author's note;
09/30/14 — Surprise update! I had originally planned for this chapter to be way longer, but I decided to split it in several parts in order to sneak in an update today. Unfortunately, this also means there will be no Kaneki in this chapter. Bummer.

It was a perfectly lovely afternoon.

Or, it would have been, if not for—

"Ehh... But are you sure you're alright, Touka-chan?" Yoriko asks for what may very well be the nth time this day. Her concern would be extremely touching, if not for the fact that Touka feels just about ready to slam her bag on the ground and scream at the situation that was causing said concern in the first place.

"I'm fine, Yoriko," she responds, with a little more force than is strictly necessary. Adjusting the strap of her bag with her uninjured hand, she rolls her eyes at her best friend's antics. "More importantly, isn't your house the other way?"

Thoroughly unconvinced, Yoriko huffs and puffs and fixes her a look as stern as that of a newborn puppy. "But Touka-chan, you're—ow!"

Well. Flicking Yoriko on the forehead never quite gets old. Neither does watching her rub her forehead, trying to look mad and failing fantastically.

"I said I'm fine. Jeez..." she sighs, rubbing the back of her neck in an attempt to get rid of the tension building up between her shoulders. "Head on home. You know I have to work today."

And though Yoriko looks no more ready to leave her than she did half a minute ago, there's a small shift in her body language.

"...Alright," she says, after a brief pause. "But I want you to call me as soon as you get home tonight. And—you have to promise that tomorrow, you'll eat the lunch I bring you! A growing girl like you needs more than jam sandwiches to heal, Touka-chan!"

Though her stomach churns uncomfortably at the thought of eating Yoriko's much too refined cooking, Touka finds herself smiling and waving goodbye at her friend as she retreats. "Yeah, yeah... Just go!"

And then, Yoriko is gone.

It's only then, when her friend is out of sight and there is nothing for her to focus on but the throbbing of her limbs and the haphazardly arranged plasters around her right arm, left shoulder and legs, that she allows her posture to unravel. Not even a week since Rize's disappearance, and territorial disputes have already gotten way out of hand.

That damned Nishiki.

( shift )

Of course, not everything that afternoon has to be unpleasant.

(But everything has the potential to be unpleasant.)

When she's seconds away from Anteiku, limbs aching and pride slightly wounded, she happens upon some old acquaintances.

"Ah—Ryoko-san?"

Almost simultaneously, both mother and daughter ghoul turn around to face her. Once recognition settles in, Hinami loosens her hold on her mother's skirt in other to greet her with a smile. If only she weren't so intimidated by the pedestrians making their way up and down town around them, however.

"Oh, Touka-chan. Hello," Ryouko says, her hand moving to touch her bottom lip. "Are you coming in to work today?"

"Yeah," she responds, moving past them and towards Anteiku's front doors. One, two, three long steps—and she's holding the door open for both of them. "I am. Even though I have exams coming up, that manager is still making me work."

Somehow, she makes the words that manager sound like an elaborate curse. She feels almost proud of herself.

"So that's how it is... Did he know you have exams to study for?" Ryouko replies, a sympathetic smile on her lips as she ushers Hinami inside with her. She thinks she sees her mouth a small thank you as they successfully enter the shop and she closes the door behind her.

"He did. But," she begins, "we're a bit short on staff, so it can't really be helped. The others have to manage the storefront."

It almost makes her wish for new co-workers.

Except the thought of having to train them makes that wish evaporate instantaneously.

"I see," Ryouko tells her, after a beat. "Well... I think it's good you're able to do something to help, Touka-chan. If only I..."

Her statement does not end there. But she does not finish it. The gap it leaves in their conversation is both uncomfortable and stifling.

So she breaks it. Or tries to.

"The manager should be waiting for you on the second floor," she says, her tone soft and pleasant despite the lump that has suddenly formed smack dab in the middle of her throat. "You can go on up."

And when they do, all she can think of is that they don't deserve the lifestyle of a ghoul.

And
days later,
something in the stability of the 20th Ward
changed for good.