A/N: Shitty one shot that's super vague and super short (wtf this it's like less than 1000 words) as I try to be artsy with my writing blah. I seriously haven't written in like a month so here we go with this ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Btw this stemmed from like too much Hidekane angst. Though, as usual with my stories, the pairing kinda gets second light because aHA what

Also overuse of parenthanese wow I suck

Last thing; Spoilers for Tokyo Ghoul manga ending and some of Tokyo Ghoul:re

He's choking in his own deplorable disparity. He feels the warmth, but it's not what it should be. Pure heat emits from an open wound. The blood on his tongue is sweet, like the nectarine for the gods. This is a euphoria that no human could ever grasp. Flesh swirls with the muscles of his shoulder. He's never been more satisfied.

( He's choking on his own deplorable disparity. It's raw, heat emitting from an open wound. The blood on his tongue is bitter. Too bitter to belong to such a sunny persona. But that may be the kick. This was a barrier he knew not to cross. And now he was being punished by his own senses. He's never been more pathetic. )

He can't seem to find where his morality is hidden. It's there- he knows it. It's just misplaced. His teeth sink in again. Red stained his cheeks, though he knew the color was always there as well. He blinks and sees nothing. His eye itches. He takes another bite.

( He can't seem to find where his own morality is hidden. It may be gone for good. He doesn't want to believe it though. His teeth sink in again. Red taints the canvas, already painted scarlet. What difference does it make? His eye itches. He takes another bite, wishing he could stop. )

He's wondering how long he's been like this. Perhaps from birth, almost as if his life was doomed from the start. No- it's not. He didn't ask to be created- he didn't want this kind of story. He wonders now how long he's been eating. A child drinks from his mother's bosom. And an adult eats from their own pitiful hand. When did he grow up? It passed by so fast. He tries to reminisce, but it may be too late. Grey replaces the light. He thinks in simple thoughts. It's very dim now. I'm hungry. I think I'll sleep. But just one more. One more bite. I want to be satisfied. I feel really empty. When I eat, I feel happy.

( He's wondering how long he's been lying. Perhaps from birth, almost as if he knew of nothing else. Yes- how true. He didn't ask to be created- he didn't want this kind of life. A childhood of trauma, an adulthood of never ending calamity. As either a child or an adult, he's always knew this world is one that tramples on the helpless. So he pretends he's strong. He thinks in simple thoughts. It's very dim now. My mommy beat me. My daddy perished. But just one more. I want one more dream. I want to be satisfied. Why can't I be satisfied? When I lie, I think I'm happy. )

He's crying when he feels the shaky pat. It was strong at first- now it began sinking. The fingers stiffened, desperately trying to lace around his blacken back. There wasn't anything to hold onto though. The hand falls. He thinks he can ignore this now. The growing feelings of regret bubbling in his chest. He wants to stay like this. In this fabricated Eden. The hand tries again. It wraps around his shoulders and doesn't want to let go.

Neither does he.

( He's sobbing when he feels the shaky pat. It's was strong at first- but like everything else, soon diminished and evaporated. The fingers stiffened, desperately trying to lace around his blacken back. There wasn't anything to hold onto though. The hand leaves his presence. He panics inwardly. Where did it go? The growing feelings of regret feel like their about to burst. He can't control it. This fabricated Eden. The hand tries again. It wraps around his shoulders, but he shrugs it off.

He needed to let go. )

He's blinking away the billowing tears. His mind is spinning as he soaks in reality. He won't remember this. He doesn't want to. So he won't. In his arms is something. He can't tell what it's supposed to be anymore. He thinks he has an idea, but it's too painful to surface. And he doesn't want to suffer anymore. It's selfish, he acknowledges that. But it wouldn't matter anyway.

( He's blinking away billowing tears. They won't stop. He refused to accept this. So he does it again. He lies. In his arms is something. He sees the bright locks, the clear face. He saturates every detail he can. Just so he can lie about it later. Because it won't matter anyway. He's going to- )

There's still joy in the features. A stretched smile is tainted with blood. There are crinkles around the eyes. There's soft breathing and muttering, a fading "I lov..." He covers his ears- he's heard it once and that was enough. He can feel himself reanimating. There's a literal hole in his side healing up.

( -die- )

He slithers away. The water he's in is horrifyingly revolting. Though, it pales in comparison to- well- everything else. The smiling figure is getting father away. He can see red drifting around the liquid's edge. It's leaving the body, just as he is. He finally turns and stands.

He wobbles out to his own demise.

( -at the hands of a reaper. )

( He opens his eyes in an unfamiliar place. He feels heat emit from an open cavity. His head is bleeding onto the strands of his mixed hair. He was supposed to be gone already. Dead, traveling to the same purgatory as the body he left at the sewers. But instead he looks up at the duel eyes of a cruel goddess. She smiles in a twisted way and sings to his ringing ears, "My~ My~ Just woken up and already shedding blood?" )