Chapter Text
As his consciousness faded, his mind swimming in the coughing dustbowl that had erupted as all his feelings and all his thoughts turned to ash, he began to recollect a familiar sense of dread. The creeping hand of death rose from a cavernous paradise, where spider lilies sprung up from the hollows of skeletons, filling in the empty spaces and attempting to beautify the horror of decay.
He heard the soft moaning of souls, the begotten and forgotten, and if he held his breath he could almost recognize the voices.
It wasn't long before he realized he knew the voices. The voice. Severed by time and by torture and by the twisted toll of karmic intervention.
The creeping hand of death was outstretched, and he saw its slender little fingers grappling at bare air, joints locking while the bone white arm was overtaken by muscle spasms.
He saw it.
On that night, dangling on the end of Rize's drooping fingertips, a clown was laughing.
He wasn't sure what that meant, even in hindsight. Laughter had warped inside his head, a cacophony of low moans clashing with high and mighty chortles. He felt like a chess piece knocked off the board, and now he could only sit in bone chilling agony, staring up as a higher player captured a pawn and a knight.
It couldn't matter now, anyway, could it?
Since he was already…
Heaven smelled like antiseptic.
Of course, he couldn't complain, because the scent of decomposition had burned the hair from his nostrils. Blood and piss and something rotten. Why did that scent have to be so familiar? It was odd to not be plagued by the distinctive foulness of someone rotting away, be it literally or not.
But heaven smelled so clean, it was tickling the back of his throat and regurgitating sour tastes. Stomach acid washed over his tongue, which sat heavily in his sealed mouth. Heaven felt lethargic. He didn't know if his limbs would move, but he didn't want to move them, so he left them to the pervading white haze.
Pain was like a dull, faded memory. Needles in his eyes and blood seeping from his lips? That had been a bad dream.
Bad dreams. Nightmares of Death standing amongst the sprouting spider lilies, parting them with a startlingly precise gait. Death moved so deliberately, stepping with the knowledge that one mishap could botch an entire meticulously developed strategy.
Death had cut him down.
And now he was lying in heaven with tubes in his arms, and that was disorienting by itself. Even through the milky high, he found something wrong with this picture. Heaven didn't provide drugs. Heaven did not sing songs of beeping life machines. Where was the need when you were dead?
He opened his eyes, and the white glare of heaven's sky winked back.
Kaneki Ken was comfortable and safe, and that was simply because Kaneki Ken was dead.
A shadow blotted his view of the overreaching white slate of sky. A light sunk into his eyes and he snapped them closed instinctively. Words were funneled through the cotton stuffed inside his ears, and all that he received were slow rhythms of sounds. Like someone humming underwater.
His consciousness drifted back once more into the solemn graveyard of ashes and spider lilies.
It seemed to him that this hell of flowers was far more appealing than that heaven of blindness and deafness and intoxication. To be dead in his memory was relieving compared to being dead in scorching light and excruciating ringing and inexplicable numbness.
When he returned to consciousness he felt that something was deeply wrong.
He was in pain.
What cruel god could inflict pain on the deceased?
Unless he was in hell.
That would honestly explain a lot.
How could he delude himself into thinking he'd be worthy of heaven?
He had to work off some sins and pray he hadn't damned himself utterly.
Something cold and wet met his lips, and he opened his eyes, recalling the burning sensation at the back of his throat as blood sloshed against his tongue. He expected to taste iron as the liquid hit his tongue, but as his head was held upward he was able to swallow a cool mouthful of water that soothed the desert sands of his throat.
His mouth was wiped gingerly, and he sat for a moment in a dumb silence, shock beginning to subside as he was propped upright, his abdomen flaring with a startling amount of pain. He gasped, his fingers flying to his stomach, and he curled up defensively. What wound was this? Where had he gotten this?
Was he… was he alive after all?
"What…?" He exhaled, his voice hitting his throat like sandpaper, slicing through the air and grinding against his teeth. It tasted bad. Rotten.
"Oh!" A pair of hands captured his shoulders, and he looked up sharply. His eyes adjusted to the blinding whiteness of it all, the heaven that was not, the light that was blinding, and he saw a woman's face. He stared at her vacantly. She looked somewhat familiar, but he couldn't place her name. "Easy, easy. There's no rush."
"Where…?" He blinked rapidly as she pushed his shoulders back gingerly until his spine hit a pillow. He held his head in one hand while the other clawed at itchy white sheets. White, white, white, oh where did it end? He wondered if he blended right in with the décor. Sickly pale skin and sickly pale hair and sickly pale clothes. He supposed the only color to him would be his eyes. Eye? He wasn't sure.
"You're in the hospital, Kaneki," the woman told him gently. "Don't you remember the accident?"
"Accident…?" Is that what they were calling that man's butcher of him?
Something didn't feel right here.
The woman looked concerned now, her brow pinching worriedly, and she squinted at him.
"Well," she said cautiously, "you've been out for a few days, so it's not abnormal that you might have some memory lapse."
"A few days?" He was remembering it all now. The CCG, the battles, Hide, Anteiku… "I… I'm alive, right?" He raised his hands to his eyes, feeling them uncertainly, and he came to the conclusion that they were still there and that they hadn't been stabbed out. "This is… real, isn't it?"
"Oh," the nurse said, her voice filled with pity. An irritating amount of pity. "Yes, you're very much alive, and you're on your way to a speedy recovery! I know a near death experience can be frightening, but I'm sure you can take this and become stronger from it."
"Uh. Okay." He stared at her bemusedly. "Thanks. So does that mean I can be discharged?"
"Your recovery isn't that speedy!"
Yeah it is, he thought, rubbing his eyes reflexively. They were a little sore. Did you not notice my eyes grew back and my skin sealed itself or…?
"I'd like to go home at the soonest possible time," he said, lowing his hands into his lap. "So can you please let me know when that is? I've already been here way too long."
"Well, surgery takes time to recuperate from!" the nurse huffed. She looked a little agitated now, and he stared at her vacantly.
"Surgery?" he repeated confusedly.
Something… really… wasn't right…
The nurse looked down at her feet, and Kaneki could sense the death in the air, bad news creeping up on him from the way she tensed her shoulders and averted her eyes. Who had died?
Dread was such a devastating force.
He was gripping his blankets with stubby fingernails, his body frozen in anticipation. Who to mourn, who to avenge. This was how he had to cope.
"Unfortunately," the nurse murmured, "you were the only survivor of the accident. The girl you were with was dead on arrival, so—"
"What girl?" he gasped, his heartbeat accelerating and his knuckles clenching the sides of his mattress, his mind in shambles as he realized that he had no idea what was happening, and anyone could have found him after Death's— after the dove's assault. If it had been a girl…
Not you, he thought desperately. Why you? Why can't you just… let yourself be happy and safe, Touka? Why…?
Something wasn't adding up. Why would the CCG take him to a hospital? Why would they take Touka if…?
"Kamishiro Rize?" The nurse tilted her head. "She was with you when it happened. I thought you two might've—"
"What?"
The nurse took a step back in alarm. Perhaps his tone had been a little too harsh. Incredulous. Furious.
Now he knew why this nurse looked familiar. She'd been the woman who had been his nurse after the incident with Rize. But what the hell was going on now?
"Oh, so you… did know her then…?"
Kaneki pushed himself up and away from the pillows, his fists sinking into his hospital bed as he attempted to maneuver his legs out from beneath the blankets. His legs felt gelatinous, immobile and quivery. Every little twitch of his knees sent a stab of pain shooting into his abdomen, and he couldn't ignore it or suffer through it. His body felt so weak and sensitive, and that made it difficult to put on a brave face and pretend like pain meant nothing to him.
"Stop moving!" The nurse grasped his shoulders and pushed him back. He stared at her with wild eyes, and he pressed his arms to his stomach, exhaling sharply through his teeth. "There, you see? You're in no condition to leave just yet."
"What's going on?" He whispered. "Rize… is…"
"Dead," the nurse said in a soft, sympathetic voice. "I'm sorry. Did you know her well?"
He stared at her. What was he supposed to say? What the hell was happening?
"Not… really," he managed to choke out.
"Ah." She turned her face away, her tired eyes growing distant and dim. "That's unfortunate. It seemed she didn't have any family either."
Kaneki couldn't even manage a reply. His voice was stuck in his burning throat, and his thoughts were stuck in Death's flowery field, where the spider lilies grew, where the corpses were blanketed by spindly red beauty wavering on strings.
"I need to go to the bathroom," Kaneki blurted.
The nurse glanced down at him in surprised, but she nodded quickly. "Oh! Right, you'll have to take your IV, but—"
"Yeah, that's fine." He waited impatiently as she disconnected him from the heart monitor and helped him sit completely upright. There was an unfathomable burning in his chest, and an inexplicable stabbing in his stomach. Like there was a grease fire licking at his ribs and a pair of talons ripping at his navel from the inside out.
Whatever pain meds they were giving him, they'd just about stopped working.
He pressed his lips together thinly as his legs wobbled and buckled beneath his weight. He had to cling to the nurse for a few moments as he doubled over, breathless and teary eyed. His body wasn't responding to anything, and he wondered just how much damage that damn dove had done.
He was beginning to fear that this was all a nightmare, and that he would wake up naked on his stomach a metal table, and the sound of a mechanical drill or saw would fill his ears before blinding, white hot pain and screams.
Was that how it worked? Stealing kagune?
He felt sick.
"Ah, maybe you aren't ready for this just yet…"
"I'm fine," he gasped, shooting her a frantic look. "I'm fine! Really. Just." He managed a weak smile, and he turned his eyes upward toward the ceiling. "I wasn't expecting my stomach to hurt so much."
"Well there was quite a bit of damage internally," the nurse told him gently. "You really shouldn't be standing yet, but I think it's best that you stretch your legs."
"Yeah." He straightened up, and it was a little relieving. There wasn't so much strain on his stomach any longer. "I feel better now. Thank you for helping me."
"Oh!" She beamed at him. "No, don't worry. This is my job. Let's get you to the bathroom."
"I'd like to walk myself, actually." He grasped the pole of the IV drip and wheeled it closer to his bare feet. He noted the color of his toenails. They weren't blackened and dead. How had that happened?
She objected, of course, but he already began walking, and with every step he gained an ounce of strength that he'd lacked previously. He could not sit in a hospital to rot while his friends were out there suffering.
"Well," she huffed, "if you won't listen to me, maybe you'll listen to your doctor! He wanted to speak with you when you woke up."
Kaneki turned slowly toward her. His… doctor…?
"Okay," he said.
Whoever his doctor was had to know he was a ghoul, right? If he'd been asleep for days, if they'd really done surgery… though none of that really made any sense…
He followed the nurse's directions until he reached a closed door. The hospital was really familiar, and he knew that this corridor was… this was…
He stepped back.
There was a black plaque beside the door, and a white engraving proclaimed the inhabitant behind the thin slab of wood.
Dr. Kanou.
Kaneki's feet slid back against the linoleum, squeaking softly like sneakers on a basketball court, and he looked around hurriedly, his eyes wide and his heart stuttering. What did he do? Where did he go? How was this even possible? How could this all be happening again?
He needed to get away from here. He needed to recollect himself, his thoughts, figure out what had happened to him before he did something he'd regret.
Just as he was turning away, moving at an agonizing pace because of the pole he had to wheel along, the door swung open. A gust of air hit his back, and his mind withered in recognition, weathered into ash, and wilted from a moment of weakness.
"Oh," Dr. Kanou said, sounding vaguely shocked but mostly amiable. "Kaneki! I didn't expect to see you out of bed so soon! How are you feeling?"
His words buzzed inside Kaneki's head.
A wave of déjà vu crashed into him, and he was drowning in the sensation that he'd been here before, that this was something he'd heard before, that this had all happened before.
No fucking way.
The man's face was a familiar sight. Something Kaneki had come to abhor, something that sparked the most primal rage inside him.
This man.
This fucking man!
Kaneki turned to face him, his fists clenching around the pole of his IV drip.
"You," he said flatly.
Kanou looked a little confused, his eyebrows arching to his gelled hair, and he leaned forward curiously.
"Yes," Kanou sighed, bowing his head. "I'm your doctor. I understand you might have some misgivings about my decision to make the transplant, but let me—"
He didn't finish his sentence. A stray wheel crashed into his cheek, the metal support slicing a nice little cut open at his cheekbone, and the doctor stumbled and half collapsed in the doorway, succumbing to the force of Kaneki's swing. The bag full of some clear, liquid medication slapped and sloshed against the air as he held the pole level and held his head high.
"You," he snapped, his voice shaking in all his unbridled rage, "don't get to give and take and meddle with life without consequence! You don't get to play god and make monsters!"
Kanou cupped his cheek in his hand, glancing up at Kaneki fearfully, and Kaneki realized this was the first time he'd ever seen this man look anything like a human being, who could understand his own mortality, and understand that he had no power over his own creation.
Good. There was satisfaction in the sight of Kanou's eyes gazing at Kaneki not with pride, but with terror.
People were shouting now, and he realized what he'd done— in a very, very public place— and he blinked rapidly. He needed to get out of here. He tore at the tape on his arms, slipping the needles and tubes from his veins, and he tossed the IV aside. He stumbled back as a group of nurses came rushing toward him, and he held his hands up as a male nurse moved toward him, likely to try to restrain him.
"Dr. Kanou," one of the nurses gasped. "Can you hear me? Are you okay?"
Kaneki wished he could just wring the man's neck. But there were still so many things unanswered, and this had already gone way too far. He didn't want anyone else getting hurt. So he took quick, uneasy steps back, his hands still raised, and he took a deep breath.
"I want to be discharged," he said sharply. "Today."
And with that, he spun around and fled. He knew that there was no way he'd be able to get to Kanou without causing even more of a commotion, and he regretted hitting the man outside the door, because if he'd gone into the office to hit him, then Kaneki could have interrogated him much easier.
He'd fucked up such a golden chance!
That was stupid, he thought at himself angrily. Stupid and reckless! This is why you never get any answers!
Maybe he was going about it all wrong. Maybe aggression was a bad tactic to use. He'd been pushing this route for so long, devouring and slaughtering and stomping on the severed limbs of the guilty, but perhaps he was wrong to pass judgment so swiftly and cruelly.
After all, was that not the CCG's method of dealing with ghouls?
Swiftly, cruelly, without mercy?
Kaneki needed to rethink his strategy if he wanted to get any answers.
He ran into a bathroom, pain electrifying his entire abdomen, and he doubled over in pain, wrapping his arms around his stomach and shouldering a wall as his heavy, uneven breaths tore at his uncomfortably dry throat.
This was wrong. He was wrong!
But how could he fix it now? Was it too late?
He'd wanted to go back to Anteiku. Was that even possible now?
He regretted so much so fast that it was throwing off his equilibrium.
He needed to sit down.
So he slid to his knees, resting his forehead against the cool wall, and he closed his eyes. He'd made such a mess of everything. It would have been so much better if Kanou hadn't saved him.
But then I wouldn't know the friends I've made, he reminded himself. Mr. Yoshimura, Irimi, Koma, Yomo, Hinami, Nishiki, Tsukiyama, Banjou, Touka… I wouldn't know any of them…
What a painful thought.
He let himself sit there. He couldn't be certain how long he lost himself in drifting thoughts of friends who suffered because of his own inadequacy. Pain was familiar, but this sensation was amplified by his wavering mental state. He didn't know why nothing felt right, why everything felt lethargic and dull. He didn't know why he was sickened with déjà vu. He wished it would just end so he could think clearly.
When he was finally sick to death of his own musings, he pushed himself shakily to his feet. There was no use moping about all his mistakes now. If he could just… talk to the manager… just one more time… maybe he could sort something out. Bargain with the CCG.
He didn't want to think about the fact that Kanou was out of hiding and that he'd just had surgery and there was something floating about pertaining to Rize, which made no sense because Rize was in Yomo's care, wasn't she?
Anyway, he straightened himself up, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He couldn't shake that feeling. The sensation of something dipping into his pupil, consuming iris and sclera and lashes and eyelid until the whole of the eye was sucked up into a black hole, and the soft tissue of his brain was punctured.
Death had given him a quick, vicious lobotomy. He wondered how his personality was still intact.
He wandered toward the sink, flicking it on and gathering water in his hands. His fingernails, like his toes, seemed to be a proper, healthy color, which was bemusing but not entirely surprising at this point. He splashed water into his face, scrubbing into his eyes and into the folds of his nose and around his mouth, as though it'd wash away the blood that had marred his face before he'd woken up into hell dressed like heaven.
Nothing really hurt around his face. That was so strange, considering how extreme his injuries had been. Had he dreamt that up?
He wiped at his face with a paper towel, and as he did so he caught the eye of a tired looking boy with a round face and dark hair.
It took him a moment to realize it was his reflection.
"Ah!" He stumbled back, his shoulder blade bumping into a stall, and he gaped at the mirror, his hands flying to his black hair and his fingers clawing at the roots. "What…? What is this…?"
It wasn't just his hair. His entire face had changed. It was so… healthy and youthful, and his eyes had a light in them that he didn't recognize, and that almost hurt. What was this? What kind of hell was this?
This was definitely him, of course, like of course he recognized his own reflection, but holy shit! Holy shit! Why did he look so young? He poked his own cheek, and his finger sunk into a fleshy dimple that appeared when he half-closed his mouth.
Now he was thinking. Now the dust was shifting in his mind, and he sifted aside all thoughts of Death and doves, pulling forward the recollection of that night. That night, the one that had started it all, the night Rize had attacked him and the beams had fallen from the sky and he had followed the trail of Rize's deadly little fingertips, followed the end of her gaze up into the sky where a clown laughed and laughed at their misfortune.
It felt so vivid in his head. Like it had only just happened, like he was remembering something from only a few days past, and like that fight with the doves for Anteiku was just a bad dream.
And now he was in a hospital, a familiar hospital with a familiar staff, and they were saying that he'd just had surgery, that Rize was dead, that the operation was a success, that Dr. Kanou had made that decision, and he didn't understand because this had already happened! He'd been here before and he wanted to go back! He had to save Anteiku!
People didn't just fall asleep one day and wake up a year before. It didn't work like that.
Unless this really was heaven. Was this how heaven worked? Had he… had he honestly died, and now as a reward… or punishment… he got to relive the suffering he'd gone through from the moment those beams had fallen atop Rize. From the moment fate had stolen any semblance of a human death he could ever have.
So was this heaven or hell?
Thinking back, this was undoubtedly hell.
He didn't really want to relive all that horror.
All that pain…
This time I can fight though, he thought firmly. I can win. I can protect everyone. I can protect myself.
This time, huh?
He rested his head back against the stall, studying his own sad, round face, and he tried a tentative smile. Kaneki Ken looked so much like a little boy pining for approval. It made him sick and sad, and he wondered if he'd ever change.
He swiped his fingers through his dark hair, and he knew, of course, that he already had.
Touka's voice rung in his head, her vicious, thundering fury berating his skull.
Why?
She'd shouted and snarled and struck at him, her voice wavering on the brink of desperate sobs. She'd been so angry, so unbearably sad, and he knew that was his fault. He'd abandoned her because he wanted her to live her life, to do what was best for her and not for him. But even with all his good intentions he couldn't deny what he'd done. Abandonment. How utterly cruel of him.
Why did you have to change?
He wanted to see her again. He wanted to see her anger and her sadness and her joy, and he wanted to talk to her again, and not be scared of how much she hated him for that abandonment. He wanted his friend back. Could that be possible now? He was trying to recall if he'd ever even met Touka before he went on that awful date with Rize.
Of course he had, though, of course. He'd been a semi-regular customer at Anteiku long before he even met Rize.
Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps this was all an elaborate hallucination, and perhaps he'd lost himself beyond salvaging. After all, it was difficult to trust his own eyes and his own ears and his own mouth sometimes.
Who was to say any of this unpalatable replay was real?
He moved closer to the mirror, reaching out tentatively and brushing the cool surface with dripping fingertips. He noted that his nails were stubby and uneven from anxiety forcing his teeth to cut them down to size. That was an old habit. Now he clipped his nails evenly, careful to keep them neat and trimmed. Proper nail care was important when you were prone to starting fights.
Touka had taught him that, actually.
He traced the roundness of his eyes, and he wondered why they looked so big and terrified. He wasn't scared, not really. Just… anxious. And really confused. He didn't want to believe that any of this was real, because all his senses were hazy, but the pain… the pain was vivid. What the hell was clawing into his stomach, anyway?
He lifted his shirt, blinking rapidly as his eyes fell upon the bandage taped to his stomach, curving between his navel and hipbone. He poked it gingerly, and promptly hissed, a great shot of pain enveloping his belly. He squeezed his eyes shut, and he tried to will this pain away, will it all away, will this wound to seal itself.
It did not.
"Shit," he muttered, thumbing at the adhesive keeping the bandage attached to him. He debated just ripping it off, but he knew he was making a slew of bad decisions, and considering how much his stomach hurt, he figured… yeah. Better not.
He tested his forehead to feel if he was feverish, but he was neither warm nor sweating, and so he ruled out fever dreams as an explanation. His hair was soft and fluffy, so unlike the coarse, dead strands that had hung limply about his brow previously. He'd forgotten what healthy hair felt like.
When he was just about sick of his own reflection, he poked his head out the door to make sure no one was there waiting for him. He was really anxious all of a sudden. If he wasn't healing, then that meant he was vulnerable, and that was irritating. What if this was all just an elaborate trick? He honestly didn't think he was in any condition to fight anyone.
Like, he would, of course. He just wasn't sure how effective his efforts would be.
He made his way tentatively down the hall, his eyes darting around anxiously. He knew he appeared more relaxed than he felt, because… how could he not? He felt like he was going to start ripping out his hair by the single strands, like he was gonna start picking holes in his skin just to keep himself from having a panic attack.
"Um," he said, heading up to a desk. He waved awkwardly, and the woman who sat there simply stared. Maybe she'd heard already what he'd done to Kanou. Her eyes were a little large, and he could see the glimmer of uncertainty in her expression. He smiled sheepishly. "Hi. Can I go home?"
Her eyebrows rose in alarm, and he pressed his lips together as he averted his eyes nervously. Was that honestly such a weird request? Ah, maybe he'd phrased it wrong.
"I mean," he said quickly, leaning forward and placing his hands on the desk, "can I have my discharge papers? And shoes?"
"It doesn't really work like that," she said slowly.
"How does it work, then?" It had been awhile since he'd last been to a hospital, and honestly it had all been such a blur.
"Well your doctor needs to clear you first," she said, swiveling her chair toward her computer. "What's your name?"
He chewed on the inside of his cheek. His hesitance didn't go unnoticed, and she glanced at him sharply.
"Look," he sighed, drumming his fingers rapidly against the desk. He looked up at the ceiling. "I know this isn't how you do things. But I really need to go home."
"Your name?"
He slumped. She was glaring at him now. "Kaneki Ken," he murmured, watching his pale, stubby nails tap at the surface of the desk. "But—"
"You're cleared to go," the woman cut in, sliding a clipboard over the desk. Kaneki leaning back in shock, his fingertips freezing mid-beat. He gaped at her. Then he snatched the clipboard, arching over it and filling in all the necessary information. His handwriting was really messy from his haste, his characters all screwy in places, but he really didn't give a fuck at this point. He needed to get out of this place and breathe some fresh air. Figure out what the fuck was happening.
"Thanks," he said, sliding the clipboard back at her. She eyed him warily, but gave him a polite little nod anyway, which he was grateful for. He stood at the desk for a few moments after she reviewed his papers, staring at her expectantly. He felt really silly, like a child waiting for permission to perform a menial task. She raised her eyes to him, shooting a dull, inquisitive glance. He found himself blushing in spite of himself. "Um!" He smiled at her apologetically. "My… my shoes…?"
This time she looked apologetic.
"Oh," she gasped, blinking very fast, as though it hadn't occurred to her that he was currently barefoot. "I don't think your clothing survived the accident, but your shoes should be in your room."
"Right." He pushed off the desk and called over his shoulder as an afterthought, "Thank you!"
Okay, so shoes. Shoes, outside, and then… and then what?
Oh shit. He had to go back to his apartment.
That was so weird. Maybe he could just make a beeline for Anteiku instead?
He was really confused, and he honestly just wanted to… lie down for a little while… maybe…
Maybe his old apartment wouldn't be so bad.
I'll go to the apartment, he thought, tiptoeing back into his room. I'll shower and sleep a little, and then I'll go to Anteiku. There was no nurse, so it felt safe to start shuffle through things. He found his shoes sitting on a radiator, and he dropped them onto the tile as he craned his neck to get a better look at the room.
He found his phone sitting on a little bedside table. He adjusted the backs of his shoes, eying it with some degree of distrust. Hadn't he thrown that thing away months ago?
He'd already forgotten about the whole déjà vu thing. What was he going to do if this wasn't a hallucination? If there was no waking up from this?
Then, he realized in a jolt of shock, I can stop all of it before it begins. I could save Anteiku.
He could save Anteiku!
Hope enveloped his chest in a warm, lightweight blanket, and he found himself smiling. This was good. This could be a really good thing!
He scooped up his phone and marched out the door. Hope was bouncing like a little boat buoying amidst a savage monsoon. All his emotions were clashing at once to attack that little shred of light inside him, waves snapping their iron maws and spitting upon the beating sails, sour and briny as it refused to settle.
It was dimming outside. His stomach hurt, and hope was clinging for its life as anxiety clapped like thunder inside his skull, doubt falling upon him in bullet-sheets, fear knifing through him like mid-winter wind, and this all culminated upon the mast of lightheartedness with a claw-like wave of instability. He couldn't hold himself upright, and therefore his hope was lost to the sea of despair that was welling up inside him.
How could he believe something like… like time travel? Was that what this could be called? Returning to his body when it'd been weak and fragile and spotless.
Wait, was that it? Was his body so shaky and achy because it hadn't been tempered into steel?
Ah. What could he even do to remedy that? He certainly did not want to be tortured again.
People were looking at him strangely as he walked. The warm air was kissing his bare arms, and a light breeze shuffled with his hair. The day was unwinding before him, the scent of pavement cooling and car exhaust filling his nostrils, and it was the barest of comforts.
His pocket began to buzz, and he jumped, standing at an intersection near his apartment. All the walking he'd done had drained him of energy, but his stomach wasn't hurting so much anymore. When he yanked his phone out of his pocket, it was still buzzing.
Multiple texts at once.
Hide, he thought, his stomach tying in knots.
Terror wailed in his ears, crooning like a witch's lullaby and lashing his cheeks like the bite of a whip. Tears welled up in his eyes.
Hide.
Hide!
He'd forgotten about Hide!
There was no wondering or supposing or puzzling out why Hide had been pushed out of his mind.
He did not question it.
The monsoon of clashing emotions was crushed down by an iron fist. The battered ship which had housed all his hope bobbed on the surface of his mind, and it was guided gently into safety.
Hide… Hide was where it had to start.
He had to fix all his mistakes. And Hide had been the first of a very long line of missteps.
He didn't even bother with checking the texts. He just went ahead and called him.
The tone rung for a bit. That gave Kaneki time to ease up the stairs of his building.
There was a flutter of happiness toying in his knotted gut as the tone was cut off by a bright, booming voice.
"YOU'RE AWAKE!" Hide had shouted it so loudly that Kaneki had to twist the receiver from his ear, wincing as the sound rung against his eardrum and lingered there. "YO. Yo, yo, yo, yo, okay, sorry, I'm cool, I'm good. I can't believe you actually called. Holy shit. You missed me that much, huh? Ha!"
Kaneki took a deep, shaky breath. There were tears in his eyes. He was smiling like a fool as he leaned against a railing for support. Hearing Hide's voice was such an incredible relief.
He decided he did not care if this déjà vu world he'd awoken into was real or not.
This was exactly where he wanted to be.
Death be damned.