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The Ghoul Lullaby

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caroandlyn

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1

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"I'm pregnant," is the first thing Mado Akira, age nineteen-and-a-half, says to Arima Kishou, her twenty-seven year old contemporary, one early April morning. "And you're the father."

Had anybody listened in to the conversation—which they did not, as Akira had specifically chosen a time range that guaranteed their utmost privacy—they would have been shocked speechless: first, by the declaration itself, as the very thought of Arima Kishou procreating was simply too much to handle for some; and also because of the stiff formality that the two use to refer to each other, despite the allusions to their intimate relationship. There is no body contact with them, no glances hurriedly sneaked at each other when no-body is looking—it is all strictly professional, as blank and sterile as the empty halls of their workplace.

"I see," Arima says, and pushes his spectacles up the bridge of his nose in an imitation of deep thought. "And what would you like me to do about it? I can pay for the abortion, if that is what you are asking me to do—"

"No," says Akira, crossing her arms. "I have decided on keeping it—him. I just thought fit for you to know, as half of this child will be made up of you." She pats her stomach—still flat, although the barest hint of a bulge is visible—in emphasis, and then, as if suddenly aware of her unprofessional actions, jerks her arm away so that it rests demurely at the curve of her hip. "I will be requesting Maternity Leave from the CCG soon. Please prepare the paperwork."

Arima stares at her, pale grey eyes glinting in the dim cubicle lighting. "Do you know what choosing this path will do?" he asks calmly, before turning away on his chair to bend over a stack of files near his feet. "You could die any second now in this profession, and your child will be left parentless, swearing revenge pointlessly against Ghouls before they die themselves. A fitting end to the tragedy, do you not think so?"

Akira stares back, raising an eyebrow. "No son of mine will every throw away their future for something so idiotic," she says, and her voice is firm. "Father wholeheartedly agrees with me on the decision not to abort. He will raise the child if I myself cannot. And others have agreed to become surrogate parents as well, if all the previous in line have been disposed of."

He laughs hollowly in reply. "Very well," he says, and finally finds the folder he is searching for, all but shoving it her hand. "These are the forms for maternity leave and transfers. Fill them out by next Sunday."

Akira takes the folder wordlessly, giving it a light skim before turning away wordlessly. The edge of her heels hit against the tile flooring loudly when she walks—clack, clack, clack—and Arima is so distracted by the sound that he almost forgets to say the thought fluttering on the edge of his mind.

"Wait," he says, and Akira pauses in her step, absentmindedly tucking a strand of pale blonde hair behind her ear when she turns to look at him. The dim lighting from the cheap electric lights that hang overhead illuminate the back of her head, casting dark shadows on her face. Her expression is of professional disinterest, discernible. "You have shown me your resolve as a mother. It would look bad on me if I were to slack off on my duty as a father."

He leans forward on his desk, sighing, and cannot shake off the distinctive feeling that he will regret this later. "I will take part of the responsibility for the child. Have you already decided on a name?"

Akira gapes at him, plump pink lips partly opened to show a hint of teeth, before her mind begins to function properly again. "He will need a proper name that will not connect him to either of us," she says firmly, "so I have thought about Kaneki, after my mother's surname, and then Ken, in the kanji for study, or strong. Or perhaps Sasaki, one of the more common last names, and then Haise, after my maternal grandfather."

"Good names, for children," Arima agrees coolly, before turning back to his work. "Thank you for informing me about this, Rank Three Ghoul Inspector Mado Akira. You are dismissed."

"Hmm," says Akira, an affirmative sound, and leaves the vicinity, the smile on her face stretching so wide that a ghoul would be envious.

(—clack, clack, clack—)

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