20th ward; it meant he was back home. It meant he had returned without Kaneki.
His words taste bland on his tongue, honey no longer dripping from each syllable. Touka notices, and smiles sadly at him. She pats his shoulder (his right shoulder, not the left. Never the left) and leaves, waving a goodbye as she closes the white door. (White, white, white).
Days pass, and Hide watches the vase of flowers that Touka had left him. Each day they grow tired, tilting down with gravity. The petals have begun to fall off, the plants wilting as though years had passed instead of days.
"I feel like I've been in here for years, too," Hide sighs, flopping onto the stiff bed. The sheets are too slick underneath him, and the blanket feels like cardboard as he lifts it over his body. The white consumes his body, and he desperately gulps down air, trying to slow his racing mind.
Time goes by slowly. Minutes feel like hours; hours like days. Hide's mind swims by quickly, though, his thoughts coming and going, never quite leaving his head, but being placed to the side. He avoids looking at the room. He can't handle the white; he can't handle the gray. The wilted flowers (yellows and oranges. No white, no gray (no red). Touka can tell what the colors do to him. She understands, almost too well). His hand drifts to the small stub of his arm, ghosting over the scarred skin. His touch slips to his ribs, the sting being significantly less painful than days prior.
He lets out an amused snort. It was comical, really, getting injured. He had gotten by without any serious injuries when he was searching for Kaneki. Only small scratches and bruises from his own careless mistakes. Now, with two years of experience as a CCG investigator, he was in the hospital.
Hide's left shoulder stings.
Again, he reminds himself. He was in the hospital again.
He can't remember much of his first stay in the hospital. Just the feeling of time crawling along, of deep aches in his shoulder, his chest; phantom pains behind his eyes. And the white. (White, white, white). So bright it had blinded him, to where all the white was painted with blood (his blood; Kaneki's blood; Mr. Seidou's blood). Crimson blood, ghost white jackets, moonlit white hair, bone white skin. The colors that haunted his dreams, his memories, his life.
"Ugly colors," he murmurs, reaching his hand to pluck a long yellow petal. It's waxy against his fingers. He presses it to his lips, closing his eyes and inhaling the faint scent of flowers. His eyes sting, his mind dripping in whites and reds.
"You don't look well, Hide," Suzuya states. His voice is light but heavy, happy but worried. His dark eyes stare into Hide's, and the brunet can feel himself smile sadly. "Did the Ghoul get you good?"
A pathetic chuckle leaves Hide's lips. "No," he replies, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. His feet don't touch the gray floor. "The wound is pretty much healed, just a bit of bruising. It's just… the hospital, I guess."
His voice dies off. Suzuya doesn't pester him for more details. Hide knows he relates, if only somewhat. The atmosphere tenses, as they recall the memories of the raid. Hide bites his lower lip until he can taste blood. He doesn't want to remember again. He's done remembering, it's all he's been doing since he was emitted into the hospital. Remembering whites and reds and screams and whimpers.
He glances at Suzuya, and their gazes meet. Hide can tell that Suzuya has been done remembering, too; that's he's moved past the haunting memories. He is not scared of deep pools of red and the endless maze of whites. His black hair pulls at the bland colors around them, capturing the light.
"Your hair is brown," Suzuya notes, snapping Hide out of his trance. Subconsciously, Hide pulls on one of the strands of brown hair, staring at it. "That's a shame, Hideyoshi."
Hide hums in reply, resting his gaze on Suzuya's black hair. "I was thinking of dying it again," he confesses.
"What color?"
"Blond."
"Again?"
"What other color am I supposed to dye it? Black, like yours?"
Suzuya laughs, loud but shrill. "Nooooo! Don't copy me!"
Hide chuckles. "Black is too familiar," he admits, turning to stare out the window. Outside is full of dark greens and light blues, not whites and grays and reds, and it leaves a hollow feeling inside Hide's chest. It builds up, up, up… Hide looks away, back to Suzuya's blackness. "I wouldn't look good with a crazy hair color, like blue or green, either."
Suzuya twines his fingers together behind him, stretching his arms. He hums in agreement. "Blond suits you just fine," he decides. "It adds a bit of color to a crowd."
"You're not just here to talk, are you?" Hide asks abruptly, hoping not to sound rude. Suzuya is his friend, but it's not like him to just drop by for a visit. Suzuya doesn't like hospitals, doesn't like to visit people in them. It gives him a sense of foreboding doom, so he usually chooses to wait until they're out of the hospital. Hide understands. He waits, too.
"I'm hurt, Hide!" Suzuya teases. He flops onto the bed, sitting next to Hide. Their knees brush briefly, friendly contact that helps Hide stay grounded. Suzuya lays back, spreading his arms to cover the white sheets, kicking his legs aimlessly. The contrast of his black outfit helps Hide stay calm as he looks at him. The white doesn't look quite as blinding.
Suzuya's gaze lands on the ceiling. His legs rest against the bed, playful aura disappearing, and Hide's shoulders tense. "I tried to get them to reconsider," Suzuya murmurs, "I know you don't like it here, especially since he's stationed here. But there's going to be an operation soon, and they want you to stay."
Hide's throat constricts. He bites his tongue. He breathes shakily from his nose. He has to look away, the black not being enough. The white bed, the white walls, the white ceiling all close in on him. (The permanent image of white coats, of white hair splattered with red. White, white, white). He feels himself shaking, knows Suzuya can feel him shaking, but he his body continues to quiver.
Suzuya's gaze is unwavering, never leaving the ceiling. "First Class Investigator Nagachika Hideyoshi," the title is strange in Hide's ears; his name sounds foreign, alienated. The name doesn't belong to him, with brown hair and a dull gaze. It belonged to the old him, blond and eyes full of sunshine, a smile always on his lips.
"You have been temporarily placed under Associate Special Class Investigator Suzuya Juuzou, stationed in the 20th ward, to participate in the extermination of the Ghoul Restaurant."
Hide feels sick.
"Welcome to the Suzuya Squad," Juuzou murmurs. His voice is dead to Hide's ears. "I'm sorry."
"Its…I'm fine," Hide lies. He grins, closing his eyes before looking at Suzuya. "I'm happy to be working with you again, Juuzou."
Suzuya doesn't look away from the ceiling as he hums pleasantly, deep in his thoughts. Hide watches his chest move rhythmically up and down as he breathes, slow, and calm. Sunlight filters through the one window in the room, the light seemingly caught by Suzuya's dark clothes.
"You're not fine," Suzuya finally says, his voice barely over a whisper. He meets Hide's gaze firmly. Hide's mask falls immediately, his smile turning into a frown. He closed his eyes, falling back onto the bed, his shoulder brushing against Suzuya's.
"I'm not," Hide admits, curling onto his side. He opens his eyes to find large ones staring back at him. At first glance they're empty and blank, endless voids. But having known him for over two years (just barely), of growing closer and closer, Hide was able to see the faint signs of worry, small hints of how caring Suzuya actually was.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Hide hums in thought. "No," he answers, closing his eyes. A small smile tugs at his lips. "This is enough. Having someone else close… it helps."
The bed shifts as Suzuya moves to lay on his side, facing Hide. He watches the blond with interest. Hide's brown eyes remain closed, but he can feel the soft gaze of his friend on him. He remains still, feeling at peace, his mind slowing with sleepiness. He hadn't gotten much sleep since entering the hospital. He decided to take the chance; he needed a nap.
"Thank you," Hide yawns, curling his legs onto the bed.
Suzuya snorts. "For what?" he asks in a quiet sing-song voice.
"For being here. You're a good friend, Juuzou."
They're silent for a long time, listening to the soft hum of the hospital machines and the quiet tapping of footsteps outside the door. Hide's mind drifts to old memories, his chest feeling warm with nostalgia.
"You're a good friend too, Hide," Juuzou murmurs. Hide smiles, allowing himself to drift off into slumber.
AN: What is that ending omfg. There was gonna be another scene after this, but honestly I couldn't bring myself to write it yet. Oh well. Btw I'm really sorry if I made Suzuya super OOC. (= A =) This is my first time writing for him.
Sooo, in this fic Hide has Leukophobia, which is the fear of the color white. He also gets anxious and panicky when he sees blood (or anything that reminds him of blood, ie. the color red).
On a side note, I now ship SuzuHide. (tfw you start shipping something bc of your own writing.) Sadly there's like no one else who ships it so ahahah I'm all allooonneee (pls help me)
Please tell me what you think! Till next chapter~