My breath hitches. My eye lingers on his figure, blacker than black. The blazing of the quinque in white reaper's hand, the slight throb of the other one, meeting its own flesh and blood. It cannot be true. It just cannot be.
A familiar voice. He yells to my brother. Orders him around like an older sibling, like an elder of any kind, like what he could never hope to be. This authority, this self convincement, these traits that could never sit well along with the old frail personality I miss sometimes, now manifests through his new personality I've been admiring for some time. But most of all, this black façade of grim resolve could never comply with what I've been wanting, wishing for.
Yomo's bleeding. Ayato's in bad shape. I hide my injuries, never letting it show. Let them believe I've never endured any, let them believe I'm the strongest, the most agile of them all, the one they can always depend on. Let them forget I haven't been able to use my Kagune properly at all ever since my own brother had a taste. It's not under my control anymore nor would it stand for my defense like before. Those once knife-sharp fragments melt in seconds like snowflakes. Am I still strong without it? Could I fly without any wings at all? Should I believe this lie when I stare into white death itself in front of me, eyes opaque so they'd won't even see me when he tears me apart.
We make a retreat, but my legs barely carry me. For the first time tonight I feel small compared to these men. I feel frail, tired, spent. My femininity is showing, something I'd never want in this kind of situation. I'm seen as weak and fragile as I really am. The outfit is showing my curves, my mask is gone.
We're about to leave him behind again. Leave behind his realization, his acknowledgement, moreover his heart in the hands of a shinigami who's broken him enough already.
I hesitate, unravel, lose track of time in these crucial seconds. What should I say, if anything at all?
So I say his name. His old name. Once, twice, taste this sole word on my chapped lips. Finally call him, call the presence I thought I'd never be able to see again.
"Kaneki" Kaneki Kaneki Kaneki
"Kaneki" Kaneki Kaneki Kaneki
"See you later, okay?" it's more my wavering hope than what reality unfolds. It's more a prayer said by a sinner than a real getback from a long time ago. It's more a wish than a begging. It's cruel, as he notes with a lone tear in his eye. It's terrible, almost crestfallen.
And I turn to go away.
What I Should Have Said…
Upon arriving at :Re at dawn, I don't flatter anymore. I'm exhausted beyond belief; But I've got injured people to take care of. I brush Tsukiyama off roughly, harshly tell him that if he's got some spare time on his hands, he should help me this once.
He can make himself useful when he wants to. After the initial shock from coming back without the one he wished for, he was helping Yomo out of the bloodied clothes, washing wounds, making detour to our emergency fridge to look for something to speed up regeneration. Ayato takes care of himself, I feel it's still too early for me to touch him. So I tend to Hinami.
She's got a few minor issues, starvation being the worst. I treat some shallow cuts but I know she'd be okay. I brew the coffee strong, take charge with Yomo's treatment till he's snoring in bed. I don't take his apologies to heart. It's not his fault.
I fall on the floor of my room. It's finally over, mission complete. So I crawl over to the bathroom. And there I peel off my outfit to find gashes, bruises, cuts and dried blood sticking on them all. My regeneration isn't as fast as it was years ago. It'd take time, I muse. But it's okay. Anything is better than remembering.
The sun rises up high, but no sign of Kaneki. No footsteps outside the door. No shadow to cover the entrance sign, no low humming above a book, no shying away smile.
Not even a memory.
# # #
A month passes, I'm not even sure what to say, what is the right way to deal with it.
We've made some recovery, and I'm once again a student and a waitress and big sister to both my real brother and my adoptive sister. I'm once again cared for by Yomo, Nishiki and Tsukiyama. I'm once again so busy to fray the bones.
When the news about his death come (CCG take their time with these things, that's for sure), I show no tears at all. Of course they are all over me but I assure them there's no need. Sasaki Haise's death means nothing to me, really.
It's just that late at night, when I close up and witness the elusive secret closeness of Hinami and Ayato, who think no one sees them…Then it stings.
He holds her hands and kisses them. He is on his knees to her sitting form. His lips trace every finger, and he whispers in a voice I'd never thought he'd be capable of producing. Hoarse, low, caring, almost childlike, when he swears to make this up to her, to make amends.
I hardly swallow, almost unable to move. But eventually I take myself upstairs to my room. Sit before my desk filled with books and assigns to oblivion. I take the pen and stare at a paper filled with letters, but I do not see anything but white.
# # #
After a while, Ayato and Hinami find their own place nearby, so I feel less uncomfortable, as much as possible still being around Tsukiyama all the time. Yomo's back on his feet, so the shifts are a lot easier.
Male customers flirt with me, I take orders with a fake smile over my lips. I switch the TV stations to pop-clips and commercials instead of CCG news. I don't see many investigators around either. But every time someone flashes at the door with their trademark white coats, I skip a beat. Once I've even dropped a glass. Yomo's concerned and asks me whether I want to step down for a while, but I refuse. Anything is better than remembering.
# # #
It's winter then spring, but I still can't find the time to rethink this. Because I know I've done a terrible mistake.
But there's a lot to take care of: Nishiki's carelessness being the first, and homework the last. I order supplies for the café. Work over new menu with Yomo. Order new books to fill the shelves, ask for Hinami's opinion. She always had a good taste in books.
I also take tours to the city center with Hinami to pick up clothes for her. I do experiments with coffee. I attend to million classes till I can't remember or tell the subjects apart.
I can't stand their looks. I don't need their sympathy.
The days grow warmer, and one night after bath I try to look at my back in the mirror. I concentrate, like I've used to before. Something pricks my skin. It mostly bleeds over the moist white towel. But it's not a wing, it looks like it's hurting me on purpose. I reach and tear the biggest lucid crystal out. It only cuts me. I bleed and don't know what I should do anymore.
So the other day I take the train in the opposite direction after class. It's a long ride, and it's almost too dark when it stops at the CCG cemetery.
Probably the dumbest idea I've ever had. The place must be lurking with enemies, even if most of them are already dead. Don't they have ghoul detection gates there, anyway? But my legs carry me to the newest part. I search and search till it's too dark to even read the names.
I've missed my entire shift, and while Yomo lectures me about disappearing without texting him (He can't even read my messages, for god's sake) and other safety measures, I can't do anything but to nod here and there carelessly, without comprehending any of it. His voice is soothing, that's for sure. He grows tired and leaves me alone.
Tonight, in my bed, I ponder. There was this one tombstone back there in the field of silence. It was a white one. I've traced my fingers over the carvings. Now I know.
# # #
I know I'm the biggest idiot ever!
I just can't believe I've wasted my last and only chance!
Why can't I say one thing right to him, damn it all?!
Why do I always have to do wrong with him? Why? WHY?
Idiot. Idiot. Idiot!
"See you later my ass,"
I should have bid him goodbye that time.
# # #
I spill my coffee over the papers that are due tomorrow.
I don't even have the will to curse anymore.
I rewrite them, of course. I'm an honored student right now, or at the very least I'm trying to be. For what reason I can't even remember.
I greet Yomo like always. I've opened up my summer clothes, so I can appear in a pair of fair sandals and a dress to work. My hair is longer now, I have to clip it somehow so it won't get in the way. I wear this fake smile better than any mask. I wear it till it hurts my cheeks and leaves invisible scars on the insides of my face. I wear it till I can't recognize myself in the mirror. I don't even turn around the see the scars left by my treacherous wing.
Hinami brings another book to my collection. My brother comes to pick her up later, and he looks at me, looks me in the eyes, something he hasn't done in a lifetime. He says nothing, but I know. I'm his older sister after all.
I turn the TV off, and wipe the counters. I'm left with the silence and the consoling dark and a bitter taste and without a real purpose, not one I can easily see by myself. Only those around me pour meaning into my every action right now. It's good to be this busy, to have so many things to do, to be this tired. Anything is better than remembering.
# # #
Yes, now I can relate with memory loss, though I can't afford such luxury to myself.
Now I understand this choice of wiping the world clean, opening again the eyes that were already plucked out. Maybe the bars of the birdcage blur somewhere in the eternal white and you can laugh from your heart again.
Sometimes I play around with the thought of how it would be to not remember anything.
But the problem is: I think I'd only work out if everyone else forgets.
# # #
A year ago in Cochlea, the white reaper paced away from the tiding puddle of blood, where rests his former student.
Red amaryllis grow wild when neglected, you have to pull them out every single time if you want to purify this hard, unforgiving soil.
It's nothing so bad, really…he thinks. It can restart over again and again.
You paint white over the red and rehearses the lines again and again.
In couple of months he can respond to his prisoner-number and stop pulling out internal organs on hourly basis. Enough blood baths and rejected dinners. In half a year he'd read books and do exercises to keep in shape. In a year he'd wear the uniform again and lead men in investigations. He'd write neat reports, tell meaningless jokes, smile empty smiles and ask questions without suitable answers.
From the height of the table comes a change of perspective on your closest things, even better than the one that comes when looking down from a mountain. If you can see anything at all, that is.
What about the naming rights? Ah…Something should come up, eventually.
# # #
The bell the :Re chimes, and Touka's well-faked "Irasshasimase!..." fades. There are almost no customers as this day is rather slow.
She reacts well, and right on time, pushing Tsukiyama down the counter.
White coat. Black suitcase. Firmly adjusted tie. Neatly trimmed black hair. Glasses.
He is so familiar, yet somehow so different again.
She gravely hesitates when he finds a small table to his liking. Is it even wise to consider running away? Her feet are made of lead when she tends to him. She pulls out the electronic pad but doubts she'd be able to type his order in it, as her fingers can barely flex.
Her voice wavers, after long months of autopilot "Wh-what can I get f-for you…?"
"An espresso, please." He says with firm, calm tone. Familiar and different.
He looks around the place with admiration and at utter ease, so not fitting his constant fidgeting, the negative self awareness he used to posses in another life.
He studies the books on the shelf near him with a low humming. He breathes in the magnificent caffeinated aroma. She can tell he is spying on her affectingly from the corner of his eye.
Yet he lacks any recognition of anything. Wiped blank white.
"It's such a nice café, I'm so glad I took a detour this afternoon," he compliments when she sets the glass in front of him.
She nods, hoping her smile wouldn't crumble at the most crucial time.
She doesn't think she can move away, but he doesn't seem to mind. He takes a sip, and praises the flavor at length. She bows lightly, and somehow is finally able to limp her way back to the counter.
"I'm Yamamoto Haruyo, by the way. Nice to meet you," he says when she comes to see him off "I'm a CCG investigator."
At first she stares at him, completely stunned. But gradually she is able to pull the hateful smile again, pretend the unshed tears in her eye are gleam of joy.
Anything is better than remembering, ne?
"I'm Kirishima Touka," she bows politely again "Thank you, and please come over again."
He presents the most beautiful and reassuring smile she'd even witnessed, be it in this life or in any other.
"I'll come back without a fail, Kirishima-san."
# # #
That's it. My random ramblings after reading the last manga chapter. I don't know what to say…It just flew out of me in a whim, can you believe it? Normally it takes me YEARS to write down anything at all, but this…I guess this is what I truly feel.
I spent a lot of time lately thinking about the situation currently portrayed in the manga (several sleepless nights, actually), and at some point I wanted to examine the worst case scenario outcome I could come up with. So you have this.
Disclaimer: I own only angst and fears.