Wow, I didn't expect this to get as much attention as it did! Thank you so much to everyone who gave it a shot, and especially for those who left comments. I forgot to clarify, but this will follow the anime continuity. (Sorry, I haven't read the manga yet!) We're still towards the beginning when everything hadn't gone terribly wrong yet.
To both his relief and disappointment, Eika Ishihara darkens Anteiku's doorway for days to come, becoming a predictable occurrence in his routine. Every day at the same time in the afternoon, likely just after her high school has gotten out for the day, she takes the same table in the corner, gives Ken a little smile that beckons him over, and they talk at length about literature.
With each passing day, he becomes more and more concerned.
Eika has yet to come back with the same book two days in a row. She seems to read in rotation, going a few chapters before she "feels the need" to switch to something new. Ken can't imagine reading like that, finally immersing himself in a story only to pick up a different book altogether. She always says it's just a feeling she has, a desire to move on and get through as much as she can, and Ken doesn't push the matter, because she's enjoying her reading, and that's all that matters.
Because of her habits, he has trouble making her fit neatly into his literature-based organization of the world. She has no pattern, no rhyme nor reason to her choices. One day, she has an approachable and personable Banana Yoshimoto novel, and the next, she's reading the passive-aggressive descent into madness of Ryuunosuke Akutagawa. She claims her favorite author is Dazai and yet he's never seen her reading one of his books, which is fine.
There are two kinds of people who read Dazai; one of them seeks rationalization, cold and clinical analyses, answers.
The other just wants to die.
Ken can see it without having to think about it too hard, can interpret the anxious averting of her eyes and the way she pulls in on herself when she's uncomfortable as the movements of someone enduring something difficult. But he doesn't want to think about that, doesn't want to even consider it, because it scares him. The thought that he'll go with Yomo for supplies one of these days and find her lying twisted in a gorge or waterlogged in a canal after a rainstorm, that he'll turn her over and find her oval glasses askew on her face, eyes gray and unseeing, that he'll have to take her back and cut her into pieces and wrap her in meat packing paper makes his stomach turn.
He's made peace with what he is. He eats to survive like any other animal on the face of the earth.
But he doesn't think he could eat Eika.
He glances across the table at her as she expresses her love for Eiji Yoshikawa's reimagining of history, drumming her fingers on the back cover of Kappa—she likes to talk about the books she read the day before, and a bit about what she plans to read tomorrow, and Ken has stopped trying to understand any reason behind it because at least he can expect it—and he looks, closely, at her.
Eika has the kind of pallor to her that tells him she doesn't go outside very often. She's always wearing her uniform when she comes, always in long black sleeves and wearing dark stockings under her skirt. He wonders if she gets cold easily, because she never takes her jacket off. She doesn't shiver but she always makes herself small and sits with her arms close to her body.
She always smells good.
Ken doesn't have the knee-jerk horrified reaction anymore when he notices these kinds of things. As a human, he remembers that he didn't have to be hungry to appreciate sweet and savory scents that wafted by. Eika's scent is particularly noticeable, probably because he pays careful attention to most everything else about her.
"Someone told me I should try Souseki Natsume's work again," she says lightly, "But it's so light-hearted. It's not that it isn't enjoyable, I just don't usually choose to read things like that."
"You don't like light-hearted stories?" Ken asks.
She rests her elbows on the table and laces her fingers together, setting her chin over them. "No. They're unrealistic."
The book rests between them, and Ken dares to run his fingertips on the cover, feeling the indents of the embossed title. Eika looks down and watches his hands with interest and longing, like she wants to reach out, but she never does.
They look up at the same time, cheeks dusted with a hint of pink, smiling awkwardly.
"I guess," she says softly, "I don't mind something light-hearted from time to time."
Ken should be happy that his courtship is clumsy and that Eika is so painfully naïve that she doesn't know how to move things along any faster, but it's miserable. He feels a pain in his chest, like someone plunging their hand inside of him and squeezing their fingers around his heart until it bursts. He looks at Eika, and Eika looks at him, and he can't remember the last time he wanted something so much.
"Kaneki?" her voice comes out as little more than a hopeful whimper, and he realizes his hands are cupping her face. He doesn't remember when he did it.
"Sorry," he says, but he doesn't move.
He should say something. He should tell her that her eyes are beautiful, or that her skin is soft, but he can't find the right words, can't think of a way to phrase it that would do her justice. Ken is not foolish enough to think that he's in love with her—if anything, he's in love with the idea of being in love, of holding onto something that seems so human. He wants Eika so he can prove that he is not a monster.
And that's the wrong reason.
He finally pulls his hands away. "Sorry," he says again, and the word comes out much more firm than before, "I wasn't thinking."
He expects disappointment. He doesn't expect her to look quite so crushed.
"It's," she bites her lip, "It's alright." Something about her face is different. She looks like she's just remembered something that she'd spent the last few days forgetting, something she would've rather gone on not knowing. "It's late. I should go."
Ken chokes back the desperate "wait!" that wants to come out, giving a simple nod and a strained smile, watching her scoop her book up and hold it to her chest, the book that he touched, and holds the door open for her to scurry out of without so much as a glance back.
It was the right thing to do, he thinks.
And yet, it feels so wrong.
Ken stays late to help clean up and give himself something else to think about. He thinks everyone must have seen him earlier with Eika, because they're all giving him space and carefully not asking about her. Even Touka, now well-versed in the art of balancing two lives, holds her tongue despite all of the words he sees bubbling at the surface, halfway between scolding and reassuring, wanting to pull him aside and tell him not to worry about it, but she doesn't do anything.
Of all people, it's Yoshimura who comes down the stairs, sends the others away with a gesture Ken doesn't see, and goes to the sink to rinse out coffee mugs with the tacit expectation that Ken will join him.
"What's that young lady's name?" he asks curiously.
Ken hesitates to answer. The words are heavy in his mouth. "Eika Ishihara."
"Eika Ishihara," Yoshimura muses, "I'd never seen her before recently, you know." He smiles sagely. "You two seem to get along quite well."
"We both read," Ken says vaguely, keeping his gaze on the washrag in his hands.
"It's okay to have feelings for someone, Kaneki. You're not denied that because of what you are."
"I don't know. I'm not sure what I'm feeling, exactly."
Yoshimura doesn't answer. They spend a moment in silence, drying the last of the dishes and putting them away.
"Can it work?" Ken asks before he can stop himself, "Between a ghoul and a human, I mean. Is it even possible?"
"Yes. It can work." Yoshimura looks very tired suddenly as he looks at nothing in particular, drifting into a memory. "It takes effort and sacrifice, more so than if you were the same, but it can work."
"It's not fair to her, though, is it?" Ken shakes his head. "If I don't feel as strongly about her as she feels about me."
"You're still quite young, Kaneki," Yoshimura says, "People at your age aren't supposed to worry about that sort of thing." He steps back from the counter and smiles. "For what it's worth, I don't think I've seen you smile quite so wide in a very long time."
He thinks about Eika again, the books she reads, the way she sits, how she smells. "Yeah. I guess you're right."
He hopes she comes back tomorrow.
Like clockwork, Eika appears the next afternoon, looking much more hesitant than before. She takes her usual seat, sets her book down, and steals a glance at Ken, who makes his way over after a moment of internal deliberation.
"Coffee, please," she says softly, "The same way you always make it."
"Coming right up," he says, chest constricting when she doesn't return his smile. He returns with her drink in record time, setting it down in front of her and watching her fold down the corner of her current page. As she pushes her book to the corner of the table, he steals a glance at the spine.
No Longer Human, famously written by Dazai the same year he committed suicide.
He takes the empty seat across from her, and her eyes flick up to meet his. "It probably looks bad, doesn't it?" she asks, "For me to be reading something like this, I mean. Don't get the wrong idea. I just love Dazai's work. All of it. Even this one." She takes a sip, eyes closed in serenity, and Ken watches her dark lashes flutter over her cheeks. "Last year," she says quietly, "Nothing happened. The year before that, nothing happened. And the year before that, nothing happened." She looks down at the cover fondly.
"That's not from No Longer Human," Ken says, "That's from The Setting Sun."
"I know."
For the first time, she's come in with her favorite author, and she's discussing him, too, although the pattern thus far suggests that she should be moving on to Edogawa Ranpo next, and she had been reading Akutagawa the previous day. She's breaking routine, and it shouldn't bother Kaneki as much as it does, but he knows how meticulous she is. There has to be a reason.
"About yesterday," he starts to say.
She cuts him off. "Don't apologize, please," she says, "I think we're moving at different paces. Being involved…like that…would be difficult." The corners of her lips turn up. "But if you don't mind keeping me company a bit more, I'd appreciate it."
"I'm not going anywhere," Ken says, relieved, managing to smile himself, "Come by whenever you want company."
She blushes and laughs into the back of her hand, and all at once, the pain in his chest vanishes like it was never there. He forgets that he was worried about anything. It feels as though whatever barrier that had been resting between them has crumbled now, leaving a carpet of shards that Ken doesn't dare tread through to get closer, but just being able to see and hear her clearly, for her to smile, is enough.
They lose track of time easily enough. Enji drifts by to gently remind Ken that it's time to close up and Eika jumps to her feet, glancing back worriedly at the dark sky out the window. "I'm sorry again," she says when Ken pushes back from the table, "I'm always taking up so much of your time."
"I don't mind," Ken says honestly.
She looks again at the night sky outside, almost pointedly, and Ken glances back at the others for permission. "Kaneki," he hears, and turns to find Yoshimura approaching him, smiling stiffly, "Why don't you walk Miss Ishihara home? It's a bit late for her to be going alone." He says it in almost a playful tone, but there's something urgent in his eyes.
"Of course," Ken says quickly, and Eika tries to hide her smile by turning away.
He tries to think of things to talk about as they walk, but something in the air seems to have shifted. Eika is silent, eyes forward, and she doesn't look like her usual anxious self. There's something wrong with the look on her face, something that Ken feels like he should be able to read but he can't put his finger on it.
He doesn't get the chance to give it much thought; ten minutes away from Anteiku in a small suburb, Eika stops in front of a house. "Thank you, Kaneki," she says, voice lacking the tremble it usually has when she speaks to him. The words are so genuine and heartfelt; he's not sure what exactly she's thanking him for, but he suspects it's for more than walking her home. She's smiling, and it's so unreserved, so different from what he's used to. "I always have fun talking to you."
"Me, too," he says. His throat feels dry. Something isn't right. "See you tomorrow?"
Her gaze shifts to her feet. "Yeah," she says, "I guess so."
She almost sounds disappointed.
Something is not right.
"Okay," he says, struggling to get his feet to move. She smells different; it's subtle, so subtle that Ken thinks he would have missed it if he wasn't always trying to figure her out. He can smell perspiration thick and salty in the air, stale and musty, and something like bile.
He locks eyes with Eika who looks back at him, desperately, pleading something that he can't make out.
"Ishihara," he asks, "Are you okay?"
She nods slowly. "Yes," she says hoarsely, "I have to go. See you tomorrow."
Ken wants to stop her, grab her arm and demand she tell him what's really wrong, but he's frozen to the spot. He's never felt anything like it before, never experienced another person's sensations so strongly, and he thinks it must be because of his newfound sense of smell. Usually, he'd be moving on instinct, unable to process any sensation with hunger fogging his mind, but his thoughts are clear tonight.
He knows he just smelled Eika Ishihara's fear.