He does not want to think.

It hurts to think, and he, like every living creature, does not want to hurt. There is a void that grows inside of him and it grows bigger the more he suffers, it devours him from the inside and leaves raw, fraying edges, and he worries that if it grows too large he will tear at the seams and everything he stuffs inside will come tumbling out; all of the memories, all of the chopped off fingers and toes, all of the ghouls he has eaten, all of the red.

And he has to eat more, has to keep tossing things into the void—frantic screams, frightened eyes and trembling limbs, wretched, ugly creatures that beg and plead for life, but they have no right to ask for anything, they are at his mercy in his world and there is nowhere left to run—or else the void will feed off of him instead. And he does not want it to hurt, so he flees from pain with mouthfuls of flesh and leaves a trail of blood behind him.

Humans, he thinks, humans are weak. He passes over them soundlessly in the night, casting a fast-moving shadow that's gone when they turn to look, and it would be so easy, so easy to just reach down and pluck them from the earth like fresh fruit, to squeeze until the skin splits and the juice runs down his hands, sweet on his tongue and warm down his throat, but he does not because there are rules that he follows, rules he has set for himself so he can continue to exist.

Protect what is weak.

That was his goal, that was what he set out to accomplish. The weak boy who was dragged into Aogiri Tree's base emerged a monster with a bottomless appetite, a growing nothingness that gnawed on the edge of his mind and threatened to swallow him whole. He does not have to think, but he has to remember, remember the promise he made and the people he treasures, and that will guide him when nothing else makes sense.

He comes upon a worm, pitiful, soft-bodied, not fast enough to escape as he descends from the rooftops and holds it down with all of his limbs, and it screams and writhes and tries to fight him but he is stronger—he is a centipede—and he pulls it apart piece by piece, eating until there is nothing left to eat.

With his hunger sated and the pain fading, the void shrinking, he feels he can rest but he does not know the way home. Home, he wonders, where is home? Do I have a home? He is not thinking but he is remembering—warm places, safe places, quiet places, places with nice scents. His body moves automatically and he does not know where he is going, only that it seems like home.

It takes time, but eventually he reaches a place he believes is his, where he can smell his own scent; a nest, perhaps, somewhere he must return to each night, because he feels he knows it. But he sees movement inside, sees someone there in his nest, and he feels territorial anger rising to the surface. How dare they, how dare anyone take what little belongs to him? There is a thin, glass door that he shoves aside, kagune shooting through the opening to trap the intruder—the insect, the prey, filthy creatures fit for nothing more than to be fed upon—and he stalks forward to feed.

But the smell in the room is not what he expected. It is not only his scent, but that of another; it belongs to the shaking creature he has cornered against the wall. He wonders how long she has been here as he approaches curiously, if he allowed her to stay when he was thinking rather than remembering.

He knows, somehow, as he comes close enough to breathe in her scent, that she is meant to be here.

"Eika." A name comes to mind, associated with the smell. He cannot see clearly, cannot take in the details of her face, only the vague outline of her form from her body heat, but he remembers. "Eika," he repeats, uncertainty giving way to relief. Yes, she is meant to be here. She is meant to be close to him, to have his scent upon her, he's certain of it now.

He holds her. She's not warm enough, and he worries, wrapping his kagune around her next. He thinks he feels her shivering, but she is still soon enough, relaxing into the heat his kagune provide. "Eika." He's tired, so tired that he just wants to sleep for days, so he sinks to the floor and brings her with him, rolling onto his side and tucking her head beneath his chin. She makes sounds that he doesn't understand, doesn't want to think about right now, so he lets his eyelids fall shut and enjoys the familiarity and the comfort before he finally lets himself fall asleep.

Ken wakes up starving.

He's roused to waking by the smell of coffee and slowly sits up, groaning and rolling his stiff shoulders. "Good morning," he hears, and looks up to see Eika Ishihara standing in her kitchen, one ceramic mug in each hand, smiling tiredly. "How're you feeling?"

Ken stares up at her at a loss for words. He doesn't remember coming to Eika's at all, much less falling asleep on her floor. "Fine," he says slowly, "I think." She sits on the edge of her bed, and Ken goes to join her, gratefully accepting the coffee offered to him. He takes a sip and blinks in surprise; it's much better than her last attempt. "So," he begins awkwardly, "What did I do last night?"

She glances at him while she takes a long sip, then away, as though unsure of what to tell him. "Well," she says finally, "You broke in. I think the latch on my balcony door is broken."

Ken glances back at it and finds the door slightly askew. "I broke in?" he repeats.

Eika nods wordlessly. Her hair is sticking up at odd angles, kept out of her face by a headband, and she's struggling to keep her eyes open. "You came in," she says, "Pinned me against the wall, hugged me really hard, and then collapsed on the kitchen floor."

A bird chirps just outside of Eika's balcony window, breaking up the following silence. The curtains are drawn, but he sees bright light trickling in at the bottom; it must be midday.

"And your kagune kept moving," she goes on, massaging her temple with her free hand, "I think you were asleep, but they would slide across the floor or start twitching now and then. It was a little unsettling, considering most of them were on top of me or wrapped around me."

"I…." He shakes his head. "Eika, I'm so sorry. I don't…I…."

"It's okay." She smiles. "You didn't hurt me. It was a little scary, but I'm alright. I trusted you, and you came through for me."

"But that's," Ken inhales shakily, setting the coffee down on the floor because he doesn't trust himself to hold it without spilling it or destroying it, "That's not okay, Eika, what if I did hurt you? How can you trust me when I can't even remember doing any of that? It just takes one time for me to fuck everything up, and there's no fixing that, no way to undo—!"

"Ken," Eika says, and he reluctantly meets her eyes, "I am not afraid of you."

"Why not?" he asks hoarsely.

"Because I trust you. I trust you not to hurt me."

Ken shakes his head, unsatisfied by the answer. He didn't account for this, didn't think his fits would get worse and the gaps in his memory would grow. Ever since raiding Dr. Kanou's lab—a trip he'd pointedly never told Eika about—things had been getting worse. He'd come to his senses in the night, the blood of innumerable other ghouls on his hands and their taste on his tongue, but never had he gone near Eika in such a state.

At least, not that he can remember. The thought that he might not even know bothers him even more.

"You were counting," she mentions, "Subtracting by sevens."

He shakes his head. "Of course I was."

"It's not the first time I've heard you do it. Does it have something to do with Yamori?"

He nods. "I didn't mention it before. It just seemed like an unnecessary detail."

"Do you remember," she begins softly, "In The Housekeeper and the Professor, how the professor used math to remember things?"

Ken shakes his head.

"He could only hold onto short-term memories for so long but math was something intuitive to him that he never forgot. So he processed the whole world that way, and it helped him deal with things."

He glances at her, feeling himself relax at the sight of her small smile. That isn't why he counts, and he knows it, but he wonders if this could be a part of redefining his life with literary genres. If he can't rewrite the whole narrative, maybe he can just take pieces and reinterpret them. Maybe he can believe that he counts now not because it's trauma that's been carved into him, but because it's a coping mechanism, a way to keep track of himself and what he knows without thinking too deeply—get stronger, protect them, destroy anything in the way, the foundations upon which his new self was built.

"You don't usually eat humans, do you?" It's phrased like a question, but Eika's tone suggests she already knows the answer. Ken hesitates and then shakes his head. "You're eating other ghouls."

"Banjou and his friends go out scavenging every couple weeks," he says, "They bring back bits and pieces that we save. If I'm at home, that's what I eat."

"And that's human?"

He nods. "The same way we did it at Anteiku."

"But you don't usually eat at home."

"Hardly ever now." He has to look away, too ashamed to hold her gaze. "I'm not sure they even know. It just happens sometimes when I fight. I'm not necessarily hungry, I just think that…that I'll feel better if I eat." He glances up to make sure Eika is still there and she doesn't look disgusted, and as the seconds tick by in silence and nothing changes, relief washes over him. "I haven't told anyone about it yet," he says, "You're the first to know. Actually, I feel a lot better now."

"I'm glad," Eika says, gently setting a hand on his shoulder without the half-second pause this time, and Ken prides himself on not even flinching. "You can tell me anything, you know that, right? If you feel ready to talk about it, I'll listen."

"I know. I'm glad you're here." He pauses. "How did you know I read The Housekeeper and the Professor?"

Eika looks embarrassed. "Sorry," she says, "I found out from Nagachika that we went to the same high school, so I just assumed you read the same things I did."

"You two are talking?"

She shrugs, looking uncomfortable. "Now and then."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you between us. I still…" Ken shakes his head. "I'm afraid to face him. I don't know why."

"I don't know him as well as you do," Eika admits, "But from the way he talks, I don't think he'd turn his back on you, no matter what." She finishes her coffee and sets her cup beside his on the carpet. "On a more light-hearted note, your favorite author is doing a live reading next weekend."

"Sen Takatsuki?"

She nods. "I thought it would be nice if you, Hinami and I could go together."

"That would be nice," he agrees, but his smile falls when he realizes something. "It's not the weekend yet, is it? Don't you have class right now?"

She shakes her head. "As soon as I could detangle myself from you, I emailed my professors that I was sick, and that I plan to be back in a couple days." She cuts him off before he can apologize, "It's fine. I can afford to miss a few days without any problem. Besides, I wanted to make sure you were alright."

Eika's cell phone lets out a chime on her desk, and they both glance at it. "That's probably Tsukiyama," she says, going to get it, "He texted last night if I'd seen you, and I let him know you were here."

Ken stands from the bed. "I should probably get going."

"Should I walk you back?"

"You don't need to."

"It would make me feel better," Eika says.

Ken notices she's the first one to look away this time. "Is Tsukiyama having you keep an eye on me?" He doesn't mean for it to come out quite so sharply, but he sees Eika wince.

"He's just worried."

He almost says that it's unwarranted, but he catches the words before they leave his mouth, remembering waking up not so long ago, disoriented with no memory of the previous night.

"Humor me?" she asks, looking apologetic, "If not for Tsukiyama's sake, then for mine."

"I never told you about what was happening because I didn't want you to worry."

She smiles thinly. "It's a little hard not to worry now."

He sighs. "Fair enough."

By nightfall, they're back in the 6th ward. Ken sits on the couch trying to reassure Banjou that he's fine while Hinami and Sante start brewing coffee in the kitchen and Tsukiyama scolds him for not telling them he was going out on his own. Eika watches from the kitchen and tries to stay out of the way, smiling at Ken's irritated but grateful expression; she imagines it's nice to come home to people who care.

"Oh, Eika!" Hinami says when she walks by to get to the cupboard, standing on her tiptoes to reach the coffee beans stored on the shelf, "I finished Masks. I really liked it!"

"That was fast," Eika says, "What are you going to read now?"

Hinami shrugs. "I dunno. I'm out of books. I thought about going to the library tomorrow to look for something else."

"If you want something in particular, I could try to find it at the university library."

"Really?" Hinami grins. "Could you find a book with folk tales?"

Eika blinks. "Folk tales?"

"Yeah. Banjou and I went back to Mr. Uta's to get Ken's mask, and Mr. Uta told me that some Noh plays are based on old folk tales, so I want to read some of those now."

"Oh. Well, I'm sure I could find something."

"Eika," Ken calls from the living room, "It's getting late. Did you want to go home tonight, or would you mind staying over?"

Eika almost asks Banjou if he'd mind walking her back, but she catches sight of Hinami's hopeful eyes out of the corner of her eye. "I guess," she says slowly, "I told my professor I'd be back the day after tomorrow."

"Yay!" Hinami cries, throwing her arms around her.

Eika catches Ken smiling before he turns back to ask Jiro if she has any clothing Eika could borrow to sleep in. The house grows quiet after worry over Ken subsides, and Eika later joins him at the couch where they read in silence side by side. Time passes quickly and soon she's struggling to keep her eyes open, and she's pleasantly surprised when she feels Ken pull her closer, encouraging her to lean her head on his shoulder.

There's so much that isn't okay right now—so much they need to talk about and confront, all of the secrets they're both keeping—but for now, they can pretend that everything is fine.