#and while checking out the cashier casually mentioned its actually supposed to be a hair stick... oh .....

[pagesofkenna]

everyone but also @ranseur, look at this polearm i bought at a board game cafe the other day

[personne-reblogs]

Hello! Idk if you still accepting ficlet prompt or not, but if you do, would you mind if I request a combination of 2 fluff prompts between 52. “i’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” and 18. “are you that desperate?” “for you, yes.”, for OPM ship Batarou? Thank you very much 🙏💖

Whoopsie, I went a little wild with this one... well, you didn’t give me any word count and I was very inspired by the shameless flirt so I included prompts 55, 61, 62 and 63 as well. Thanks Anon, I had so much fun!! Hope y’all will like it!

Fandom: One Punch Man Ship: Batarou Word count: 4k Summary: Lately, Badd has been haunted by a ghost. Kinda. It looks like a guy with white spiky hair, but Badd's the only one to see it. It's following him everywhere, and it's able to help him fight monsters, and it Won't. Stop. Flirting.

Read under the cut or read on AO3!

A Ghost Story

***

There have been better days, Badd sighs to himself. The rain that ruined his carefully stylished hair this morning, the Hero Association meeting that took his entire afternoon, the busy traffic that almost made him late for his ice cream appointment with Zenko, the empty fridge that has him walking to the nearest nightshop at this late hour.

“You look amazing tonight,” a predatory voice purrs behind him.

Ah, yes. And the ghost that has been following him for days and won’t shut the fuck up.

“You’re still here, huh?” Badd asks without thinking, and immediately regrets it.

“Not like I’ve got anywhere else to be, dumbass,” the ghost replies, and Badd suddenly feels tired. He’s heard this shit, like, a thousand times already, and it’s been less than a week. “You should have registered by now. Nobody’s that stupid.”

“Hey, watch it, asshole,” Badd grunts defensively. “‘s been a long day, okay?”

“Oh yeah? How come I didn’t see any of that?”

There’s a smirk in the ghost’s tone, and Badd doesn’t even need to turn around to know there’s a teasing look printed on its face.

“Not every hard day is about fighting, y’know. Regular human stuff is exhausting too.”

“Right,” the ghost says, and there’s a pout in that.

Badd walks through the night shop's door and automatically goes for the drink aisle. He knows the ghost comes in too, but it mercifully keeps quiet.

It first appeared after Badd killed a random tiger-level monster on his way back from Zenko’s school. It has the form of a dude with strange white, spiky hair. A dude who looks like he practises a lot of sport - something contact-ish, martial arts, maybe. At first Badd thought it really was a random guy that had arrived after the monster was dead, but then the thing had followed him everywhere, claiming it was stuck with him, and Badd had realized he was the only one to see it. Creepy.

Now the ghost - that’s all Badd can think of to describe it - is part of his life, whether he likes it or not. It usually appears at night, when it’s dark outside, maybe cuz it doesn’t like daylight or some shit. Except it also appears each time Badd is in a fight. Even in plain day. Hell if he knows why.

“Keep the change,” he tells the cashier before heading back home with a fresh bottle of coke. He’s addicted to it these days. Can’t sleep early, so he might as well treat himself with something sweet while he endures endless conversations with the thing.

“I’ve always wanted to try it,” the ghost says conversationally as soon as they’re out in the street, because of course it won’t keep quiet any longer. God, Badd feels so tired.

“I’d gladly share it with you, but, you know,” he replies as mockingly as he can, turning around and slightly shaking the bottle before opening it and taking a long sip. He makes a show of savouring it just because he can and the thing can’t. It can’t touch anything real, actually, and isn’t that a fucking ghost thing?

Except it does manage to hit monsters in fights. It has happened before. Weird.

The ghost narrows its eyes at him and crosses its arms, but a twisted smile stretches its lips.

“Yeah, but you offered anyways. See? You’re cute when you’re half asleep.”

It really Won’t. Stop. Teasing.

Will it?

***

It’s two in the afternoon when he gets a call from the Hero Association. There’s a demon level threat across town, he’s the closest S-class hero around. He immediately goes to the location they sent him - he was bored anyway.

He’s surprised by the looks of the monster once he’s there. For its level, it happens to be… small, actually. Not even the size of a human being. It jumps in and out of sight, hides behind public bins, and destroys buildings as if they were nothing.

Shit. That one’s gonna be a pain in the ass.

“Fucking finally,” an unexpected, hungry voice hisses behind him, and he realizes he almost forgot about The Thing.

It’s been two entire weeks and he almost bloody forgot.

“Stay outta my way,” Badd orders, his grip tightening on his bat, his eyes searching the place to find the monster back. It’s gonna be complicated enough without the ghost distracting him.

“Yeah, right,” the voice laughs next to him.

“Dude, I really have no time for yer -”

He stops mid-sentence because there is suddenly a building collapsing beside him, and he doesn’t even have time to swear before he gets a glimpse of the monster across the street. It seems like it is avoiding contact, staying out of reach -

And then, in a blur, the ghost rushes past him to throw itself on the monster.

Literally.

He can’t make out what happens after that, not amongst the dust from the demolition, so he runs after them.

When he finds them back, the monster lies motionless on the floor. The ghost is casually sitting on a rubble, an arm thrown around its knee, a ferocious smile spreading wide on its face.

“Gosh, I’ve missed this,” it says as if it were talking about going for a walk in the sun.

It looks that refreshed, at least. Neat.

“What the shit?!” Badd barks, because even though he’s impressed, he doesn’t like losing control of the situation.

“Not the first time I give you a hand, you know. No big deal.”

“I would’ve handled this perfectly well on my own, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, and you would’ve destroyed the entire fucking city, so, you’re welcome.”

“Ghost, I swear -”

“Oh, honey, I thought we were past that,” the ghost says with an exaggerated hurt look.

“Past what?” Badd asks confusedly.

“I have a name, you know.”

“No, I don’t.”

“What?”

The ghost looks genuinely surprised, and it shouldn’t, but it makes Badd feel extremely satisfied.

“You never mentioned it. Your name.”

“I - really?”

The ghost shakes its head with an incredulous chuckle. It gets up from the rubble, comes a few steps closer, and presents Badd its hand.

“Call me Garou.”

Badd shouldn’t try to shake that hand. It doesn’t exist. His own hand would pass through it and he’d look like a fucking moron.

But he’s curious, so he does it anyway.

And it turns out it feels exactly like a regular handshake.

“Hi. I’m Badd.”

***

He his a martial art type of guy.

Badd has seen him in enough fights to know for sure now. It’s not just the vibe and the looks - whenever they’re in a fight, the ghost Garou uses sharp, precise techniques Badd could only dream of.

Not that he’s interested in martial arts, but he has to admit it’s quite effective.

Especially when Garou single-handedly brings strong ass opponents down like that.

 Hot.

“Pfff, no fun,” Garou sighs, disappointed, before coming back to Badd. He always does. Something to do with him being physically unable to wander too far away from his human host, or some shit.

“It isn’t supposed to be fun, but whatever,” Badd points out while poking at his own enemy with his bat, just to check. It’s dead alright.

“You say that because you’re not strong enough to have a good time.”

“Right,” Badd says. He has given up on reacting to Garou’s teasing. It’s no use.

“Maybe you’d be more useful in fights if you weren’t so busy staring at me,” Garou goes on.

Badd only raises a very unamused eyebrow at him.  

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice,” his ghost insists with that stupid, smug expression of his. He even - wait, was that a bloody wink?

“Urgh, I’m gonna be sick,” Badd tiredly mumbles as he turns around to leave the scene. Now that the fight is over, Garou will soon disappear for the rest of the day. Meanwhile, there’s a piano recital Badd needs to attend.

To be honest, he’s getting used to this whole ghost thing. Garou can handle himself in a fight. Hell, he can even be of some real use, Badd has to give him that.

Such a shame he’s that much of a big mouth. It’s been almost a month now, and his lame pickup lines still exhaust him.

***

When the evening is quiet and the weather is soft, Badd loves to just sit on the wooden stairs behind his house and chill. Zenko often joins him, and they chat, or she just reads a book until it’s time for her to get to bed.

That time was half an hour ago. Now Badd is alone with Tama, purring loudly in his lap as he pets her, and he simply enjoys doing nothing.

He doesn’t really notice the nightfall.

“It’s late,” a familiar voice says in a sugar-coated tone. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Badd tilts his head to find his ghost in his usual sitting position, one elbow casually resting on his knee, a few steps higher.

He recognizes the question for what it actually is: an attempt at starting some small talk. He’s not in the mood, so he shrugs, and suppresses a grimace when the gesture makes his bandaged shoulders sting a bit. Then he shifts to find a more comfortable position and resumes petting Tama without answering.

Garou doesn’t insist. Nice.

They spend a moment like that, in silence, and with the light breeze brushing his washed hair, Badd thinks he could fall asleep right there. The adrenaline of the fight he’s had this afternoon has finally worn off, and he feels tired, but in a good way - it’s a physical weariness, not the nervous tension he’s been used to lately.

After a while, his ghost is talking again, and it would annoy Badd if not for the genuine curiosity in his voice.

“Just wanted to ask, about earlier… How did you do that?”

“What d’ya mean?”

“I saw that monster beat the shit out of you,” Garou says, and he sounds suspicious. “You were out, man. How the fuck did you get up and win after that?”

“Not thanks to you, asshole,” Badd groans, but there isn’t any bite to it. He’s actually smirking a little.

“That kind of brute? Not my style,” his ghost snorts with a disgusted expression. “Besides, I wanted to see how you’d manage without me, and… shit, I still don’t know what I’ve seen.”

Badd doesn’t know what he’s done to make an impression on fucking Killing Machine Garou, but hell if he doesn’t secretly feel very pleased.

“Just some good old fighting spirit,” he replies in a carefully neutral tone.

“Come again?”

“Y’know. When you get all angry at stuff. Makes you go wild.”

“You… were angry,” Garou repeats incredulously.

“Well, duh! Wasn’t gonna let that jackass waste any more of my time,” Badd explains blandly, and he doesn’t get what’s so hard to understand.

He turns to watch Garou, and catches him staring right back, eyes wide in a shocked expression. Then the ghost bursts out laughing, and it startles Badd, because it isn’t one of his damn chuckles: it’s an actual, full-throated laugh.

“What?” he asks, not knowing if he should feel cheerful or offended.

“You’re really something else,” Garou wheezes, theatrically pretending to wipe a tear away. “Man, I wish you’d killed my last host sooner - where were you all this time?!”

“You mean, that tiger level monster back when I met ya?”

“Yep,” Garou nods, sobering up a little. “I’ve been stuck with it for years. Never been so bored in my whole sorry existence. The bastard spent most of its time hiding from humans.”

“Why didn’t you kill it?”

“Because I can’t, obviously. I can touch my hosts, but I’m physically unable to harm them. I thought you’d figured that much out,” Garou explains, and his voice is regaining its teasing tone already.

“So that’s why you still haven’t tried to killed me,” Badd deadpans, feeling a little more up for banter than a moment ago.

“That, and also, who would you talk to if you didn’t have me?”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s pretend I’m not the one who’d kick your ass, why don’t we.”

“SAY WHAT??”

***

Garou doesn’t know exactly where he is during the day, when his host isn’t involved in a fight. Time passes differently, and for the most of it, he isn’t really conscious. It’s like he’s in some kind of stasis. And then, when he’s awake, he’s full of energy in a way humans probably can’t imagine. He wants to talk, to run, to explode and to scream. He wants to exist.

That’s why he likes fighting so much. It makes him feel useful. It makes him feel real. It’s the proof that he can leave his mark on a world he sometimes doubts he’s a part of. He’s had countless years to train, and he’s become strong - strong enough that he’s having a good time whatever the enemy.

But, well, fighting isn’t everything. He’s had dozens of hosts, and he’s never been able to walk too far away from them without slipping into his awkward rest mode again - only to find himself stuck with the same host when he wakes up again. Which always turns up to be incredibly boring. Between humans who mostly sleep at night and monsters who sometimes don’t talk at all, Garou has learnt the hard way that he’s, in fact, a talkative guy. And isn’t that a great thing to be when the only being in the whole universe who can see and hear you is your current host?

Garou has had his fair share of boredom, to say the least.

“Hey, dipshit, you awake?”

That’s why he’s more than happy with his new host.

“When have you seen me sleep before?” Garou replies with a playful smirk, tilting his head towards the voice.

It’s dark, and he’s outside, leaning his shoulder against the external wall of the house, arms crossed onto his chest. Badd is standing a few paces further and is giving him a vaguely annoyed look.

“Haven’t heard what I just said, have ya? We’re goin’ for a walk. Come on.”

“Why, babe, it almost sounds like a date,” Garou teases in his cheesiest tone.

“We’re out of food for Tama,” Badd goes on, unbothered, as if Garou hadn’t spoken at all. Damn, he’s good at ignoring him.

“Guess it can’t be helped,” Garou sighs loudly, trying very hard not to give away how eager he actually is to just… do something. Anything.

“Don’t make that face. We’ll make a lil’ detour by that shitty park - you know the one. Who knows what we might find there, at such an hour?” Badd grins, shifting his grip on his bat, and it seems like he’s eager, too.

Yeah, Garou thinks with an amused expression as he follows Badd into the street, that’s got to be his best host ever. Badd does sleep, of course, but far less than the average human - or, well, much later, so there’s that. He’s a hero, so he’s involved in more battles than Garou can count - and he’s good at fighting, in his own way. Not exactly the fast, calculated fighting Garou is used to, but rather a raw, brutal style, with a strength and a resilience that has forced Garou’s admiration more than once (meaning his host probably won’t die on him anytime soon - not that Garou would let that happen, anyway). Last but not least, Badd is fun to talk to, even if Garou’s constant teasing never seems to pull any reaction out of him - and that’s new, because all his previous hosts had let him get to their nerves so easily, but Badd won’t even acknowledge his little game, which is fun, too.

It’s fun because it allows him to push as far as he wants without risking damaging the balance they have found, and the domesticity of it is making him more relaxed than he’s ever been.

The park is quiet and empty when they get there. Garou tries not to feel frustrated, and fails. He’s glad he can stretch his legs a little, but he really could use some action right now. It’s been days since they last were in a fight.

“Shit, we’ll have to actually buy food for your stupid cat, won’t we,” Garou mutters.

“Don’t call her that,” Badd snaps, looking down at his phone. “But yeah, looks like everything’s fine tonight. Let’s go before the nightshop closes.”

So Badd won’t react to shameless flirting, but he will defend his goddamn cat. Garou smiles as he stores the information for later use, and makes to turn around and leave - except he doesn’t.

He suddenly feels like his whole body is being weighed down. He frowns down at his feet and insists.

He stays perfectly still.

“Well, well,” a smug voice says, “That’s a pretty friend you’ve got here, Metal Bat.”

Garou furrows his brow harder. There’s a man approaching - a random dude, all dressed up in a suit, hands in his pockets. On Garou’s left, Badd moves freely to face the newcomer.

“I dunno what yer talkin’ about,” his host says, sounding only mildly annoyed. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Thomas J. Lambert, at your service,” the guy introduces himself with assurance as he comes to a stop right before Badd. His attitude exhales cockiness and audacity. Garou already hates him.

“Never heard of ya,” Badd casually drops, as unimpressed as he always is. Which seems to suck a little of the fun out of the guy. Oh, he’s really good at this.

“Well, let’s just say that I’m an esper with… very specific abilities,” the douchebag goes on, and he sounds just a tad irritated. “I can feel the aura of your pet from miles away,” he adds, not even bothering to glance in Garou’s direction.

What a prick.

“I can hear you, y’know,” Garou interjects.

“And I can interact with it, too. My power is keeping it paralyzed as we talk,” Thomas Jerk  What’s-His-Name goes on, and he still won’t spare a glance at Garou. Badd does, though.

“Ya better hurry up and spit out what ya wanna say already,” he mutters, expression halfway between nonplussed and upset.

“It’s simple, really. I can rid you of this parasite - in exchange for financial compensation, naturally.”

“Oi! I’m right here,” Garou repeats louder, because he is beginning to lose his patience. He tries against his invisible restraints, without success.

His host is silent for long enough that Garou looks back up at him, and he is stunned to see Badd is grinning slightly.

Like he finds this whole situation funny.

The bastard.

“I’d make you a special price, of course,” Mr Jackass is still saying. “It would be my pleasure to help a S-Class hero out. What do you say?”

There’s a short silence.

Then Badd makes the most self-satisfied, shit-eating smile Garou has ever seen.

“How much would that be, exactly?”

“YOU ABSOLUTE ASSHO-”

“OKAY! Okay! Jesus,” Badd laughs, before turning back to the guy. “Sorry, fella, that’s… kind of you, I guess? but I’m not interested.”

“Are you certain, sir? Just think about it,” the son of a bitch insists. “I’m sure a hero like you could use a little peace at night.”

“Nah, I’m fine, thanks. Let him go, we’re moving,” Badd says as he begins to walk towards the exit of the park - only for the guy to block his way, hands lifted in a soothing attitude.

“What about the next host, then? Surely you wouldn’t willfully condemn someone to wear that burden after you.”

“Someone would hafta kill me first, and it ain’t for so soon.” Badd is probably starting to feel pissed, because he’s articulating every word distinctly, voice low and threatening. “I said I’m not interested. Let. Him. Go.”

The brat suddenly seems hesitant, but the pressure around Garou’s body doesn’t lessen. What is he playing at? No one in their right mind would want to get on Badd’s ner-

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” the walnut says, and his voice doesn’t sound human at all anymore.

Three things happen simultaneously. The force blocking Garou slightly diminishes, allowing him to take a single, difficult step forward. Badd falls down on one knee, as if he is now being crushed. And the suit of the esper tears itself apart, revealing a slender figure with what looks like a second pair of arms.

 A monster.

“Can’t say I was expecting to run into Metal Bat today,” the monster crackles, and its face doesn’t have anything human left either. “But you happen to be linked to a very powerful creature. I need to kill it to absorb its energy.”

“As if,” Garou snarls, taking another heavy step forward, struggling to regain more control over his body. Come on. Come on!

“I can’t have you protecting that thing,” the monster goes on, as if it doesn’t know how to shut the fuck up anymore. “But I don’t mean you any harm. We don’t have to be enemies. I’ll just keep you still while I take care of it.”

From the corner of his eye, Garou sees Badd brace himself on his bat and start to get up, but the monster points a finger at him, and he’s sent back to his knees.

The pressure on Garou loosens up a little more.

That fucker can’t immobilize us both completely, he realizes.

He tentatively straightens himself up and rolls his shoulders. His muscles feel heavy and slow as they strain against the still-there tension, but they obey him. He smirks. I can work with that.

“Your pet is still too weakened to overcome me, any-”

The monster is interrupted as Garou tackles it to the ground.

The close up fight is messy - a bit too much for Garou’s liking. He has to put all his focus on every move he makes, and even like that, he can feel how uncharacteristically slow and weak his attacks are.

“Shit,” he hisses against his better judgement when the monster hits him square in the shoulder. It doesn’t exactly hurt, but it does make him take a step back, and damn, he should have ducked that one.

He knows he should go for the arms. If he could tear one or two off, he’d have more room to use his usual techniques. But the esper knows better than to let Garou get too close, which is infuriating. It constantly jumps just out of reach, and only hits when Garou’s momentum prevents him from reacting in time.

I could use some fucking fighting spirit right now, Garou thinks, and he almost chuckles at the thought. Badd’s style isn’t always the most refined, but in Garou’s position, he’d probably still have enough raw strength to beat the shit out of that motherfucker.

Shame Badd isn’t in Garou’s position. The esper had said it’d concentrate on keeping the hero out of this, which is why Garou can move at all. Big fucking A.

Garou is pulled out of his thoughts as something punches him hard in the stomach, and the hit sends him flying a few feet away. “Dammit,” he swears as he raises to his feet again, reaching to the trail of blood that leaks from his mouth with trembling fingers.

He’s already getting tired.

And the monster only seems to become faster with each passing moment.

Its attacks still aren’t powerful enough to cause any serious injury, but time isn’t playing in Garou’s favor here.

I need to end this, he thinks. The sooner the better. He takes a deep breath and shifts his weight on his feet. He won’t win by his usual ways. He needs to rely less on the speed he currently doesn’t have, and to focus more on the few hits he can land if he wants to -

Right behind him, the monster emits something that might be a giggle, and Garou realizes it’s must closer than he’d thought.

He startles, turns on his heels, puts his guard up and braces himself -

The monster is hit by a metal bat on its side and violently crushes into the trees nearby, leaving greenish, fuming fluids all over the place.

Badd is standing in its place, and his face is maculated in red.

“You’re bleeding,” his host informs him, slightly out of breath.

Garou can’t believe this guy.

“I’m - ?! Dude, your face! What happened?”

“Hit myself,” Badd shrugs, swinging his now red-and-green bat on his shoulder, keeping an eye on the monster’s form where it landed. “To clear my mind of that jerk’s shit.”

“You -”

Garou trails off, because he needs a while to process this. A few paces away, the monster wiggles sluggishly - it isn’t dead yet, as the slight pressure still weighting Garou down should have let him know, and they should go on and finish it now, but he’s too stunned to get a move on.

So instead, he blinks and lets himself slip into more familiar ground as he cracks a flirtatious smile.

“Really? You hit your own head with your fucking bat just to give me a hand?” he grins cockily. “Man, are you that desperate?”

“For you, yes,” Badd states - he doesn’t whisper it, he doesn’t shy away from it, he states it, loud and plain, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Like it doesn’t make Garou suddenly feel warm all over.

For the first time ever, he doesn’t know what to say.

“Oh, so you’re the biggest bloody flirt there is, but I can’t flirt back?” Badd teases him with an all too knowing grin, before casually walking to the monster and delivering it the final blow.

Garou can feel his invisible restrains vanishing, but he still doesn’t know how to move. Or how to talk, for that matter.

“Come on,” Badd laughs as he shakes his bat to rid it of the monster’s gore. “If we run, we can make it to the nightshop in time to buy Tama’s food.”

“Wait-” Garou yells after him. “Wait, did you actually -”

“Come on!” Badd yells back, tone playful, and he’s already gone.

For a few more seconds, Garou just stands there, arms stupidly hanging at his sides, mind gone completely blank. Then a wide, amused, unbelieving smile spreads on his face, and he chases after Badd.

He’s blushing hard, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Badd cares.

And they have all the time in their intertwined lives to figure things out.

[verrottweil]

chance encounter at the 7-eleven

amoneki, bonding, or awkwardly checking each other out. pfft, i just needed to get this out of my head~

takes place during the first season of the anime, sometime after mado kureo died.

on ao3

.

I should’ve gotten something to eat right away, Amon quietly chastises himself as he walks towards the 7-Eleven on the corner in a brisk pace.

Exercising’s his emotional outlet. He plunged into an intensive cardio workout, doing jumping jacks, pushups, rope jumps, dumbbell swings and squats for little over an hour this evening at the gym, and went jogging around Ueno Park when the second-guessing became too much to handle.

           And with his mind constantly racing a hundred an hour, he wasn’t really in the mood to eat anyway.

He should’ve known that after showering and settling down in his bed to do some final revisions on a report, his stomach would start to protest and grumble loudly.

Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, Amon pauses in front of the automatic door and sighs impatiently. He’ll probably buy a ready-to-eat meal and eat it at one of the tables in front of the window. Squinting a bit at the harsh glare of the white lights, he goes inside, dutifully nodding at the scrawny teen who mutters a disinterested irasshaimase from behind the counter, and walks over to the back of the store where the fridges are lined up against the wall.

Two of the refrigerators are filled with bottled tea, milky tea, iced coffee, beer and water, while another one’s stacked with yoghurts and cartons of flavored milk.

Standing in front of the open cabinet wedged between the last fridge and the door to the bathroom, Amon starts to browse the ready-to-serve dinners. He conscientiously reads the ingredient list of the curry chicken and rice, before putting the packaging back on the shelf and moving on to check out the price of the udon with beef and omelette, it’s at least twenty yen cheaper, so he decides to take it.

While he’s busy digging up a couple of coins, a new customer enters the store; the automatic door slides open, the bell chimes and the cashier then churns out another monotone greeting.

But from the corner of his eye, the guy who just entered bears a striking resemblance to that one ghoul with the eyepatch mask, begging Amon to flee, begging Amon not to turn him in a murderer. He spins around on his heel to watch him saunter over to the table with a can of coffee in his hand and a book in the other. Once the guy’s seated, he notices that his face reflects in the window glass, revealing him to have soft, boyish features, a mop of black hair, small thin lips and a white, medical eyepatch covering his left eye.

No way, he mouths the words silently, ignoring the impatient look the cashier’s levelling him, no way that ghoul’s here.

“Sir?” The cashier prompts, bringing his palm down on the counter to catch his attention, “You’re still eighteen yen short.”

Amon turns around at the interruption, and frowning, he digs up two ten-yen coins from his wallet and hands them over to the scrawny teen, then disinterestedly watches both the selection of smokes behind the counter and the cashier typing in the balance on the cash register. He tries to ignore how the wound on his shoulder tingles. Soon enough he’s presented with two one-yen coins, glimmering dully in the bright lights of the fluorescent tubes overhead, and his meal wrapped up in a handy, blue bag with a pair of throwaway chopsticks.

Steeling himself, he takes a deep breath, then he purposefully walks over and loudly puts his meal down on the table.

He’s secretly a bit pleased that he managed to scare the guy. But that trickle of satisfaction quickly turns to inexplicable guilt when he snaps his head up from his book and simply looks at Amon with a startled expression. Much like a skittish animal—a mouse, or a sparrow maybe, would be surprised to see a predator approaching its cover.

But the reaction’s so wholly normal, so far removed from the animalistic way the ghoul had thrown himself at him and tore a chunk of meat from his shoulder or the sheer panic on the ghoul’s face when he realized what he had done. Self-consciously tugging on the silver cross around his throat, he offers the guy an apologetic smile and somewhat sheepishly motions to the chair, unwilling to break the silence by asking if it was okay to sit down.

When he gets a nod in response, he settles down on the barstool and props his elbows on the tabletop.

Itadakimasu, he whispers under his breath before he rips the plastic from his meal and breaks the chopsticks in two, ready to dig in.

Amon feels underdressed enough as it is in just his sweatpants, plain white t-shirt and running shoes, but the guy next to him seems to be checking him out through his reflection in the window glass if the lingering glances are anything to go by.

“Um,” Amon knows he’s a bit of a catastrophe when it comes to initiating small talk—and he can feel splashes of sauce on his chin and there’s probably a stain on the neckline of his t-shirt, but he sincerely hopes the other guy won’t notice.

He somehow manages to sort out his words, “It’s a nice evening, isn’t it?”

Slowly he turns around to peer at Amon with his one visible eye from underneath his evenly-cut fringe. There’s wonder in his gaze, not recognition—and if Amon’s completely honest with himself, he would’ve preferred recognition because it would’ve at least confirmed his suspicions about the guy, but now he’s left with an undercurrent of doubt.

“Ah…” Here he scratches his cheek, squints a bit, before throwing a glance outside, at the empty street and the clear sky, then he regards Amon again and breaks down in a slightly nervous smile. “Yes, I suppose it is. Nice and cloudless—” It’s weirdly endearing how he points up to the sky outside, as if to prove his own point.

“Were you still out jogging just now?” He prompts then, leaning forwards a bit, crossing his ankles and folding his arms over his book. His gaze’s far more inquisitive than the tone of his voice.

Amon wipes his mouth with a napkin and replies, “No, I was doing some paperwork—” and here the guy tilts his head, making him add the following, “At home. And I guess I just forgot to eat dinner. Why?”

He didn’t really mean to sound so defensive, but he’s just so used at being prodded for weaknesses.

“Oh, it’s just,” the guy pauses for a split-second, rubbing his chin in consideration, and continues, “I heard it got pretty dangerous around these parts at night… With the ghoul attacks and everything… Um. I’m sorry for prying.”

“Right,” he mutters quietly in response, his brows furrowed together.

Sometimes he forgets how casually civilians can mention ghouls, as if the threat they pose isn’t as pressing as he knows it is, as if they’re like pickpockets in abandoned alleyways instead of monsters searching for a meal. His entire life’s centered around fighting ghouls after all. From his peripheral, Amon wagers another glance at the guy and while he knows there’s no dismissing the possibility that this guy’s the eyepatch ghoul, he also knows there’s a big chance the guy’s not.

Meanwhile the bike some high school girl put against the wall of the store outside clatters to the ground and the girl jumps in surprise at the sudden noise; but it’s just something that happens to be there on the backdrop, like the pop music playing or the soft whirring of the air conditioner.

“Strange time to be reading by yourself here,” Amon comments as he straightens his back and rolls his neck to ease off the strain.

He backs away and closes the book, showing off the cover; Manji, the title reads, underscored by the name of the author, Junichiro Tanizaki, and the date of publication. Smiling sheepishly, the guy replies, “I need to finish the chapter by tomorrow but I ran out of coffee.”

—But there’s something so disarming about the way his mouth curves in that close-lipped smile.

“So… you’re a literature student.”

Obviously, Amon bristles, feeling embarrassment the second those words left his mouth, otherwise he wouldn’t be carrying a book like that around.

“Yes,” the guy says very softly, turning around on the barstool to face him properly.

Amon’s taken aback by how delicate the guy looks: his eye’s a glassy gray, framed by thick eyelashes, his cheeks are round, not entirely done away with its baby fat, but not too chubby either, and the cupid bow of his mouth is rather pronounced, but he does have a noticeable underbite.

If anything, there’s something androgynous about his features and his lithe form.

But it’s not unappealing, he concludes as he rakes his gaze over the guy’s body, from his head to the frumpish, over-sized sweater and the pair of skinnies that are rolled up at the ankles he’s wearing, down to his simple white sneakers.

“I’m quite passionate about reading, actually,” the guy continues, bringing his hands nervously to his lap, appearing to be uncomfortable with talking about himself but perhaps equally so with the prospect of an awkward silence.

He brings the full weight of his one-eyed gaze back to Amon’s flustered face when he asks, “Do you like to read?”

“When I was younger…”

He shakes his head, trailing off as the memories come trickling through slowly at first—this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins, with notes sprawled in a hasty cyrillic in the margins— and then they burst through like water from a dam. More biblical verses, corrections to a Japanese copy of Anna Karenina, sheets with choral music that slip from clumsy children’s hands, and so many more things he had once cherished to read during his childhood.

His sigh sounds a little bit like loss.

“Most of the things I read now are related to my job,” Amon explains dryly, drumming his fingernails onto the tabletop. “I haven’t really been on the lookout for decent reading material lately, I guess.”

“Could I, maybe, recommend a few of my favorites?” There’s a spark of hope in his tone of voice, matching the expression on his face, as if it’s important to him.

Amon offers him a somewhat stilted smile in return, briefly—reflexively—touching the cross around his neck, and answers, “Sure… I think I’d like that, actually.”

He perks up instantly, straightens in his seat and takes a quick sip of his half-empty coffee can before beginning to talk.

“Thank you! So, I enjoyed everything Takatsuki Sen wrote, but I really suggest the Black Goat’s Egg, because the imagery is just… wow, so vivid and meaningful, especially when it comes to the juxtaposition between the physical and the psychological. It’s nothing short of magnificent the way she writes…”

Amon knows he’s blatantly staring—no, he’s ogling the guy at this point, from the way his face lights up, to the intonation and emphasis in his speaking, to the soft curve of his bottom lip and the hint of teeth. He props his chin up on his knuckles and just listens to him.

“But enough about the Black Goat’s Egg,” the guy concludes awkwardly when he gets caught up in the intensity of Amon’s gaze.

Swiping his tongue over the seal of his mouth, he then continues, “You can’t go wrong with a classic, of course, so I think you might find Kafka’s Metamorphosis interesting too.”

“That first one must be a really good book if you’re so captivated by it,” Amon remarks matter-of-fact, as he seizes him up.

“It is, I could talk hours about it if I wanted... But then again, you might not want to…” He trails off here, too self-conscious suddenly, shirking back and grabbing his can of coffee. Shyly scratching his chin, the guy then asks, “We haven’t really introduced ourselves properly yet, now have we. May I ask what your name is?”

“Amon. I’m Amon Koutarou. It’s nice to meet you.” He means those last words and sincerely hopes it translates in his voice, in his expression.

“What’s yours?”

He smiles widely, showing off his teeth, and says, “I’m Kaneki, Kaneki Ken. It’s nice to meet you too, Amon-san.”

They spend a couple more minutes unhurriedly talking, up to the point where Amon feels guilty for keeping Kaneki from his assignment. Up to the point where the last sip of coffee tastes stale and cold and Kaneki grimaces when he gulps it down like he swallowed a lemon whole. For some reason, they ended up grinning like idiots at each other.

It was one of the better nights Amon’s had since Mado died.

.

They meet again on a battlefield, on opposite sides, with wisps of smoke curling around Kaneki’s face, hiding his ghoulish, red eye away from sight.

—May I ask what your name is?

He inhales, exhales, and tries to remain stone-faced at the question.

—Amon.

Kaneki dips his head and smiles.

.