"You're here again?"
Touka doesn't look too surprised, honestly. She stands, crossing her arms and looking away. "He's in his room." He feels bad for not visiting for hermore often, but right now, Tsukiyama is a priority.
"Thank you," he says, smiling brightly. He holds a bouquet in one hand: white roses, pink carnations, violet hyacinth, and tulips. A declaration of love and a request for forgiveness.
:re houses its full-time employees- Touka, Yomo, and, more recently, Tsukiyama. There are others, of course, but he doesn't remember them. Matsumae, a woman who cares deeply for Tsukiyama, lived next to him. He can't smell her. She must be at work. Matsumae is a surprisingly wonderful kindergarten teacher for how little she expresses her emotions.
Tsukiyama's room is the smallest and the farthest back on the second floor. He doesn't complain. There isn't much he can afford nowadays. And even then, not everyone would hire someone missing documents.
He knocks. Waits. Nobody answers the door, but he can smell Tsukiyama within. He tries the door handle, finding the door to be unlocked. "That's not safe," he says to himself.
"Tsukiyama," he calls out, stepping inside of the room. The lights are on. A bag of laundry sits on the floor; the smell of Tsukiyama's detergent fills the air. He places the flowers down onto the coffee table and looks at Tsukiyama's sleeping form.
Tsukiyama clutches onto a still-warm pair of pajamas. Ah. He'd been unpacking. Must be tired from working overtime this week.
Picking up the bouquet, he walks back to the kitchen. A vase sits on the table, half-full with water and a rotting bouquet of hyacinth. Tsukiyama had gotten used to his visits and gifts of flowers.
The refrigerator isn't plugged into an outlet; the wire nearly trips him. He opens the refrigerator to check on Tsukiyama's supplies. There is nothing inside. He sighs, closing the refrigerator again. Touka had mentioned Tsukiyama skipping out on some meals during his previous visit. He's been looking pale and still hadn't regained all of the weight lost in the last few years. He can't help but worry. Having Matsumae live nearby should help... Tsukiyama is always willing to listen to her.
Now that he's taken a closer look around, he notices that the only appliance that is plugged in is the coffee machine. The pot is half-full, even still warm. He walks to the cupboard, pulling out two mugs and sets them down onto the table. Tsukiyama needs to eat more. He grabs the jar of bloody sugar cubes, putting three into Tsukiyama's mug. It'd be okay for now.
He grabs both mugs, returning to the living room.
The smell of coffee rouses Tsukiyama.
He sits up slowly, hair sticking out of place. "O-oh, hello." Tsukiyama yawns, covering his mouth with an elegant hand. "What should I call you today? Mister Sasaki or Mister Kaneki?" Tsukiyama says the words mechanically and warily, a hand pressing to his chest, as if remembering the time he was stabbed. Tsukiyama accepts the mug, taking a gulp.
"Whichever you prefer." He remembers most of what's happened in Kaneki's past. He remembers most of what's occurred in Sasaki's life. He isn't quite sure of who he really is just yet.
"Mister Sasaki," says Tsukiyama. He gets up and wobbles before steadying himself. "Thank you for coming over. Please make yourself comfortable. I will put away the laundry. I see you've found the coffee machine. Feel free to drink as much as you'd like."
Tsukiyama picks up the pajamas hesitantly, opening the couch – really, a futon – and placing them with his sheets and pillows. He begins to unpack the rest of his laundry.
"Let me help you," says Sasaki.
"No." Tsukiyama turns away, almost shielding his work uniform and his torso from Sasaki. "You are the guest. Please relax."
"Please," says Sasaki. His hands hesitantly find themselves on Tsukiyama's shoulders. He hopes the other man will be okay with this. Tsukiyama is very tense. "I want to help you, Tsukiyama."
Tsukiyama pauses. He doesn't step away from the physical contact, but he also does not lean into it. Sasaki drops his arms. Tsukiyama sighs. "If that would make you happy."
Sasaki smiles, bending down and picking up a pair of dress pants. They've been folded neatly, but they're still in need of ironing. "I'll hang these up." Most of the clothes Tsukiyama owns are just things provided to him from Antieku. The paycheck isn't very large. It doesn't help that he gives most of it to charities.
For himself, he buys nothing extravagant. Maybe a scarf or a hat for when it gets cold. Sometimes, he buys himself a book from a used book store.
A few books, tenderly loved, sit in strange places.
One is on the edge of the futon, in danger of falling over. There's two on the coffee table, forming the start of a stack. Sasaki finds another book on the floor by the pull-up bar Tsukiyama uses to hang his clothing. Touka had given it to him; a 'housewarming' gift she had called it, telling him to regain some muscle. He... didn't use it for the purpose it was created. But still, the gift didn't go to waste.
Tsukiyama's small collection is going to become a hazard someday.
"Tsukiyama, do you need a bookshelf?" he asks.
"What?" Tsukiyama seems puzzled. He folds and puts away the bag he uses for laundry. "That isn't necessary."
Sasaki smiles. "If you're sure about that..." He doesn't bring up the odd placement of books. It might look chaotic to him, but Tsukiyama has his way of organizing things. Sasaki is a guest, not a roommate or even a landlord.
"Yes, I am."
Tsukiyama returns to the couch, picking the mug up and taking another gulp of the scalding coffee. "Have you brought flowers again?" he says curiously.
"Yes. I put them in the vase in the kitchen." Sasaki notices the spider plants that sit on the window ledge. They look healthy, a few flowers blooming on one. "Should I bring them here?"
Tsukiyama smiles. "I'm sure they'll brighten up the kitchen." It's dreary to see such absence in a room. This home does not feel warm just yet. It's barely lived in. "They smell lovely."
Sasaki sits down as well, picking up his own mug. The coffee is strong, easily chasing drowsiness away. And cheap too. Always a factor for Tsukiyama's budgets. He tends to pinch pennies. He could barely furnish his apartment. There's a futon – a couch and bed in one – and a coffee table. The items in the kitchen had come with the room after Touka generously let him stay at :re.
It had taken a while of convincing from Sasaki.
After all, Anteiku was a place ghouls went to when they need help. :re is its successor. And Tsukiyama Shuu had been scared and alone, in desperate need of a rescue.
"You should eat," Sasaki says. He's insistent. Tsukiyama's all angles, sharp lines, and tired, bleary eyes. Touka doesn't know why Tsukiyama doesn't eat regularly, but she doesn't ask either. It isn't her place. She only lets him stay as a favor to Kaneki- to Sasaki. To whomever he might be or become.
Tsukiyama sighs softly into the empty mug. "I should, should I not?" he murmurs. It's mostly to himself. His shoulders curl in, as if to protect himself from the words. "Miss Kirishima plans out the rations carefully. Mister Yomo has asked me to eat as well." Sasaki doesn't interrupt. This is more than Tsukiyama usually says during his visits. "I cannot force myself. I still feel ill at ease."
"I'm sorry," Sasaki says. "I'm so sorry." He still feels guilty for the loss of most of Tsukiyama's family, Matsumae being the only confirmed survivor. The status of Tsukiyama's cousin, Kanae, remains a mystery to only Tsukiyama. Kanae had been killed and archived as the Tsukiyama heir. His sacrifice led to Tsukiyama's survival, but Tsukiyama could never learn of it. "But, please, Tsukiyama, you need to eat... To eat is to survive. Everyone would want that."
He hates to use Tsukiyama's guilt against him. His body is not his own. He owes so much to the people who had sacrificed their lives to save him.
Tsukiyama hangs his head. "I will. Just not now, Mister Sasaki."
Sasaki smiles, trying to appear friendly. "Why not eat together? Just you and me."
Tsukiyama laughs, dimples appearing in his cheeks. They're lovely. Sasaki wishes Tsukiyama would smile freely like that more. "Is that a date?" he teases.
Sasaki captures his hands. He keeps his hold loose, just in case if Tsukiyama did not wish to hold hands. "If you want it to be," he says. He winks, like Saiko had suggested.
A blush creeps up Tsukiyama's neck to the tips of his ears. "M-mister Sasaki!"
Sasaki lets go of Tsukiyama's hands. They drop into his lap. Tsukiyama remains flustered for a while. He attempts to compose himself, trying to take a sip of coffee, forgetting that his mug is empty.
Tsukiyama sighs, seeming to deflate.
"Let's go to the storage room then," he says. "Mister Yomo should be cooking just about now."
Sasaki stands, offering an arm, almost jokingly. He really would love it if Tsukiyama took it. Sasaki needs to earn Tsukiyama's trust back, no matter how long it would take. Tsukiyama did the same for him, long ago.
Tsukiyama looks puzzled at the gesture. "What... are you doing, Mister Sasaki?" he asks. He holds Sasaki's outstretched hand. Sasaki pulls him up, off of the couch and to his feet.
"Helping you," says Sasaki. He drops his arm, allowing it to fall next to his side.
Tsukiyama hesitates. "You know where the backroom is," he says.
"I'd like to walk with you."
Tsukiyama nods to himself. He leads them out of the room, closing the door without locking it.
Sasaki worries. "The lock?" he calls out.
"Ah. Right." Tsukiyama fishes out his keys from his pants pocket. It makes a lot of noise. The keychains clatter against each other. He locks the door, almost struggling at one point. Sometimes the keys get stuck. Once already, Tsukiyama had snapped a key. That day, he'd hidden the fact and slept on the backroom's couch.
Tsukiyama had once been the Gourmet. How such a normally gentle man was also known as the vicious Gourmet, Sasaki can't quite understand. It's frightening. He still has that cruel glint in his eyes when he is particularly determined at winning a spar. Recently, he does not express his emotions too much. Recently, he seems neutral and fatigued more often than not. Sasaki wishes he could do anything to help.
He is so guilty.
"What would you like to eat?" ask Sasaki. Tsukiyama likes eyes, especially pretty ones. He like muscular thighs too. Tsukiyama's answer surprises him.
A shrug. "It doesn't matter to me."
Sasaki wishes he'd be picky. Tsukiyama's form is growing gaunt. Previously, in his first month of living as an employee of :re, he had hardly eaten, just picked at meals Yomo had placed in front of him. He had hardly talked, grieving for all those he had lost. Things had gotten better with the arrival of Matsumae.
"Yomo's pick, I suppose."
"Yes... that's right."
They travel down a flight of stairs that leads to the back of the cafe. The backroom is open; :re is closed. Yomo stands in front of a kitchen counter, large butcher knife in hand.
It swings down. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Yomo cuts the meat into smaller pieces, proportioning several rations. The heavy scent of blood fills the air.
"Hungry?" asks Yomo. He's adopted some concern for Tsukiyama. Without waiting for an answer, he plops one of the fresh rations of meat onto a plate. "You can cook it if you'd like." He's been encouraging Tsukiyama to take up some of his old hobbies to some mild success.
"Mister Sasaki says he would also like to eat." Tsukiyama doesn't make a move to the bloody meat. Yomo looks over at Sasaki before picking another portion out and putting it on a plate.
"You look hungry, Ken," he says.
Sasaki nods. "I'll fry these," he offers.
Yomo nods, continuing on with his task. He'd wrap the meat in plastic wrap. He'd store the remaining blood. The bones will be picked clean and the marrow would be saved as a snack. Yomo doesn't like wasting things.
Tsukiyama wanders over to a wooden chair. It's next to a small table. He sits. He slumps a little. Sasaki thinks he might just fall asleep.
"There's some coffee in the pot," Yomo mentions, placing a mug next to Tsukiyama.
Without moving, Tsukiyama says,"Thank you."
Sasaki brings both plates, both bloody, to the stove. He turns on the flame and places the pan on top. He taught himself to cook human food for his Quinx squad. He taught himself to cook ghoul food for Tsukiyama. He just barely sautes them. The smell, he must admit, is delicious. It's rare and bloody. Sasaki's seen Tsukiyama eat food like this.
"Here you go," Sasaki says, setting the plate in front of him. He sets the other one across from Tsukiyama. Yomo has set some forks and knives next to the plates. Sasaki sits across from Tsukiyama. Tsukiyama stares at the meat.
"Would you like some, Mister Yomo?" asks Tsukiyama.
"No thanks," says Yomo. He pats Tsukiyama's shoulder. Yomo tends to get protective of those who live under his and Touka's roof. And, of course, both Sasaki and Matsumae have asked him to keep an eye on Tsukiyama when both aren't around. "I'll leave you two alone then."
Yomo looks at Sasaki. Slowly, he closes one eye.
Was that... a wink?
"Touka and I will be in the front if you guys need anything," he says, winking once again.
Tsukiyama nods. He picks up the fork and knife. "Thank you for the meal," he says. His eyes haven't changed. They remain his normal red. Sasaki think they look quite dull. The lighting isn't the best in the store room.
"It's no problem. I enjoy cooking for you."
Tsukiyama smiles, even if just slightly.
They eat together in silence, just the scrape of knives against plates. The sounds of :re's employes are far off. It's like they're alone. Sasaki doesn't try to push a conversation, especially if Tsukiyama seems comfortable.
He'll be upfront another day.
an:hope you liked the first chapter, this fic should end up being just over 50k and around 26 chapters. it might be a little longer if i decide to extend it. comments and reviews are appreciated