When I fought you on the rooftop, I was happy.
I felt free.
From my responsibilities.
From the shrouded shackles of a sweet dream.
From the burden that had been placed on me– the notion that it was my responsibility to play the hero.
I've been designated the protagonist against my own inclination.
Or perhaps, it wasn't against my will. Maybe I built a prison for myself without realizing it.
Whatever. It doesn't matter.
Nothing Matters.
I just want to die, that's all.
Die.
Die.
Die.
Die.
Haise woke up, in cold sweat.
It was silent.
Defeaningingly silent. Everything was still, everything was cold. Nothing was breathing; except himself, of course.
The Chateau was always warm at night, per Saiko's request. Regardless of the number of thick blankets she had been bundled in, she had always been "f-f-freezing" at night. So Haise turned the dial to a temperature that was less than comfortable.
Mutsuki hadn't seemed to mind it. He'd always just smile. Say nothing and wave it off.
Shirazu had complained about it at first but soon accepted it. Haise found that quite a few blankets had been stored elsewhere; Shirazu had said they were no longer needed.
Urie had often shrugged it off. Every once in a while, he'd say something. Nothing too harsh, though. Just a reminder that "needing' such a high temperature to sleep is pathetic, Yonebayashi.'"
He himself tried to ignore it. In his mind, as long as his children were–
No.
They aren't my children.
Not anymore…
They never were though, huh?
Nothing but a pretend family the CCG conjured up to keep me complacent in my ignorance.
I know better now.
Haise sighed and shifted in the bed, turning towards the adjacent window. The city looked infinitely far away. As if there was a barrier separating him from it.
From the land of the living.
Haise Sasaki had the eyes of a dead man, now; he didn't belong in that land anymore.
Now that his brain was running, and meaningless thoughts were polluting his mind, Haise could no longer sleep.
So, he trudged down to the kitchen and began to fix himself a cup of coffee.
It was a small kitchen, as he had no real need for one. Nonetheless, it was quite nice. The lights were bright and ambient. The matte dark wood paired with glossy opaline countertops added a sophisticated touch.
Haise swiftly grabbed a delicate cup and placed it down. He prepared the coffee itself, taking his time. The manager, or rather Yoshimura, taught him a bit about making a decent cup. He poured the steaming dark liquid through a filter, tilting the pitcher slightly. The coffee dripped from the tiny pores of the paper, hitting the bottom of the glass with little force. The pattering of it was the only noise that filled the house. After a few moments of waiting, Haise picked up the cup.
The warm aroma of the coffee filled his body and mind, soothing him.
He sat down on a black sofa, grabbing the nearest book. He was reading one of Takatsuki's novels. Her works seemed different to him, now that he was aware of her identity.
Haise no longer read the novels with the thought that the author was lonely and hated the world.
He read them knowing so.
He leafed through the pages, having abandoned his cup of coffee long ago. It was far too bitter. A waste of time, really. Although, Haise did learn that it'd be more efficient for him to simply purchase canned coffee; it would probably taste better than the shit he'd just made.
He couldn't help but think back to the green-haired woman.
Sen Takatsuki. Eto Yoshimura. The two were one in the same, and of that, Haise had no doubt in his mind.
Considering his position at the CCG, an associate special investigator known for being a cruel half-ghoul, he had enough merit to conduct an investigation on her. He could easily have her thrown in Cochlea, or executed.
But he didn't want to arrest her. Not in the near future, at least.
Because Haise was tired, after all of the commotion from the past week.
But even more so, he was intrigued. Who was Eto, the true Eto?
Was she a shy girl, wearing a dingy-pink mantle? A ruthless and psychotic beast with one red eye? Or perhaps, a goofy and spritely young woman who had found her passion in writing?
It gave him a headache. She had so many personas, which one could possibly be the real one? Or maybe the real one hasn't even been revealed yet.
Anyways, it bugged Haise that he was interested. He shouldn't be. That woman had nothing to do with him at present (although she was the reason why he was as he was now).
Haise shut the book closed, a sigh escaping his lips.
His mind was still as active as ever, and at this point, he wasn't going back to sleep.
So he opted to take a walk instead.
Some fresh air would do him well.
Haise exited the building and breathed in the crisp air. His apartment was close to the CCG's main office, but luckily, even closer to a forest park. He made his way towards there.
He tried to focus on the sound the gravel made, the satisfying crunch beneath his feet.
Or, on the way the trees swayed slightly with the wind.
Or, on the tingling chill in the air, how it slowly seeped into his bones.
Or–
I can't not think.
Who told me that walking in silence "silences" the voices in your head?
I need something distracting.
As for a distraction, Haise didn't have many options.
Well, he had one, which was to work.
Haise was confident that there would be a pile of cases needing to be solved back at the CCG. A pile of stupid cases, probably, but cases nonetheless.
Some incompetent humans often blamed ghouls on the simplest of disturbances; clear in his mind was an investigation involving an old woman and what she thought to be a ghoul rummaging through her garbage. It was a cat.
Although, those kinds of small-fry probes were given to lower classes of investigators. He'd at least have to receive an incident with a ghoul that had a name.
That settled it. Haise Sasaki was officially a man who quenched his boredom with work;
how far he'd fallen.
But considering the ungodly hour of the day (4:17 AM), Haise was far too exhausted to get any decent work done. He would at least need a few good cups of coffee to get him through the rest of the morning.
"What a conundrum," Haise whispered to the lonely sky. "None of my regular cafes are open at this time…"
He sighed, removing himself from the bench he'd seated himself on earlier in his excursion through the park.
Then he groaned, with frustration and annoyance, as he ran his fingers through messy, black hair.
Then again, I do know one place open right now.
Not that its one I could ever go to.
Actually.
If I'm going to die in the future, it doesn't really matter, huh?
Then fuck it.
I need coffee. They serve it best at :re, anyways.
(I will regret this, undoubtedly)...
Haise whistled a nonsensical little tune because he liked to whistle (but more importantly he needed something to make him appear nonchalant, in front of the manager and her employees… who now know that he knows. If Tsukiyama had survived, that is).
On that note, he was sure that the Gourmet did indeed live, he was nothing if not enduring–
To my extreme dismay…
After a few feet into the quaint coffee shop, and an annoyingly familiar chime of a bell, Haise heard a slightly enthusiastic, "Welcome to :re!"
And as Haise rounded the corner and stood in line of their sight, the same voice grunted with surprise.
Haise decided to ignore it and sat down at a table by the bookshelves instead.
Touka did indeed keep the shelves in honor of himself, there were rows and rows of novels he loved.
Speak of the devil, he thought, as the kind yet firm manager herself walked over to him. She was slightly shaking, visibly, yet continued to do her job. He almost admired her dedication.
"Would, would you like to order, sir?" she asked politely. Her hands were balled up at the side as if she wanted to say something but was restraining herself.
"Just a coffee. Black."
"Alright, I'll be off then."
She marched off and returned a few moments later.
A paper coffee cup was set down on the mahogany table.
Haise remained silent and distant for the duration of his visit.
He didn't know how Touka felt. He couldn't read the emotions on her face, or on the faces of the others.
Because he didn't look. He couldn't look at them.
Contrary to popular belief, Haise wasn't a masochist; he knew that he'd only feel pain if he saw their pain.
They were in pain, right? He left their lives. Then came back as someone who didn't know them. Then he left yet again, knowing exactly who they were.
He was the one causing the pain, for all of them.
So Haise hastily left saying nothing, a steaming hot cup of coffee in his hand.
It was claustrophobic in there.
I hate it.
Why do I have to be such a fool?
I hate it.
I hate it.
I hate it.
I refused to live as a dream… this is the pain that comes with it.
I envy you, Haise Sasaki, with that pretend family of yours.
I still wonder, though. Am I Haise Sasaki? Am I the one I envy?
Am I Ken Kaneki?
Am I both?
Am I the reaper?
I hate thinking.
It was a bit over 4:40, and Haise had around a quarter of an hour to kill.
So, obviously, he went to his favorite bookstore– somehow, it was 24-hour… which confused Haise to no end, but, he was thankful for it. Not to mention the fact that it stood a whopping 7 feet away from both his apartment and the CCG's main office (his life was far too convenient).
Haise was a man who could easily waste 15 mere minutes thinking about pure idiocracy.
But thinking was what he had been trying to avoid in the first place.
Reading would be a much better thing to do.
Haise entered the shop and made a beeline to the bookshelves, ignoring everything else. Some holiday decorations caught his peripheral, and he couldn't help but wonder why people celebrated so early. Not that that mattered, though. Haise browsed the books, finally choosing one he'd never heard of.
It was called Encapsulating Nightmare by Hosama Kuroki. He'd began to read the first lines of the book when he noticed a growing shadow over the yellowed pages.
He looked up from the rim of his glasses briefly,
then frantically.
Leaning over him was her.
Her.
No.
Fuckin.
Way.
Prologue ... The Reaper is a Bored and Mournful Man.
