author's note;
03/11/15 — This is such a "calm before the storm" chapter, it isn't even funny. Can you pick up how? Nonetheless, I hope you all enjoy it! Next update will include 100% more Kaneki.

(As always, y'all can thank insomniacClarinetist for the wonderful beta reading!)

As November slowly drifts away, Touka's calendar becomes increasingly covered with cross marks and exam dates and assignments.

(And somewhere out there, there are identical faces eagerly awaiting their father's approval, but—)

The world continues onward.

( onward )

—if anyone has any information regarding the missing 23-year-old's whereabouts, the reporter drones on, please contact the authorities.

But Touka has no information regarding this missing 23-year-old, nor is she paying attention to the TV set propped against one of Anteiku's walls. She picks up a set of used ceramic cups from one of the tables near the entrance, giving the customers a winning smile, before carefully sliding the check onto the table. She hopes, for the sake of her wallet and her sanity, that they decide to tip her. The living expenses of a high school student are no laughing matter, after all.

When she turns on her heel to drop the dirty dishes in the kitchen for Irimi to wash, she spots Koma cleaning the bar while casually chatting up the old manager. For a moment, it feels like any other day; normal and uninterrupted. It feels like nothing bad has happened lately and all is right in the world.

Reality, in all its bloody glory, sinks in a couple of seconds later. Her head hurts as she retreats into the kitchen.

"Touka," Irimi says, taking note of Touka's presence immediately despite not looking up from the sink for a moment. She supposes that, despite the noise from the open faucet and the racket of the customers in the next room, Irimi's sense of hearing is as fantastic as always.

Touka steps towards the sink, smiling apologetically at Irimi, and places the used cups with the rest of the dirty dishes. If Touka hates washing the dishes during normal hours, she cannot imagine how Irimi feels now that the local workers are ending their morning shifts, sorely in need of an afternoon pick-me-up before returning home.

"Sorry," she tells her, "But I brought two more."

Irimi only laughs, softly and quietly. "That's all right," she says, and then her eyes are momentarily on Touka's face. "Something is bothering you. What is it?"

Faced with a completely and utterly unexpected question, Touka can't help but to blink. Once, twice, thrice—and then she's chuckling awkwardly, taking the opportunity to wash her hands before she has to go back to attend the rest of the customers. "What do you mean?" she responds, feeling a little bit like a child caught in the middle of a prohibited act. "Nothing is bothering me."

That's a lie, and she knows it.

In response, Irimi hums, calmly taking a sponge to a particularly nasty stain on one of their older ceramic plates. Touka almost wonders how long it was left on a table before someone picked it up.

"Is it Hinami?" Irimi asks, her tone amazingly casual. "Or, perhaps, it's something else?"

Irimi is no idiot. Anyone can put two and two together, when a ghoul investigator winds up dead shortly after Ryouko's murder.

Touka's throat suddenly feels sticky and dry. It's not a good combination. "Irimi-san..." she says, hesitating on every syllable.

"You're young, Touka," her co-worker tells her. "You should focus on keeping yourself safe."

And Touka can't think of anything to say to that, nor does Irimi add anything else. Well—Irimi has never been much of a conversationalist, anyway.

Touka pats her hands dry with a paper napkin before stepping out of the kitchen, quietly excusing herself as she does. When she steps past the bar and mentally prepares herself to deal with all the hustle and bustle that comes with this time of the day, her eyes momentarily land on the window that faces towards the street.

A moment is more than enough. She ends up making eye contact with Crush Boy as he walks past Anteiku. She thinks, absentmindedly, that his eyes look a tad bit wide. It's almost like he hadn't expected to see her again.

A second later, he's lost to the crowd.

She shakes her head, letting out a sigh she didn't even know she was holding, and returns to work. She has no time to be thinking about boys, and even less so about boys with dubious affiliations with the CCG and penchants for breaking deals and promises.

(If she were to feel even relatively fond of him, which she doesn't, it would be in the same way a human is fond of a stray cat.

And, besides—experience has shown that even the most seemingly innocent humans are capable of stabbing you in the back.

But she'd rather not think about old ladies and spoonfuls of grotesque meals.)

Much later, she knocks on Hinami's door, a cup of coffee in her hand as she waits for a response.

She receives none.

When she gently pushes the door open and peers inside, she finds Hinami in the middle of a man-made disaster. Books are haphazardly arranged over the small coffee table, rumpled sheets are strewn over the floor, and a small notebook is laying open and face down on Hinami's exposed belly, her shirt hiked up far enough to expose half of her torso.

Touka isn't sure if she should be glad that Hinami's making a mess, or worried that she isn't picking up after herself.

Nonetheless, she places the cup of coffee on the nearest flat surface and begins to quietly clean up the mess, a fond smile on her face. The books are placed into a neat stack atop the coffee table, the sheets are picked up from the floor, and Touka leans over the couch, removing the notebook from Hinami's belly in order to pull her shirt down. She tucks her in with the sheets, making a conscious effort not to disturb her sleep, before making a move to close the notebook in her hand.

Unintentionally, she catches a glimpse of the text inside, scrawled in middle school student's bubbly handwriting. She wishes she hadn't.

I miss Mother and Father.

And—

Will I die, too?

She places the notebook next to the stack of books and brushes a stray strand of hair out of Hinami's face.

There is no fucking justice in this world.