author's note;
02/20/15 — Valentine's Day has already passed, but that doesn't mean I can't wish y'all a happy February! That said, I hope you all enjoy this chapter... and that you leave your bootyful thoughts and predictions in the form of reviews. I'm super curious about what all of you, my readers, think will happen in future chapters, so don't hesitate to show me your theories.
As a side note: you can all follow me on tumblr at carcinology OR follow my writing blog, godmodes, for fic updates and musings.
Special thanks to insomniacClarinetist on AO3 for all her hard work while beta reading!
( it's like clockwork )
i.
She meets up with Yoriko on the way to school.
The early morning chill keeps their fingers numb and their cheeks flushed. Yoriko is wrapped up in the brightest pink scarf Touka has ever laid eyes on, her winter uniform buttoned up as far as it goes and the tip of her nose red. Touka hears her sniffle once or twice, all the while rubbing her nose with her right hand and complaining about the weather. I can't wait for summer, Yoriko occasionally comments in a thick and nasally voice, as well as, I wish club practice wasn't this early.
Taking note of her best friend's plight, Touka suggests they make a quick stop at a dainty little bakery five minutes away from their school. Surprising absolutely no one, Yoriko is all too eager to agree.
They spend a couple of minutes picking out sweets. Yoriko's face hovers over the glass dividing the customers from the baked goods on displays, and Touka pretends to be interested in a set of animal themed donuts in the far left corner of the shop. Yoriko, being Yoriko, wastes no time chatting up the employee behind the display, asking about ingredients and techniques and a multitude of things Touka can never hope to understand. Besides, it's not like she'll ever have to apply them; she's not prone to cooking meals for humans, unlike her father.
(Subject change.
Now is not the time to be walking down memory lane, she thinks.
Her stomach churns uncomfortably, anyway.)
"—Right, Touka-chan...?" she hears Yoriko address her, snapping her out of her thoughts and interrupting the one-sided staring contest she had engaged in with a beady-eyed, cat themed sweet.
She has no idea what Yoriko is asking her; she must have spaced out without noticing. The blank look on her face as she abruptly turns to glance at her best friend should be enough of a tip-off.
Yoriko catches on quickly enough, pressing her lips into a fine line and making a displeased sound at the back of her throat. "Jeez..." she huffs, arms akimbo. "You didn't listen to a word I said, did you?"
Touka does her best to appear apologetic. "Ah... I guess not," she says, giving her best friend a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm sorry, Yoriko. What were you saying?"
That, apparently, is enough to get her off the hook. Yoriko examines her for a moment, her lips pursed in a way that reminds Touka that her best friend is a teeny bit too perceptive for her own good, before shaking her head. "Oh, well..." she says, after a moment's pause. "I already forgot what I said, so it must have not been all that important..."
And the subject (whatever it was) is effectively dropped.
Having wasted enough time in the bakery, they eventually pick out a pair of treats to buy. Yoriko effectively charms the employee into getting them some freshly brewed coffee from the staff room to warm themselves, for which Touka is infinitely thankful, and then they're on their merry way. By the time they arrive at the school gates, which are surrounded by those few unfortunate souls unlucky enough to have club activities before their classes begin, Yoriko has completely devoured her early morning snack.
Touka, on the other hand, has failed to do the same. This does not go unnoticed by her best friend.
"Is something wrong, Touka-chan?" Yoriko asks, peering at her with brown eyes and healthy amount of concern. Or, unhealthy, depending on who you ask, and when. "You haven't eaten your donut... Did you not like it?"
Touka glances down at the empty paper cup in her left hand and the untouched sweet in her right. When she squeezes the donut slightly, the dried frosting cracks and the filling seeps out through one of its corners. It's cherry bright, sticky and foul. She's proud of herself for not wrinkling her nose in distaste.
"I didn't notice — that it was cherry flavored," she replies, grasping at an excuse. "Cherry filling always tastes kind of like shit." It's not technically a lie, and it's not quite the truth either. She thought she could at least stomach this much, but she can't even bring the damned thing up to her mouth before she catches a whiff of its odor and bile threatens to come up her throat.
"Ehh...? You should have asked the cashier," Yoriko presses on, brows furrowed and lower lip puckered into a pout. Her point is extremely valid. "You're going to lose weight if you don't eat a proper breakfast..."
Not that this is a proper breakfast by any means, but Touka isn't exactly about to point that out. Instead, she scrunches her nose and channels her fear of being found out into displeasure. "Oi, oi... I eat well enough. Don't imply I don't," she tells Yoriko, rolling her eyes for added effect. "Besides... I ate before I left home."
Of course, Yoriko doesn't look convinced, but she seems to be relatively less worried now. "Okay," she replies, "But remember — I'm watching you.
Touka laughs and smiles, waving her best friend off as her stomach does somersaults. "I know, I know."
(It is so much easier to keep strangers and boys with crushes away than it is to keep away Yoriko.)
ii.
Predictably, the Doves' presence in the 20th Ward has made things infinitely harder for those who are beginning to feel hungry.
Also predictably, though her stomach is full and her hunger is sated for the moment, Touka is—
(Angry, is one word for it.
Murderous, is another.)
She idly scans the pages of the newspaper Yoshimura had picked up earlier, allowing her cup of coffee to cool on the table before her. For all appearances, she is a dutiful employee enjoying her well-earned ten minute break. For all appearances, she is not a murderer catching up on what the press has to say about her recent exploits.
Kusaba Ippei, the obituary helpfully points out, providing a name to a corpse that should be properly buried by now. The paragraphs proceeding it are pretty standard, stating basic information and expressing condolences at the loss of such a fine agent. If he had a wife, kids, or any form of immediate family, the paragraphs do not say so. Her curiosity over such a fact is random at best and morbid at worst. She doesn't feel an ounce of regret over what she's done. It was necessary, after all. Hinami will never be safe as long as the CCG thrives.
She picks her cup of coffee up and takes a small, careful sip. It's perfect.
Returning her attention to the page before her, she continues to scan over the obituary for anything useful. Anything at all that could give her hope for Hinami's well-being.
She finds it at the very end. A simple line, implying the late investigator could have been killed by a ghoul involved in an investigation he had been participating in.
It's vague, but possibly a good sign.
If the CCG thinks she's the same ghoul as Clover, then that's something she could definitely live with. Because the CCG has never seen Hinami in person, they have no way of knowing how she looks, sounds, or acts. All they have is a suspicion of her existence, based solely on evidence found in Fueguchi Asaki's residence—or so Yomo had told her. If that much is true, then the CCG has insufficient evidence to do anything. If they have truly been misled, then there's no way for them to distinguish between Kirishima Touka's physique and Fueguchi Hinami's still childlike appearance.
She smiles grimly into her cup and finishes the last of her drink. Her ten minutes are up.
When she goes to check on Hinami a couple of hours later, she leaves the newspaper downstairs.
iii.
"Oh, gosh," she hears a human customer complain, her Kansai-ben readily apparent. Touka catches a glimpse of her as she fishes lip balm out of her purse, a compact mirror propped up against the empty ceramic cup before her. "The advertisements are all gettin' kinda heavy-handed, aren't they?"
"They sure are," her friend (or date, perhaps) agrees, "You'd think they'd get tired of playin' the same commercial again and again… idiots."
"Hey, hey... That's kind of harsh, isn't it?"
As to what advertisements they're pointlessly complaining about, Touka can only guess. November is a little more than a week away from becoming history, and she supposes a number of holiday sales and events are coming up soon. If she weren't so preoccupied with other things (eating enough for the month, managing finances on her own, surviving—), she would probably find the time to complain as well. But as it is, that kind of thing seems too arbitrary and petty to think about.
The bell attached to the front door chimes, and Touka turns on her heel to greet another pair of customers. She widens the smile on her face, pitches her voice just right, and flawlessly leads them towards the only clean table in the shop. Koma is slacking off, it seems.
It's the same table where she met and got rid of Kaneki Ken.
(—Crush Boy, she corrects herself rather vehemently.)
Touka jots down their orders and pretends that he never existed in the first place.
iv.
Smack dab in the middle of a Sunday afternoon, Yoriko shows up on her doorstep—like clockwork.
"Yoriko?" Touka asks after opening the door, still holding the knob in her hand. "What are you doing here...?"
Yoriko smiles innocently at her. Her eyes wander to some point beyond Touka's head, almost as if she is expecting to catch somebody there, but that's just an assumption on Touka's part. After a moment, she lets out a small laugh and leans forward, invading Touka's personal space. "I've brought you a surprise," she whispers, almost conspiratorially. "Can you guess what it is?"
Well, no. No, she can't. Touka makes this quite known when she raises both eyebrows and blinks down at her, not following. "A... surprise. Why?"
"Yep," Yoriko replies, completely undeterred by this. "I've noticed... you've looked upset for a while now. It reminded me of when your dad transferred overseas, so I decided to—"
"Yoriko," Touka begins, suddenly a little overwhelmed. "You don't have to—"
But Yoriko cuts her off, shushing her and shaking her head. "I do!" she responds, propping her right hand on her hip and bringing Touka's attention to a conspicuously large bag in her left for the first time. "I know you would do the same for me, Touka-chan."
When Yoriko shifts, something within the bag rattles and clangs. It sounds distinctly metallic.
"Jeez..." she mumbles, rubbing her temples and stepping aside. She might have a slight idea of where this is going, but right now—she can feel all resistance draining out of her. Yoriko is right and that kind of sucks. "Fine. Come in — but don't make a mess."
"I won't!" Yoriko insists, entering without a moment of hesitation.
There are so many reasons this is a bad idea, and the fact the stove in her kitchen is mostly there for decoration is only one of them. Touka manages to put all of that aside in order to enjoy the moment.
(And though Yoriko's refined cooking tastes particularly awful to her taste buds, she pretends it's the best meal she's eaten in ages.)