"Kaneki?" A cup of coffee spills and breaks, and his heart aches. Even now, he can't place these lingering feelings.
–Haise Sasaki and Touka Kirishima. TG:re.
Dedication: For Kaneki and Touka and all the times they've should've had together.
Note: Just swept through Tokyo Ghoul and all the chapters currently out of TG:re. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around it. It feels like it's going to explode. Crap. HELP. WHAT. HAPPENED. KANEKI. SASAKI?! MY CCHILD/huSBANDO?!11!1 SCREAM—…This also turned out a LOT longer than planned. Oh, well.
Disclaimer: I don't own Tokyo Ghoul or any of its characters. It's simply a beautiful manga/anime. That is all. Excuse me while I calm down. Just. *sigh*
Enjoy!
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These lingering, aching feelings are cause of my sleepless nights.
It's an itch in the middle of my back. They're always there, nagging at me, constantly letting me know they're still there, and I can't scratch it to make it go away.
My memories are that itch.
Naturally, I should want them to return. I should wish for my memories to come back to me, like any normal person would, but yet…
I don't want them. I never want them to come back.
Instead, I'm afraid. This is one of the few things I am absolutely certain about; I am completely and utterly afraid of my memories. The looming question is if I regain my memories, would I ever be the same person again? Would I be able to keep my friends—my family close by my side?
I doubt it. I really do.
For the sake of my life, I beg for them to be trapped away forever. True, perhaps I'll die without ever knowing who I ever was, but if I had protected my friends and myself because of it, I'll have no regrets.
Throughout my everyday life, I can feel that painful ache in my chest. When I drank coffee for the first time in my two years, my heart ached so bad I believed it would burst. To this day, I've thought and thought and thought about why it elicited such a reaction from me, but I've come up with nothing.
All I know now is that it's important to me. As small and insignificant as coffee is (my subordinates have reminded me all too well), it's one of the only things that brings me and settles me down in a comfortable peace. Unfortunately, it's difficult for me to make a proper cup in the morning, since I'm always so rushed! It's such a shame, really. Black coffee is simply so bitter and strong (not that I don't enjoy it).
I suppose it makes my trips to :re all the more sweet.
I'm making a trip there today. It's a pleasant Sunday morning, and, for once, I finally have my morning off. I don't start work until later in the afternoon. Everyone else took it as their queue to sleep in, but I'm certain my body clock is locked and set to waking up at six in the morning. It's not a problem, it just…happens to make me a very sleep-deprived individual. But, like I said, it's not a problem! Remember, I have black coffee every day in the morning.
However, I saved my first cup of the day for the café. I open the door slowly, making sure not to make too much noise, since the hinges are squeaky. The little golden bell connected to the door gives a soft, gentle ding. The place is empty, not even with a speck of dust to be seen. As expected, I guess. It has only just opened five minutes ago.
I—no. I can't believe I missed it. There's another person here, and it's the very…very, beautiful waitress. She's slouching behind the sleek, dark counter, wiping her eyes and making groggy noises. She lets out a large, stretched out yawn, flings her arms up into the air, and stretches. Her eyes squeeze shut in her yawn.
"Yomo? That you?" she asks loudly. I should really say something, shouldn't I?
"Um, actually, it's…" What should I say? "…a customer," I finish finally. Her eyes flash open, and in the back her throat, she makes a small choking noise. It would be rude to say, but it's honestly a little funny. She straightens her posture quickly, obviously trying to appear unfazed.
"Back again, I see," she states as if she's been expecting me. I would be surprised if she didn't—I've kind of been trying to come here at least once a week. "The usual?"
"Aha hah, that would be great," I laugh. She doesn't laugh as I have, but she smiles, and does so gently. She opens cabinets to retrieve cream, sugar and such, so I take it as a nice time to seat myself.
Every time I come, there's always this sad feeling about her. I've asked Tooru if he'd noticed the same, but he shrugged it off and called me funny. (Typical.) I wonder, if he can't feel it, can't he see it? Although she shows only one of her eyes, I see enough melancholy in it for a pair. I'm sure I'm not the cause of her sadness. No, I mean…I pray I'm not the reason she hurts.
The same ache always comes back whenever I see her. Whether it's a glance or a gaze, the pain is the same. It's brought me to the sole conclusion that she must've been someone precious in my past life. I'm just too afraid to bring it up. I can't face my fears head on like that yet. Yet.
I wait for her to make the coffee in a slow, light silence. One of the things that serves me a plate of peace is this place, and I find it proves even more so when it's just her and I. Because I come so early in the morning, it's usually empty when I come in, and that's true relief for me.
I'm not attempting to be creepy, but my gaze keeps drifting over to her, even when I forcefully look away. Her hands when brewing the coffee are so loose, yet stressfully precise at the same time. I imagine someone amazing taught her, or she's been doing this for years. Or both. Her dark hair hangs limply on the back on her bare neck, and the skin there and everywhere is pale.
"Ah, thank you!" I smile gratefully as she walks toward me with a coffee in hand. It's a delicate, white mug sitting innocently on a small, thin, and glossy white plate. "Alright, um—I'm sorry, but how much is it again...? I keep forgetting," I laugh nervously. Every single time, like a curse, I forget the price. I've never had memory problems before, and when I say that, I'm referring to my short-term memory. As ironic of a joke it would've been, I must resist the urge.
"It's 3.50," she replies, "but," I swear I see determination in her eyes, "I don't want your money!" Her voice suddenly rises sharply to a shout, and her words I don't want your money reverberate off the walls. Her eyebrows are slanted high in what resembles an odd mix of angry and determined. It's somehow—I don't know why, but it's somehow very—very familiar—
"You idiot," Touka snapped angrily, swiftly flicking my forehead. I winced and rubbed the spot on my reddened forehead with my fingers. "This coffee you made isn't even drinkable anymore. You've added way too much cream." She sighed heavily and ran a hand through her hair.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled. "I'm just trying to make it better, kinda like Mr. Yoshimura's! He's just…too skilled, I guess."
"And that's the truth," she agreed without a second's thought. "He's been doing this longer than any of us have. Nor you or I can make coffee like his!" She shuffled around impatiently for a moment and smoothed out the wrinkles in her clothes. I noticed she always did that when she was searching for something to say.
"Touka-chan?"
"Y'know what? I'm going to help you make another cup." It might've just been an illusion, but her voice sounded just a little bit quieter.
"Oh, thank you! You're too kind, Touka-chan!" I smiled brightly. I barely saw it, but a dark blush stained her cheeks. I could tell she knew I saw, because she socked me on the arm. "Ow, ow…"
"Come on, we can't keep the customer waiting," I swore I heard a little sunshine in her voice, "stupid Kane—"
"Shit, I raised my voice again. I'm sorry, that was…Hello?"
She stands in front me, her expression redrawn with curiosity. Her figure suddenly looks so much clearer than usual, and all the new details I've never noticed are rather blinding. Like the small scar she has the tip of the right ring finger, and the mark of what looks like a tight rubber or maybe a ring on the same finger. I see how dark the shadows her long eyelashes cast. Her pink-stained lips are dry and chapped. They open and close, forming words and creating sentences, but I can't hear them.
I'm numb everywhere, but the exception is a sharp ache in my chest that's never been there before. It's piercing like the sharpest of words. I speak for the pain and my lost memories and the words that have been on the tip of my tongue this entire time:
"Touka-chan?"
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Silence.
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No—no, I shouldn't have said that. My throat burns like I've just coughed up a drop of stomach acid, and my stomach feels like I just ate live octopus. It's disgusting, but this disgust isn't because of her or of us, but because of me. I don't know why, but I feel I've just done something horrible.
Her eyes widen hugely in raw horror. Her hands tremble like a staggering earthquake, and there's the crashing sound of shattering glass. I look briefly at the floor, only to have a glimpse a broken mug and plate. A bead of blood oozes from the scar on her ring finger.
Apologies pour out of my mouth, because now I'm sure I've done something cruel. "I'm sorry—I'm so sorry, are you alright? Here, I have a Band-Aid in my back pocket probably, er—I'm sorry. I don't have it." I sigh. "…I don't…know why I said that." It's just a name, but yet…
Tears drip down her face one by one, and then, all at once. Her eyes are glassy with a lake of tears, and the dam collapses with a tremble and a violent shudder. She steps away, her knees shaking.
She gasps quickly, and then she tries to hold her breath as she could stop everything, but she hiccups still. She holds a hand to her face to stifle the tears. Her other hand clenches in a tight fist by her side and it trembles.
I stand up, and I carefully shove the glass away in a pile to the side so I can stand in front of her. Her head is hung low, her hair shadowing her face. Was it her name I said? But, why would her name, out of everything, make me feel so odd?
"Kaneki!"
There's a sudden impact on my chest, and it takes me a second too long to realize she's hugging me. She's hiccupping quietly and murmuring something I can't hear. What did she call me?
"I told them all you'd come back, I knew it I knew it," she mumbles in my chest. "You asshole, you asshole I've missed you somuchdoyouhaveanyidea—" she gasps deeply. "Damnit, what the hell took you so long? I knew you weren't de…" I can't hear the last word. Her arms wrap around my torso and her hands meet in the middle of my back. Her grip is rather tight.
She murmurs the name I can't hear over and over, and it's beginning to sound like a mantra.
Since I'm there and I know she's someone important, I stand there rubbing circles on her back and listening to her cry. She stops talking and the only sound is her quiet sniffling. It hurts, more than anything, to see her like this. The sadness she wears shares itself with me, and it's painful and broken-glass sharp.
Out of all the things I've felt, this feeling of her is probably the realist feeling to me.
This time, I'm certain—
She must have been one of my most precious people.
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She's my most precious person...
A/N: Hope you liked it! Please leave a review if you did. I do appreciate favorites, but reviews just let me know so much more, ahaha. Thanks for reading! I think I'll be writing more Tokyo Ghoul fanfictions later. And. Yeah, I'm thinking of continuing this into maybe a couple more chapters. Leave me a review if you would like to continue this! Thank you, and have a nice day!