#returned to the sunlit garden against all odds

[solcarow]

HEY WAIT YOU PLAYED ISAT

oh i watched a 100% playthrough :D i’m a tad bit blindsided by its flaws but !! in the end i enjoyed it a whole lot , it was very charming hehe

[moth-and-raven]

CHAPTER TWELVE

I can’t sleep. And from my window, I see that Julian and Portia can’t either; the lights in the little cottage stay on long into the night. I hope they’re catching up, after a decade apart.

A piece of me wants to rejoin them. I felt so safe cocooned in the smells of Portia’s cooking and the laughter we shared. It drained away step by step as I returned to the palace. I trust both of them, but I miss them, too, even though they’re so close. It’s weird to be able to put faces to the holes in my heart.

I must’ve fallen asleep eventually, though, because I startle at the sound of a songbird greeting the dawn. We didn’t agree on an exact time to meet up again, but the earlier the better. With any luck, no one will be wasting the few days left before the Masquerade hanging around Lucio’s old rooms.

At least, no one but us.

The summer morning is cool and clear, buoying me down the garden path to the cottage. Julian emerges as soon as he sees me; Portia has to physically hold him back from running out to meet me. I laugh, seeing her strong, freckled arms wrapped around him from behind. She grimaces and releases him as I shut the door.

“Finally,” she grunts, though it can’t be later than six-thirty. “Nothing personal, but I’m already tired of hearing your name today.”

Julian pulls me into an embrace and spins around the small room, kissing my cheeks and forehead. “Good morning, my darling,” he murmurs. “What a sight you are.”

“Will you calm down, lover boy?” Portia rolls her eyes and swats at him, but I hear the smile in her voice.

He stops, raking his gaze over my face. “No,” he says softly. “I can't.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to.” She shakes her head and pulls a bundle of clothing from behind a chair. “‘Ian’ isn’t very excitable.”

“Ian?”

“Would you rather be Jules again?”

Julian looks closely at the clothes in Portia’s arms: a palace servant’s uniform, similar to her own, all cream and gold. “I need a different name?”

“Look, would you just let me have my fun?” she pouts, quickly turning it into a grin. “You’re Ian, my humble assistant for the day. That means you have to listen to me or I’ll fire you.”

“You wouldn’t fire me, would you?”

Portia eyes him up and down, as if thinking hard. “Yes I would,” she says. “You’re very fire-able.”

All three of us laugh. I can’t help but snuggle into Julian’s chest to feel the rumble of it. He nuzzles my hair, sighing contentedly as the moment passes. “I suppose I can let ‘Ian’ have the spotlight,” he tells Portia, taking the clothes from her. "At least for today."

“Good. I want to get up there soon. Did you have breakfast, Reyja?”

I don’t want to take her food, but I shake my head as she glances out the window at the sun.

“There’re some eggs on the counter, and an orange too, I think. I have some chores to do before we go, but they shouldn’t take long,” she says, moving to the door. “Ten minutes tops. Be ready by then?”

Julian nods.

Portia narrows her eyes at him, then at me. “Wait for me if you guys get done first, okay? You’ll be the least conspicuous if I’m around.”

Silence settles in the room after she leaves. I sit down on Portia’s perfumed couch; Julian starts to join me, then thinks better of it and ducks into the bathroom to change instead.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks. I can still hear him clearly.

“Not really. Too excited.”

“Nor did I."

I frown. "That's two nights in a row, isn't it? That you haven't slept?"

"Ahm… yes."

"Will you be alright?"

"This is nothing, truly. And I did sleep a bit. It'll tide me over, I promise."

I'm surprised by how fiercely I want to take care of him. I've never felt like that before. "If we get a minute, we should take a nap."

"Oh, darling, that sounds absolutely divine."

I lean on the back of the couch, resting my chin on my crossed wrists, watching the shadows he casts on the wall as he changes into his new outfit. Portia did the best she could finding clothes that would fit, but it looks like both shirt and trousers will hang loosely on him.

When he’s dressed, he reappears at the open door, doing up the last of his gilded buttons. “I was thinking about us.” He pauses, looking at me tenderly. “And I’m curious: would you have accepted my, erm, advances, from the beginning?”

“Like breaking-into-the-shop beginning?”

“Ha, had I not been so focused on tracking Asra down, I might’ve asked to stay.”

“Really?”

“I considered it.” He laughs. “You were in your element, my dear, with your spells and your blade. And in that robe too… I kept trying to think of reasons to come back, all the next day. If you hadn’t shown up at the Raven, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

“Is that why you were so eager to talk that night?”

“What, when I asked you to dinner?”

That is what he did, isn’t it? A date I didn’t even realize we were on. “Yeah.”

“Circumstances being as they were, I did find myself wondering about that pendant. That you were carrying it only made me more interested.”

I touch the smooth silver moon hanging around my neck. “You still can't remember what it means?”

“No. I don’t mind, though. If all it did was bring us together, it means the world to me.”

My heart surges, swelling with affection. He grins and crosses the room, cupping my cheek as he kneels to press his lips to mine.

“I never did get to say what I pictured doing with you, did I?” he asks, more breath than sound.

He didn’t, though I can hardly regret what happened instead. I don’t have to encourage him to go on.

“Hm.” He sits down beside me. “Aside from the obvious, as I so vividly demonstrated, they're the most mundane things. Like— like taking you shopping, or doing laundry together. Is that… do you find that odd?”

I shake my head and nestle against him. It isn’t odd; it’s one of the most soothing scenes I’ve ever imagined.

“And, and settling down with you at the end of a long day,” he murmurs. “Just like this, or maybe in front of a fireplace. Anywhere, really, so long as you’re in my arms.”

I let my eyes flutter shut as I inhale the scent of his skin, his hair. “We could read together,” I suggest. “Or play cards.”

“We could, we could. Would you let me take you out to dinner again, too? Show you off?”

“If you wanted.”

“Oh, I want the whole city, the whole world, to see us and know we’re together. And we could even take Nurlan up on her offer of seeing a show, couldn’t we? I’m no stranger to the stage, you know. I used to be quite the actor. That’s where I met her, in fact.”

A slightly less peaceful thought burrows between his words, grinning slyly at me. “That could be fun,” I say. “Did you have your own dressing room and everything?”

His heavy-lidded gaze turns sultry as he follows where I lead. “All to myself.”

“Do they let audience members backstage if they really, really want to visit?”

“My darling, I wouldn’t let them keep you from me for all the gold in the Palace’s coffers.”

I hum contentedly, admiring the image in my head: I’m already in his dressing room when he comes through the door, flushed and exhilarated from a successful opening night. I stand up to greet him and draw him in for a kiss that turns rapidly from celebratory to sensual. I’m sure he can taste my intentions.

His chest moves with the sigh he heaves. “So much I want to experience with you,” he says wistfully.

“We can.”

“Do you think so?”

I peer up at him, throwing one leg over his thighs as I tuck myself into his side. “Yes.”

“Well, who am I to nay-say such confidence, hm?”

I don’t think anyone has ever described me as confident, but he’s right. I feel it. I’m tired, but excited, and hopeful, and determined to see what happens next. Maybe this will be beyond my capabilities, but I won’t face it alone.

“Oh, I could spend a lifetime kissing you,” Julian murmurs. “I want to spend a lifetime kissing you.”

“It takes two, doesn’t it? We’d be kissing each other.”

“So we would.” He grins. “Shall we start right away?”

He’s dressed and ready to go. Portia will still be a few minutes. We have time, but I won’t waste any of it by saying so.

We’re in a somewhat compromising position when she returns: sprawled along the couch, Julian laying against me with my legs wrapped around his hips, so involved in each other that I don’t even hear the door. I should’ve known better — it’s already apparent that his touch, his very presence, blurs my caution into action every time. Even the looming threats of the Plague and the Masquerade pale in the warmth he spreads.

Both of us scramble to sit up in response to Portia’s beleaguered sigh, but she just shakes her head. “Come on,” she says. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner the two of you can have some privacy. Wait, where’s your wig?”

“Oh, erm.” Julian gestures towards the bathroom.

Portia rolls her eyes. “Put it on. Everyone knows to look out for a redhead. They won’t be expecting dark hair instead.”

Julian offers his hand to help me up, dropping a final kiss to my knuckles before breaking away to collect the wig Portia found. It washes him out a little, but he doesn’t look half-bad with straight black hair falling to his chin, covering his right eye. He smiles bashfully and does his best to tuck his new bangs behind his ear, but they won’t stay. It’s for the best: he’d be even more conspicuous wearing his patch, and this way no one can see, and be tipped off by, his plagued eye.

We follow Portia through the sunlit gardens to the palace, swinging our linked arms. “We’re probably gonna have to go the back way,” she explains, tossing the words over her shoulder as she fishes for her ring of keys to unlock the same greenhouse we left through last night. “Carmeline was telling me that they’re blocking off the whole suite for the party, so no one wanders up there accidentally.”

“What’s the back way?” I ask.

“This, the servants’ passages. They run all over the building. Sorry about your neck, Ian,” she says to Julian, smiling cheekily. “You’ll have to crouch down.”

He sighs, resigned to his fate.

“Reyja can give you a massage later, right?”

I certainly could, and squeeze his hand to tell him so.

“What a reward,” he says dreamily. He’s about to lean in to kiss me again when Portia smacks his arm.

“No more of that. Not while we’re here.”

“Ah, of course.”

“And stay close. It’s easy to get lost, the way we’re going.”

I lose my bearings after the first three turns. How anyone can navigate these twisting halls with no indication of where they are in the broader scheme of the palace is beyond me, but every servant we pass seems to know exactly where they’re going. It’s for the best that they’re so focused, and so busy: no one gives Julian a second glance. Maybe his disguise was unnecessary, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.

We follow Portia single-file, past living quarters and storage rooms and kitchens and closets. At one point we pass an armory, full to the brim with weapons long neglected to rust. A tiny staircase gives us pause; it’s barely wide enough for my hips, and poor Julian is nearly doubled over to avoid the low ceiling. But we manage to squeeze up the tight spiral and crowd together on the landing crowning it while Portia feels for the door handle in the dark. I call a small light to my palm to help her, but our bodies cast shadows too dark to see through.

She finds it eventually, and we stagger out of the wall into ash piled high like snowdrifts. We’re on the other side of the suite now, opposite where Portia and I explored before. My heart catches in my throat when I realize that we’ve emerged in Lucio’s bedroom itself, untouched for the last three years, stirring cinders into the air with our breath and footsteps.

It’s so quiet. Eerily quiet, like sound is being eaten before it can escape. I close my eyes against the force of the silence.

And Lucio’s spark flares into view, white-silver and red, the vaguest shape of a man, blurred at the edges. His form disappears when I open my eyes again, but his presence remains, angrier than he was a few days ago. I wonder if he knows what time of year it is. The Masquerade was held in celebration of his birthday, after all, and from what I know of him, he’s probably pretty upset that people are ignoring its origins and partying without him.

At least that gives me an emotion to latch onto.

I rest one hand on Portia’s soft shoulder, holding her back before she can venture further in.

“What?” she asks. I can hear the excitement and concern mingled in her voice.

“He’s here,” I say simply.

Julian’s pressed so close to me I feel him tremble when I close my eyes again. I do my best to ignore him, weaving Asra’s old spells into careful nets to keep Lucio from vanishing when we call to him properly. He knows we’re here too, I think, but he can’t see us. I enclose the space around us, sealing up the room. Win or lose, here we go.

“Ready?” I ask quietly.

“We don’t have much of a choice, do we?” Julian whispers back, barely keeping his nerves at bay. Despite his eagerness last night, I can tell that this isn’t his favorite thing.

“Nope,” Portia says. “So let’s do it.”

“Okay.”

I call magical bindings to my fingertips, to hold him here when he manifests. I’d rather not use them if I can help it, because I know how much it will drain me, but needs must. Air mixed with fine particles of soot fills my lungs and I hold back a cough to call out to him: “Count Lucio?”

His aura flares red, searching through his former suite for the intrusion. But when he finds us, he recoils. Waves of fear and confusion replace his hostility even as he tries to stand his ground.

“Who’s there?” he hisses, but only I can hear him. His voice is reedy, a faint echo of what a living throat can make.

I ignore the question. He’ll find out soon enough. “We’ve come to visit you.”

“Uh-huh, sure. A palace full of toadies and not a single person comes up here until now.”

Not a single—? He’s been alone all this time? Three years, a floating consciousness with nothing else to do? How desperately lonely he must be.

“What do you want?” he adds peevishly. “I’m not really entertaining right now, y’get me?”

His presence is getting stronger, the more he funnels into communicating with us. He’s still unfocused, but I can almost see him when he moves. Behind me, Julian and Portia are frozen, holding each other’s hands, letting me work.

“That’s okay,” I tell him. “We won’t take long.”

“Hmph. Where else am I gonna go?” he pouts. “They’re shutting me up in here, away from the party.”

I wonder if he’ll manifest more quickly with flattery… “Locking you out of your own party?”

“Thank you! Finally, someone who recognizes how fucking stupid that is!” His shape roils like a thundercloud, smoke filling a glass vase until he almost looks solid. “The Masquerade is my baby! I may be dead, but I’m not gone!”

“That’s right,” I say, taking a hesitant step closer. “Um, speaking of… we had some questions for you.”

“Why d’you keep saying ‘we?’ There’s only one of you.”

Oh. “I… brought some friends. One of them might look familiar. He’s the one who wants to ask you about, uh…”

Lucio cuts me off. “Lemme see! Anyone who remembers me has shit to answer for, like—”

He stops dead the moment I take Julian’s hand. Both of them gasp, seeing each other for the first time. Julian’s skin is ice-cold, colder than usual, and his palm is damp with sweat, but he swallows bravely and raises his voice.

“Hello, Lucio.”

“Jules? ” Lucio says, the word dripping with incredulity.

“Now, you know I never liked that nickname—”

“Fuck my ass, it is you!”

“Erm.”

Lucio flows like quicksilver over the ash-stained carpet to shove his ghostly face into Julian’s. His eyes are the same piercing, plagued red, but his pupils are so pale as to be invisible.

“How fucking dare you?” Lucio shrieks. He tries to push Julian’s shoulder, but passes right through him. It only makes him angrier. “You fucking hack! I dug you outta the fucking trash to bring you here and wha’d’it get me, huh?! I trusted you, I gave you everything you fucking asked for! Why couldn’t you do what you said you would, asshole? This is all your fault! ”

I pull Julian back; he stumbles against me, flinching away from Lucio’s wrath. “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“No! You fucking didn’t! You didn’t do shit and now fucking look at me!”

“Lucio, I—”

“Never should've trusted you. I thought we had somethin’, y’know? Since you were there for the arm thing and all. I should've called Naz-whatever instead.”

Julian swallows hard. “Nazali — erm, Doctor Satrinava — couldn’t have risked—”

“Don’t you dare fucking lecture me, Jules!”

Julian winces as Lucio launches into another tirade. I squeeze his hand; I could let go of him and he wouldn’t have to hear any of it, since it’s only through me they can communicate. But he squeezes back and draws a steadying breath.

“Look, Lucio, as nice as it is to hear your voice again—”

“And now you’re fucking mocking me? How dare—”

“— I really only have the one question. Then I’ll get out of your hair.”

Lucio crosses his arms, looking for all the world a petulant child just told he had five minutes until bedtime. “I’m gonna make the same promise you made me,” he says. “I’ll do ‘whatever I can.’ And apparently, that means I don’t have to do jack shit.”

Julian sighs. “Did I kill you?”

“You sure as fuck didn’t fucking cure me, did’ya?”

“No, I mean… at the end?”

“Pfft. You might as well have.”

The crunch of ash fills the silence.

“... But I didn't?”

Lucio shrugs.

“I didn’t kill you?!”

“I don’t know, okay?” Lucio turns his back on us and floats across the room to the soot-stained curtains, pawing uselessly at them as he tries to open the window. He grunts in annoyance and stares at the wall instead.

Julian presses his point. “You don’t know who killed you?”

“Look, I was kinda busy at the time. Dying and shit.”

“Do you remember anything?”

He scowls. “I remember someone coming in… someone tall, and thin. And pale. But… but I don’t think it was you. They weren’t… they weren’t human …”

I could shout for joy. I won’t, but I could. Julian is innocent! I knew he had to be! If there was someone else in the room before him, Lucio might have been dead before he even got there. That’s a mystery of its own, but I can’t help the relief flooding through my veins. Whoever it was, it wasn’t him. And right now, that’s as much of a victory as I need.

But Julian’s still worried, and still deadly focused on Lucio’s nebulous form.

“Hey, uh. I got a question for you, too,” Lucio says, shaking himself out of his patchy memories. “You owe me one, anyway.”

Julian nods for him to continue.

“You still in contact with that Skylar guy?”

Julian startles. “Skylar? I haven’t seen him in years. How do you know him?”

“Duh, he was here. Cared about me more than you ever did, too.”

“I… don’t remember that.”

Lucio smirks. “I sure as fuck do. Damn, if I hadn’t been, like, dying… he could rearrange my guts any day.”

I hadn���t realized Portia could hear him too, but she stifles a snicker behind her hand. The other, I see, is still holding Julian’s. Julian himself blushes, and clears his throat.

“Erm, I’ll be sure to let him know.”

“ASAP. He’s here, y’know.”

“What? How do you know that, if you can’t—?”

Lucio preens. “My good doggies were playing with Salsa a few days ago. I heard them.”

“You heard…” Julian trails off, then turns to Portia. I can almost hear his mind racing. “Pasha, is a tall man with dark skin and green eyes staying in the palace?”

Lucio interrupts before she can answer. “Do you think I’d be asking if he was actually here here? I just know he’s somewhere in the city.”

And Julian laughs, his shoulders loosening. Whoever this Skylar is, his presence must mean a lot to him. “I bet I know exactly where.”

—————

Skylar belongs to @ollifree.

prev || next

[deartoulouse]

( maxence danet-fauvel, cis male, he/him )╰ ✧ ˔ ⭒ magic is in the air ! oh wait - that’s just our newest neighbour, TOULOUSE BONFAMILLE, the TWENTY-THREE year old FREELANCE ARTIST. they’ve been relocated from pastoral city, and so far the locals claim that they’re PROTECTIVE and PENITENT, just like TOULOUSE from THE ARISTOCATS. if you ask me, they seem like the type to enjoy TUSSLED HAIR & PAINT COVERED SHIRTS. apparently, they are REMORSEFUL about entering rome pines, and i don’t think their power of PRECOGNITIVE DREAMING will help them this time. let’s just hope they can adjust to the new neighbourhood…⭒˔ ╮

✎ THE STORY

( this backstory is just working off of the brilliant creativity of marie bonfamille’s, originally written by honey over at @pinkglossed - she’s the one who came up with the basic plotpoints, and i wouldn’t dare take any credit for them ! ) 

he was a surprise, toulouse bonfamille. the first of three, he was born out of wedlock, the result of a spontaneous romance driven by greed on one side, love on the other - attitudes perfectly reflected in his parent’s approaches towards their son. no one would have ever known that daphné hadn’t originally set out to have a child by the way she treated him, seemingly perfectly suited for motherhood from the word go - though she made plenty of mistakes, as all first-time mothers do, she made up for it with plenty of attention and adoration, and even after the births of his siblings she still found plenty of time to spoil him rotten. edgar, though, was a different story - while he was able to tick the basic parenting boxes, if he ever put in an effort to be a good, caring father, toulouse can’t remember it. towards both his fiancée and children, he was indifferent at best, cruel at worst, and it would be safe to say he was far from distraught when, not long before his eighth birthday, daphné finally packed up their things and moved them out of his childhood penthouse and into the bonfamille estate, leaving edgar behind for good.

toulouse adored his new home. he felt free in the estate - his days were spent running up and down lavishly decorated hallways, shepherding his brother and sister around sunlit gardens, or, his favourite, staring up at his grandmother’s practical gallery of historic paintings. he’d loved art since before anyone could remember, and though he’d often been chastised by edgar for making a mess back in the penthouse, his room in the estate quickly became more akin to a studio, even at his young age. the longer he stayed there, the less he wanted to leave - especially when it came time for his father’s court-permitted visitations. the only time toulouse would ever put up a fight against his mother’s orders was when he had to see edgar, but according to daphné, bad dreams weren’t a good enough reason to get out of it. it would take a few reluctantly sat through visitations for what seemed to be his instinct to be proven right - though still now he wishes it hadn’t been, even if it ended up meaning never having to see him again. 

(tw: kidnapping) he was nearly nine years old when his father tried to take the three of them, and it was one of the worst days of his life. he’d put up a good fight at first, trying to channel everything he’d learned and admired about the action heroes he’d had to look up to in edgar’s place, but he was a child going up against a grown man - it was no match. all he could think about was protecting marie and berlioz, so much so that when they were finally returned to daphné and adelaide, he couldn’t fathom why they were making a fuss over him, too, instead of just his siblings like he had been - if he wasn’t already willing to do whatever it took for his brother and sister, that day certainly cemented the fact. 

despite everything, there was one good thing that came out of the short abduction: the family could put a name to toulouse’s power. what had once been just a vague sense of deja-vu was finally confirmed to be precognitive dreaming, the ability to see future events, or at least hints to future events in his dreams - but truly, toulouse wasn’t all that impressed. afterall, what good was seeing bad things happen if there was nothing he could do to stop it, especially when his dreams were as vague as they were?

even though all three children came out of the ordeal in one piece, it was clear that it had affected toulouse deeply - in the weeks following, he’d only get a few hours of sleep a night, often too paranoid about leaving the doors and windows unlocked and unwatched, and when he did finally drift off, his restless dreams barely left him feeling rested. he put a lot more effort into trying to appear ‘tough’, in school especially - even years after what had happened, he made sure to surround himself with friends who made him seem more imposing, as afterall, it was a lot easier to keep an eye out for his siblings when he was keeping watch from the top of the foodchain. the self-imposed duty of being the ‘man of the house’ weighed heavily on his shoulders, only made heavier by his lingering guilt that he hadn’t been able to do more to help his siblings when he was a kid - though he was still close with his mother and could happily while away an evening lounging around with or teasing his brother and sister, there were plenty of times that he’d need to seclude himself to avoid snapping at them like he so often did his teachers in school. 

unable to properly talk about the kidnapping, not even to his family, the only escape toulouse had was his art - though perhaps not always shown in the subjects of his work, every piece he produced was, truly, a part of him, the weight of the brushstrokes or the carelessness of the colours a snapshot of how he was feeling or what he was thinking about. over the years, it became difficult to find anywhere to even just sit down in his room - what with all the sketchbooks, canvasses, boxes of paints and piles of brushes, the only place someone could relax was his bed, but even then, his dreams, turning more frequently to nightmares, made that difficult, too. 

even almost a decade after what had happened, toulouse was still struggling with the weight he was carrying - he hadn’t properly cared about his grades in years, he didn’t seem to have much of a plan for his life after school, and as it became clearer that his powers didn’t have much of a practical application, he simply didn’t know what to do with himself. all of that changed, though, when he met his mother’s new boyfriend - given his only other experience he’d had with a father figure, he’d been more than apprehensive about ‘thomas o’malley’ when daphné first delivered the news, but once they met, it barely took any time at all for him to warm up to the newcomer. thomas was just like the characters he’d spent his childhood trying to replicate, but though he was tough, impressive, he was still sociable, still charming, still kind. despite how short a time he’d been with the family, he ended up being the only one to get toulouse to properly open up about his feelings, and though he helped him stay tough, he helped him mellow out at the same time, as well as gave him the confidence to start putting his paintings out into the world, something he’d only ever really done for friends of his grandmother’s who were looking for portrait artists. even though it was somewhat late in the game, with toulouse being seventeen when they met, he tried to do everything he could to take after and make his new role model, his soon-to-be-step-father, proud. 

(tw: death) against all odds, toulouse was actually able to demonstrate a decent turnaround at school, managing to let his walls down in his final year and drawing in friends who liked him for his genuine charm rather than his status in the social hierarchy. he’d spent most of his school years seeing art classes as nothing but a distraction from what he actually wanted to do, but once he started trying to be as passionate in the classroom as when he was at home, he found himself becoming something of a standout to his art teachers, so much so that he not just won himself a few academic awards, but through one of these awards, an invitation to attend a fine arts school in paris. though he’d joke it was a fluke based on his name, he truly wanted nothing more than to accept - if only to make adelaide proud. see, he’d been trying to pay more attention to his dreams, and though they were as vague as ever, he knew there were bad signs - he spent most of his final year of school hanging around his grandmother, if only to be safe, but eventually, his worst fears were proven right. he was just as distraught as the rest of the family when she passed, but what really broke his heart were the reactions of his mother and sister, and though he was supposed to be on a boat bound for france only a couple weeks later, he knew there was no way he could leave them behind. 

instead of following in the footsteps of the greats, he chose to stay a kid from a middle-of-nowhere island in the mediterranean - though his personal art was still a release for him, he tried to use his skills to provide for his family, finding odd jobs both around pastoral city and online, doing everything from selling his old art to designing patterns, illustrating kid’s books to painting shop wall murals. though over the next five years he did sometimes reconsider whether or not he’d made the right choice in declining the paris offer, in the end, his desire to be close to his family always won out - eventually, he only moved because there was literally no other choice.

toulouse hadn’t slept well in the weeks leading up to the fire - though he did sometimes get just normal dreams, the catastrophic nature of the ones that kept visiting him were starting to feel far too frequent to be a coincidence. as always, there was nothing he could do when the blaze actually came except for make sure his family were all accounted for - but as he crossed into rome pines, he left not just his home, but his life’s work behind. in his rush to make sure everyone was safe, he neglected to save even a single sketchbook, and the realisation crushed him more than anything else. his canvases had held his growth, his soul - and they’d only served to be kindling.   

though he’s managing to keep on as a freelancer, again, something’s shifted - the work he’s getting paid for is the only work he’s managing to finish. every time he’s tried to do something personal, he can’t help but get dragged down by guilt halfway through - though it’s not as if unfinished work is something new, not being able to produce a single finished piece is killing him. he knows there’s not much he could’ve done, but still, he can’t help but feel responsible for the devastation, that he didn’t do more to help people in advance - even with most of the money he’s making going towards those who need it, he doesn’t feel like it’s enough. it’s overwhelming. 

he’d say he was burnt out if the irony of the phrase didn’t hurt so much. 

✎ THE PERSONALITY

though toulouse has always had a tendency to lean into sarcasm and appearing to not take things too seriously, he is, above all, an incredibly caring soul, no matter how much he tries to hide it. this is perhaps best demonstrated through how seriously he takes the duty of protecting his family, especially his brother and sister - though he would, of course, be the first to make fun of them, being the eldest, he’s the first person someone would have to answer to if they were to wrong either of them. in general, though, he feels a strong sense of responsibility, even for things entirely out of his control, something which mainly manifests itself in guilt. 

despite how burdened he feels by his responsibilities, toulouse can be very charming and casual - so long as proper emotional talks are off the table, he can happily while away a day just chatting to someone. though there are times that he does just need to be alone, more often than not he prefers to be by someone else’s side, and he much prefers undertaking new experiences with someone there with him. though he’s mellowed out somewhat since he was a teenager, he does still occasionally try to put up his more tough persona, if only as a safeguard for himself or, more importantly, someone else. 

even when he’s acting more laid-back and humourous, he is still quite sensitive to the feelings of others. there are times where it wouldn’t be unfair to call him childish, but this would rarely be high-stakes moments - he’s always very intentional with what he’s saying, what his tone is, and though he can get it wrong sometimes, for the most part, he does his best to keep what he’s adding to a conversation in line with the context of who he’s talking to. even so, he can still be reactionary at times, and occasionally has a bit of a short fuse sort of temper - just because he tries to note what's going on around him doesn't mean he can't jump to wild conclusions.

✎ HEADCANONS

he was given lessons in many different artistic fields as a child, and though painting is obviously the one that stuck, he is a pretty decent singer and knows a fair bit of piano. of all the endeavours he was encouraged to pursue, sculpting is the only one he genuinely grew to loathe - clay just never ended up his friend.

also thanks to his grandmother, he speaks fluent french.

though toulouse is what he introduces himself as and is known as in his family, he isn’t entirely opposed to nicknames - the most common is lou/louie, or some variation of it. 

literally incapable of having tidy hair. it’s clean as anything, sure, but it’s always proved to be absolutely impossible to style neatly.

his full name is toulouse matisse bonfamille, but neither of his namesake henris are his favourite artist - he leans more towards the works of théophile steinlen, alfonso ossorio, and joaquín sorolla. 

[axelisrose]

1. ACTVARIVM

Sunlit greenery surrounded a plain white house. The strong iron fence protecting it now was gone unlike the faint sweet scent of the blooming flowers. They appeared as peculiar colourful dots in-between the harsh black marks on the grass. Burning memories drifted here and there and eventually led to the innocent building standing in the very same place where once the old World Military housed. Replaced by new change and forced into the present. Just like that. The cold breeze on this summer day seemed unlikely to be able to refresh the joy of those wandering the disastrous field. Like ghosts, haunting for passed friends or family and loved ones. Closed eyes and the sharp sense of ears will hear the whispers of battle cries whilst smelling and breathing in their remnants of ash. None could voice their anger of frustration by merely screaming dead names aloud into the world anymore. It was eerie for the young children watching their parents walk around aimlessly as they were told to wait by the entrance gate. Their big, curious eyes followed the tall humans and witnessed how tears were shed, knees dropped into mud, and a door knocked on.

-"...Yes?", a muffled voice eagerly answered, carrying a polite and formal sound.

-"My name is Atrox, the one in charge of the government of Lux-", footsteps forward after the chair was driven back, then the door was opened in a flash.

-"Mr. Atrox!", a figure with black hair slightly cutting into golden eyes, dressed in a dark cloak surprised the superior man with a short shock. He did not anticipate such a child-like person to be the new leader of the World Military, or at least what was left of it.

-"You must be Walt- No, pardon me, shall I refer to you as Renwick or Cherrywine?"

A moment of naught but silence. As his pinkish eyelids seemed to close entirely from tiredness, they jumped back open as he spoke:"You may refer to me as Renwick, please."

Atrox was older than the average middle-aged man at his workplace. A child may have a slip of the tongue when walking past, seeing him without his uniform and call him 'Grandpa'.

-"Mr. Renwick.", he felt odd addressing someone so young so formally,"I can guess that you know why I'm here. Do you mind me coming in?"

-"I do think it'd make for a better environment to tell you this story, rather than just standing here by the door and having even children look at us.", Walter widened his eyes to scare them as Atrox had a look for himself, then returned his sight to his subordinate to find a face just as he left it.

He let him and entered as well the interior of the house. Such an odd feeling; so uncharmingly blissful. It was decorated nicely one might say, when ignoring the tossed books laying scattered across the pale wooden floor. It felt like a doll house on a military cementary. Such was the image in Atrox' mind. He tried to forget about the provocative thought, only to think about it more after being reminded of the dark deeds he had done. Taking and losing lives were truly two sides of the same coin. But he was too old for regret. "So-", Walter's words pulled him out of his miserable trance, thankfully. Atrox quickly pulled out a voice recorder in response. With the help of a push filled with dread it started recording. As Walter had sat down on the beige couch, he emptied the seat and welcomed his guest to sit next to him and that was when Atrox realized he should not underestimate this teenager. The common smell of coffee was something anyone would have noticed when taking the first few steps into this house. A slight rise of caution emerged when seeing him hold two cups of warm coffee. Unlike the beverage itself, it was not so common to make something appear out of thin air but Atrox had been warned beforehand, thence he welcomed the offer and sat down. After all, he had not been chosen to be the leader of the government for nothing. The price for this rank was a regretful past.

-"Please tell me first how and why this happened, Mr.Renwick."

-"Of course. The initiator was myself.", Walter surpressed his smirk.

-"The cause of death of over seven hundred soldiers was initiated by you?"

-"Yes, Sir."

-"You're now in charge of the very organisation you almost had all of its members killed?"

-"Precisely", he answered the deep gaze of his superior with his golden eyes, then he followed the military suit to its right sleeve, went further down and found a shaking hand, tightening the grip around the recorder to control the internal distress and prevent something ugly. "Sir..?"-

-"Why did you cause this, Mr.Renwick?", his tone changed, attaining a more concerned voice.

"It was truly alike to a play of tragedy, Mr. Atrox. My sincerest condolences, I have heared you lost both of your sons during this small war. That is why, I believe you must hear about it in its entirety. Shall I begin?"

"Pl- Please do so."

"The goals of the other parties actually differed from mine, but the shared destination is whence our lust for the ambush was born.

I suppose I should tell you about this kid, named Satanael Leo Roseblood. He has the Devil's Will which made everyone come to this occasion in the first place. Essentially, this was a race between the greed of many to make the world their own. To access the Axis Mundi, overcome God and making the world truly your own, you're in need of something equally strong as God's Will, and that little thing was inside Leo. His reason for coming was to free a man named Charles Blackwood from the World Military's prison whose nephew, Ray Blackwood, also came for the exact same purpose. Both neither knew of each others' presence however. A variety of small bounty-hunter parties joined this hunt as well and amongst them was the white soldier- or should I call her ice-cold killer, ha? Leigh, Leigh Godsent is her name and she was there to take on Leo herself, accompanied by her guardian, a strong man, Bruce and by myself. They were under my protection until I realised my goal: taking over this organisation. It was a fight amongst the wildest of animals during a night of heavy rain as well as falling bodies. Oh, I almost forgot, pardon me, another party arrived rather late to the commotion: the Layla-Tribe. I know, but even I was astonished by the fact the news of the battle had reached the southern lands. I spread word by simply shouting and telling on my way home from 'a meeting'. Honestly, to think rumors spread as fast as I've read about them in stories is ironic.. and cliché. Their ambition, I do not know as after I've accomplished my feat, I turned ignorant towards the battle and its fighters.

The house was filled with its usual staff and soldiers on this night. A calm rain and moon presented the scenery pleasantly. Unknown security established in the minds of those living their everyday life. A knock interrupted this comfort of silence. "Daniel..?", the door opened with a noise so small, it did not reverberate and entering his office was a woman of the secretary staff. Someone who had developed feelings for Daniel who returned those with joy. "Lizzy, don't call me by my first name while you're still out there in the hallway.", he got up from his desk. They hugged and kissed. "Is this the night they will try to attack us?", she asked, grabbing both of his arms. "No need to worry, though. Their only objective is someone amongst the intruders, so we'll have them trapped in the entrance. While they're fighting each other we'll either capture or kill them with our arms. Even bullets will be mortal while they're focused on someone equally strong as them."

-"Will we be safe-", her petite voice was stifled by a tighter hug and a vibrating floor.

Daniel knew the odds were against him. A king being cornered by all the other enemy pieces on this board. The times when a lie shined more beautiful than a missed oportunity to secure a safe reality- regret.

A white rose glowed by the shine of the moon. Grey spots staining it as the raindrops fell onto the petals. It stood upright however, not giving in to the weight of the pressure.

-"Lizzy, after this, I'll quit. I'll quit this and we'll live together in a wonderful white house, surrounded by a green meadow, what do you say? This was the dream you told me about the other day, right?"

"Mr. Cherrywine!"-

The woman escaped the warm arms and withdrew into the cold emptiness.

-"They're here, am I right?", Daniel's tone of voice filled with rising maturity.

-"Sir, shall we proceed with our current plan or do-"

-"Tonight, soldier. Tonight is the one time you may all act as you will."

-"Sir?", a lost voice, deep within darkness, alike a child asking his parent for approval.

-"Go, now. Defend this house to your dying breath! Carry on this spirit to the others! Fight!"

"Sir!", Daniel watched the man's back turn, slowly but surely passing through the same door he entered the only safe room left with. Someone who would not return, ever. Only his footsteps echoed through the hallway back into the office right into Daniel's consciousness. Lizzy stared into his teary eyes, his slightly twitching jaw and his lying mouth. She approached him again, this time with a caring gentleness, however she did not understand just why his emotional state changed so suddenly but caressed him nonetheless.

"It would seem we are not the first ones to arrive.", I said.

"Izzat good, or bad?", Bruce asked.

"Obviously good.", Leigh responded.

Next to the country road there was a white facility, in the middle of a wide garden, which was the headquarters of the World Military. Usually belted by a rectangular-shaped iron fence and now those missing parts were going to help other parties to intrude. The three made their way into the front yard which was not bombarded to naught like those parts of the now useless fence. Danger approached security. On the way to their mischief the scent of innocent nature followed their soon to be bloody hands. The mother tried to stop their children from committing sin, yet failed to do so. The child had attained its own body, mind, and Will.

Changing from the calm sound of shaking leaves and trees and the cold but soothing wind, gunshots had already been fired in the entrance hall which benefitted Walter's thought of idea. After hearing the commotion start and finally taking off he told Bruce to stay with him to infiltrate this house.

-"Leigh, you go to the right side and enter from there.", he pointed with the tip of his finger to the fourth floor while his voice was being shaken after every two words from jogging steps.

-"Huh? Are you blind? There ain't no entrance."

-"Why yes, there is actually."

-"No. Jumping in through the window and I'll attract everyone's attention and then I'm fucked."

-"You won't be. Bruce, there is someone already up there, am I correct?"

-"As a matter of fact, he is right, Leigh.", Bruce was able to locate various positions of people if he desired so. Being an observer led him to hold onto this exclusive right, yet robbed him of his ability to partake in conflicts of Will such as the ongoing one in the entrance hall of the World Military.

-"Who?", she suddenly seemed interested. Her breath was not exhausted, not at all but energetic.

-"Haha, Leigh! It's ya old fella! What's his name again?", Bruce showed enthusiasm for the idea.

-"Leo?"

-"What do you say, girl? There is an entrance on the right, yes?"

She smiled. Her body accelerated, she was in the middle of the two and now had her nose in front of them as bits of pieces of flimsy, enlightened particles slowly came together and joined around her body helically, they lit up with increased regularity until she finally jumped through shaking might towards the right side of the facility and landed in a matter of mere seconds. Her hair, white and fanned out, carried by a gentle atmosphere by moonlight.

-"Amazing.", Bruce said plainly astonished.

-"For her age, that is true. But watch now."

While the two men were running still toward the entrence, having their heads turned to watch Leigh, almost having reached their destination, their sight was blocked by a tree and all they could see was how the greenery was shortly illuminated by a flashing lightning which helped Leigh achieve great height she was in need of in order to reach the destined window on the fourth floor. And by the help of resounding smashed glass both of them were left reassured as their desired entrance neared and grew in size. Walter stood with his back on the left wall next to the entrance door and so did Bruce on the right. The two were being parted by two massive glass doors which incurred small, young scratches and bruises. One peek and one would see brutal warfare. The interior orange lighting crawled over the floor to flee and reached out to the door and faded into the outside, not meeting the shaded shoes of the two.

-"Find a person named-"

*Gunshots*

"Huh, what?"-

-"Daniel Che-"

*Person dying by firearm, exclaiming death cry*

"Cherrywine, right? The leader of-"-

-"Precisely! Locate him!"

*The glass doors burst into thousands of shards*

"Found him! I know where-"-

-"Perfect!"

"Hey there's two kids up there!"

"A boy and a girl?! Why the hell are kids here?!"

"They same from the park in Pandemonium, even!"

"Keep your eyes on the- Argh! Fuck!"

"Damnit, You there! Have your squad handle the children! Go! Go! Go!"

"Yes, Sir!"

Those shouted words travelled their way through the hall by the same air that could be listened to by the outsiders. Walter and Bruce nodded in agreement and charged in themselves after having turned invisible by Walter's doing. Altough maintaining such casual charisma for the younger, Bruce was again amazed by the carefree attitude internally. Words exchanged were only audible by the other- perfectly thought of for secret infiltrating. They ran. Running amongst a disgustingly high quantity of nameless bodies, dropped dusty weapons in the fawn-coloured entrance hallway to advance forth to the stairs leading to the upper floors. The images were shaky and flashing because of the hurry but seen hidden behind a wall, there was someone dressed rather fancy for an occasion such as this. A blonde protected by four men, also in suits-

"We're the fucking Blackwoods, alright?!"

The boy's eyes favoured green sapphires, lighting up, he pushed the two men next to him aside, his upbeat, blonde hair bounced carefully as he the took the small but promising steps outside of the brittle but protecting wall, escaping the extended grasping arms wanting to hold back their young leader he stood there, out in the open, thenceforth having amounts of military and third-party rifles pointing on and their courageous, blind anger aimed for him; his pupils widened. Walter's drifted towards the left, capturing the essence of the scene of a boy's stand before a rain of bullets ended his young life. Walter and Bruce were right next to him, in the middle of the hall and to evade potential death here Walter wanted to shift the storm of bullets behind them but he was unable to proceed so, as the blonde pointed his right index finger up in the air, his tips of blonde hair were slowly eaten by a pitch black. The bullets flew with incredible speed after having been unleashed by provoked ignorance. Ray Blackwood willed fire, shaped alike sharp, giant roses, enough to protect him and his team, with rushing flames swallowing the lead as it continuously reached for the soldiers on the higher level, clearing the hall of other gang members as they realized the offered opportunity to climb up in the enemy's castle and rushed towards the freed stairway just as Walter and Bruce did. At the time, in conjunction with the beard stubbles around his mouth, his lips formed and pinned a smile on Walter's face during the witness of the fire's spectacle. Alongside the smell of dead bodies, technically spread gunpowder, the reek of blood there now joined too an ashy scent which also stained the beige walls with clouds of grey. Little crisping fires spread and burned on the floor, inflaming the golden carpet, acting like the starting signal for the blonde to take off the black mantle. The floor was trembling due to the drumming feet of the enraged. His men followed the back covered in a black tank top with war cries enacting a picture of five gang members chasing after a hord of about one hundred bounty hunters chasing after the entire staff of soldiers of the World Military- A hunt.

"Why did you stop? Mr. Renwick?"

Walter tried to cover his overtaking smile with a weak left hand which then landed in his lap as he began to hold back his snicker, exposing his mouth area which lacked any beard growth.

-"Please do excuse me, Mr. Atrox. I was just thinking... This one kid, Ray Blackwood."

-"Positions of both Blackwoods as well as everyone elses besides yourself are unknown, yes?"

-"That is correct. Everyone who was involved in that night and was featured on the wanted list, is somewhere unknown. However, that was not the reason for my laughter, excuse me, please."

-"Then what reason did you laugh for?", Atrox became nervous and impatient. His grip around the sweaty recorder tightened again, yet not as tight as it became after Walter's response:

-"I was just thinking about how Ray Blackwood could, if he so desired, infiltrate even your facility. Even without me acting as an initiator, believe my words as I saw his flames in person and do allow me to share this with you: Orange isn't the brightest colour his fire can rage into."

The sight was cut rather short because of the insufficiency of lighting when she first had entered the building. Plus, she could not rely on someone else to handle small stuff like this like Walter could in the hallway, thus she had to use her own Will to enable herself to a greater vision. As she rushed with fast but faint steps forward small particles of lightning appeared and disappeared, appeared and disappeared to reduce the amount of pain she had to endure before actual combat. The light was minimal, yes but it served its purpose perfectly when Leigh noticed she was running down a narrow hallway on the fouth floor. Without worrying about herself, she progressed, she ran, she followed the same stenching smell of blood she scented when she fought Leo in the park. Her hand placed quickly on the sheath of her sword, her shoes cried aloud when she abruptly decelerated once she saw a slender frame of body standing with its back to her. The light was fading but before it went out and a new one arrived she saw a pale figure which featured a petite back where three long, sharp and thin scars running down the whole dorsum with spine-length, long, saggy brunette hair and oddly enough feminine curves.

-"What-", her clueless muttering was immediately topped by another astonishment in the very next second.

She evaded the daunting atmosphere radiating from the strange body, drifted backwards as the white strands of her wavy, long hair split her vision into many more little windows to peek through and her nose filled with the nauseous stench of blood she did not miss but was sadly too familiar with. Left to right and right to left it was corpses, however not as whole but slashed, brutally, they had become one with the walls and floor, without any mercy, their interiors seemed to fade into the elements of the components of the facility. Organs leaking their dried blood, spreading it onto the surfaces leaving a bitter aftertaste for Leigh's eyesight behind which evoked sheer disgust inside her prior-resolved consciousness. Yet, averting the sight of the late, focusing on the living, specifically the only other living being in the present in this dark hallway beside her, she drew her sword. It cried, alike ready to take life when it left it's shelter. The white blade was shining at regular intervals, made by the particals of her lightning manipulation, which shortened steadiliy as she pointed the edge of the blade towards the naked back, making it glow eternally.

-"This time, Leo. I'll cut your back open and make you cry.", altough whispering a careful but threatening tone the hallway made her words clearly audible to her enemy whose left scapula deformed, the cracks of bones, into a slowly twirling circle which was ready to unleash a beastly crawl towards its enemy only to paint another massacre of corpse:

-"Shh, hush or you'll bite your tongue.", his head turned slightly towards the girl. His tilted chin accentuated by blue light.

For a second she didn't know what had occured to her in a matter of mere five seconds and how those resulted in her falling out of the window, ready to greet the ground with her very face. Her vison was tossed, it seemed like up was down, down was up, left became right and right became left as her body was pushed and thrown towards the point she had entered the hallway in. On the brink of losing self control it was a small but impactful push forward it that made her fail falling into the depth of darkness. Reverting time was her Will, the only thing she wanted was to stand before her-

-"Leoooo!", the name echoed from a swollen throat back into the building's interior reaching its namebearer in a slight shock of surprise.

And there she was, in mid-air in the middle of his clear field of vision after having turned around completely to be welcomed by a girl encased in a glowing, blue aura, her widely opened, golden eyes told her a sad story reflecting the image of a broken boy.

Was it sadness her anger evolved into?

Was is regret her strike, already in action, was turning into?

She wanted it to stop, make the strike undone and forget this encounter, but even so, her action had already moved faster than her begging, twitching scream that was being thrown into the other, monotone face. The sword cut deep into the boy's left shoulder, driving its blade through muscle and bone, skin and cell, deforming and ripping apart what was once harmonic. Her feet met the floor safely, tiptoeing forwards making soft steps, her dizzy body fell into his arms, her head rested on his left shoulder. Both were enveloped in darkness' silence and tranquility whose small bubble of saftey and comfort were pierced by blinding lights. Leigh's eyes jumped back up just when she allowed herself to let her guard down, forget and drown into the warmth. A swarm of small military squads were rushing towards them. She could feel the danger in her stomach; the anxiety made her blood pressure rose to an unhealthy extent but she made no move; her lightning had long vanished. Only small bits of laughter unchained her from paralyzation. Leigh's pupils grew affixed to the sight of lines exploding out of their back's encasement, stretching and finally impaling every single soldier who dared to enter this hallway without giving any regard to their prior actions, hence suffering the lethal, equally unjustified, consequences. They were smashed down onto the floor to enable them to join their late comrades. She couldn't refrain from sharing a tear or two and bit into the shoulder to repress a scream of hopelessness and her quiet weeping; it was yet again too much for her to bear but ready to break down, having even averted vision, her ears caught the crawling sound of enraging words:

-"I thought you came to kill me..", thus causing something deep inside her tainted mind to allow her become free.

-"Yeah. You're right..", she whispered back.

Pushing and rejecting the warm body away from her, she ripped the sword out of his bleeding body and held it tightly in her right; creating afterimages she ran up with such excellent speed and reignited anger, turning her slender motion into a heavy slash. He evaded, as expected, thence her last afterimage before the inital blow had also striked without making Leo taking notice. The open wound was of much help to him as forms of blood outgrew and stopped the strike effortless. She aimed for and punched into his stomach, making the afterimages disappear and getting the lower part of her right arm sucked into Leo's body, making it stuck. Her shock was quickly calmed but not prepared for following: A acrobatic transition of the upper and lower body happened before her; she could feel the creeping fluidity of the stream of blood forbidding her arm freedom. Falling into distress an idea rose from small moment of clarity. "Ha!"  She rammed her free, electrified left arm into the body of blood as she herself was hit by a foot with such might, it smashed her into the wall next to the corpses.

-"Fuck. Fuck, ahh.", she bit her tongue and spit out blood. Her throat felt poisoned, such was the feeling, it made her think if her right arm had been injected with something toxic.

Remaining on her knees after having tried to stand up but failing due to increasing dizziness, he picked up her sword and threw it over to her which was first caught by her weak hands, afterward, the floor itself. New members came running into the hallway with shouts, cries, weapons and lights and were in a moment of mental aberration since the hallway had lost original strucure and acquired new shape in the form of a white, spacious room. A snap. The sword no longer lied on the floor, lightning jumped from one to another, striking down man after man. Whomever would spectate this act would blurr the sound of bullets but become accustomed to the sight of a berseker, one girl fallen into a killing frenzy, guided by hatred or frustration.

"Unable to kill one strong, so she turned to kill a few weak."

The blade took singular body parts which she used immorally as makeshift weapons to shove them into the living faces. The blood of your own friends was tossed into your eyes. Adult men were screaming as if still in kindergarten, as if having to go home, leaving behind and parting with your playmates for the day, except now it was for ever. Exclamations were cut short by halving throats in one-sided anguish. Ten, no twenty, thirty, they kept coming, they kept dying.

-"Alike a flash appearing before your chest allowing you to draw your last breath."

-"Were you able see her in action? I thought you were elsewhere at that time?"

-"Yes, I was indeed but I did get the chance to see her in action as she was my trainee before the execution of this operation.", Walter smiled casually.

-"Hm.", Atrox gave in to the statement without rebuttal,"Continue, then, please."

-"Of course.", he leaned back after having a sip of warm coffee.

The hord of madmen were yelling their way up, mercilessly losing and taking lives as they climbed and climbed up the stairway, grasped by the thought of world control. Pushing each other as well as military soldiers off the stairs, their minds were not functioning rationally no longer and at the very front of the heated mob were the Blackwoods, Bruce and Walter. Together, however, as if on command whilst running, their heads turned left, towards the passing lower story and metamorphosing structure. Agitated by the loss of stability of the weakening stairway they all accelerated and started running to their heart's content towards the promising destination. The collective stemping grew even louder than the mindless shouting of war cries and last confessions.

-"Walter is this your messed up witchcraft!?"

"Thank you kindly, but this isn't my accomplishment!"-

-"Whose is it then?"

"I'm not sure and how would I know for certain, but I will guess it's our Devil"-

"More importantly, is the target still on the top floor?"-

-"Man, it's seems like the top part hasn't been affected..yet."

We were running right behind the Blackwoods, too, still invisible however:

-"Ray!"

"It's alright, I'm fine as long as they believe so."

"Don't push yourself, too hard, Ray. You're already a better leader than your father."-

"I'm sorry...even after losing one of us you're still so.. goddammit!"

-"We're here to rescue Charles and no matter what it tak-"

-"Man, shut it and look over there.", he pointed towards the nearing wall, and shrinking width of the stairs, which was about to push everybody off and make them fall into their death, deep down into the abyss, the ground floor.

-"Ahh! Walter!"

"That's Satanael, I'm certain now, though he is not my current objective."-

-"Yeah, well but we're about to gon' get pushed off!"

"Oh, how very tragic..."-

"Juuuuuuump!"

Soldiers, gang members, assassins; all were willing to let themsleves get rescued due to an emerging ground floor whose height grew steadily without harmonic unrest, re-enacting the image of an elevator, by jumping to the left. Marble grinding upwardly on marble, screeching its deconstruction. A great quantity fell off when landing, therefore were screamed after but those painful screams were swiftly healed by the size of the rising chunks of the ground floor. They were seperated now, all on different levels of height. Once the 'elevator' passed the remains of the stairway, they started merging into one, barely getting crushed by the sudden fusion a lot of people were left with even less space to take a stand on.

Walls were cracking, returning to their singular elemental components, the house was truly coming down and reforming. Space and room were played with to one's own advantage.

-"Ray, You alright?"

"It'd be a damn shame if I wasn't!"

"Is your uncle still on the top floor?!"-

"Yeah, Shanna still can locate his presence up there."

-"Then, protect the blonde! Surround him and finish the military's dogs!"

"The introduction part is finally down, baby! Now it's our turn to take over! Let's fucking go!"

End of ACTVARIVM

[hamliet]

The Vanishingly Slim Line Between Protagonist and Villain

“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”    --Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night

I could get into how this quote applies to Kaneki and Furuta’s narrative coping-mechanisms, especially with Kaneki and the tragic protagonist idea, but instead I want to ramble about Furuta and Arima, who foil each other extremely closely, and the weirdly different framing around them as characters despite them being even more like each other than they are like Kaneki. As a trigger warning this meta is going to heavily deal with suicidal ideation, because for a manga with the main theme of “live,” the framing around Arima’s death has been... odd to say the least. I guess this ramble (it’s really more a ramble than a proper meta, soz about that) might be an attempt to make some sense of a death I see as profoundly tragic and heartbreaking in the manga (Arima’s), via Furuta’s character.

What makes a villain, in TG? I think it answers the same paradoxical way it would answer the question of what makes a monster: everyone is a monster, and no one is a monster. To quote SnK’s Armin Arlert:

I don't like the terms "good person" or "bad person" because it is impossible to be entirely good to everyone. To some, you are a good person, while to others, you are a bad person.

Everyone’s a villain to someone in this story, and so no one’s really a villain. Everyone is both victim and perpetrator. Everyone is a person. It’s not so much that every TG character receives redemption; it’s that our perspective on them changes first, and then most of them go on to live which means redeeming themselves to an extent. 

Commonly this week in the deluge of hate for Furuta I’m seeing the assertion that Furuta as the villain ruined Kaneki’s life (which Kaneki himself says is not the case in 159) and also Rize’s life. Which, I mean, sure, because he dropped steel beams on her and later mined her and teamed up with Kanou who originally mined her. But there were multiple years in-between those events, and the whole reason Furuta got his hands on Rize again was... not because of him searching her out and dragging her back.

It was because of Arima. Arima is the one who recaptured Rize and murdered the one person who truly, wholeheartedly, loved Rize unconditionally without wanting anything in return.

Arima is also the suicidal favored son of Tsuneyoshi who also carried out a genocide against ghouls with the goal of making himself a villain with the hopes that someone (Kaneki, but Amon & Takizawa were also considered) would be strong enough to kill him and thus unite all ghouls to take down the organization preventing them from living normal lives--but like, the other one, the not-Furuta one. It’s not a coincidence Ui went from clinging to Arima to clinging to Furuta. 

Does this excuse Furuta? No. His actions are condemned in every way by the manga. But why then does the manga seem to have a kinder view of Arima? Is it just because he loved Kaneki? Quite probably that explains the framing, since the manga likes to comment on how from a certain perspective anyone is a villain like the Armin quote above, a la Shironeki killing people we don’t care about and then Shiromutsuki going after people we do care about. (I wrote more about that here.) 

It’s perfectly fine and I have no problem with people liking one and not liking the other because either can be triggering, so that needs to be respected. But from a narrative perspective, if you say “cool motive still murder” about Furuta, it applies to Arima too. But it’s not that simple for either of them imo. Both Arima and Furuta were forced to become child soldiers, knowing they would die young, raised in a rape garden. They’re victims, too. In the end, Arima committed suicide, and it’s heartbreaking. And he didn’t have to die/it wasn’t inevitable, as Kaiko notes for us:

Hence I don’t think it’s a controversial opinion to presume that Arima did not want to live with his guilt (compounded by having years of depression after growing up as a child soldier). But why does everyone in a manga that discourages self-sacrifice and encourages living over suicide then laud Arima as the god of death who died at 33 for our sins (like the Jesus symbolism isn’t subtle)? There are some hints that the framing around Arima’s death is not something we should be taking as the manga honoring everything he did or saying the ends justified the means.

Motives matter in how you're perceived--but they don’t actually matter to the victims who are still, you know, dead, or missing their loved ones.

Touka and Ayato will never get their mother back. Yomo will never get his sister back. Rize will never get Shachi back. That’s even what Furuta’s using to taunt Kaneki in the most recent chapter: the fact that no matter what Kaneki does, it isn’t going to bring the dead back. (I think we all can agree that whoever Owl is--probably Hairu--it isn’t a life worth living.) What’s done is done.

Kaneki himself acknowledged that he had a role in creating Dragon when he decided to bear the weight of his sins. Was he solely responsible, no, Furuta orchestrated it of course, but the manga and Kaneki accept responsibility for his role in it too; that’s all I’m saying:

Good for you, Kaneki, grow my son grow. It’s like what Urie tells Mutsuki: admit what you did. Face it. That’s the way to redemption, not in dwelling on the past (it’s also what Hsiao tells Aura during their fight).

Like Arima, Kaneki earlier did not want to live with the memories of what he’d done, so he tried to kill himself. Mutsuki, the same thing, but both of them chose to live. All of these suicidal characters are plagued by guilt for things that both are and are not their fault.

So how does this apply to Furuta? Well, if motives matter, does the fact that Furuta wanted to take down the Sunlit Garden--aka not really different than what Arima wanted--matter for him? I think the manga and all us readers might initially be like well... not when it comes to the people he harmed like Kaneki, like Rize, like Hajime. Because that harm remains. Good motives don’t justify the pain. If you act like a villain, with good intentions or not, aren’t you a villain? Or maybe, perhaps, there are no villains, and no protagonists? Perhaps there are just people. But objectively, if we say that about Furuta, we have to apply that to Arima as well--or perhaps his motives do matter in terms of his value in the story, just like Arima’s do. 

So if Kaneki decided to live and bear the weight of his sins, knowing much of Tokyo will never forgive him, and Arima could not, Furuta needs to be offered the same opportunity, like both Kaneki and Arima had that choice. Furuta is not narratively condemned to die any more than Arima was, and that’s the point. (Keep in mind that given that Furuta and Arima were both given favor explicitly because of their innate talent--aka what they could do--so the concept of facing wrongs and trying to right them has got to be absolutely terrifying, because I doubt failure was much of an option in the Garden (especially if freeing Rize is indeed what cost Furuta his favor with his dad).) If Furuta rejects this offer, as he seemed to kind of reject the beginning of Kaneki’s empathy this chapter:

...well, choices matter, so it really is on Furuta to decide whether or not he truly wants to die or whether he wants to live. If the manga fulfills his suicidal wish, he needs to regret it firstly, and it should then be used to dismantle the “St Arima who died for our sins” attitude by illuminating the tragedy of it all. Like, if Furuta isolated himself, so did Arima. Characters note this multiple times, and it still breaks me because Arima too didn’t believe he deserved to be loved. Furuta just took the mask off Arima as the CCG’s mascot of sorts, and off the CCG as a whole. Which is what Furuta’s entire role in the manga has been--taking the mask off the CCG’s actions, off Ui’s, off Kaneki’s, off Mutsuki’s, off Arima’s. 

If Furuta does choose to live, it has to be used to show that if Furuta could recover, so could have Arima--not to condemn his choices, but to portray them honestly as tragic. The fact that our other two suicidal parallels, Kaneki and Mutsuki, are recovering show us you can recover from the darkest of spirals, but it’s up to you to decide to redeem yourself, or drown. Importantly both Kaneki and Mutsuki had people to cling to, but Furuta, like Arima, has isolated himself. However, if Kaneki truly empathizes with him, that could help convince him it isn’t hopeless. But I don’t know; personally I’m not entirely that optimistic but I’m a pessimist about all characters living usually (sorry Yomo I thought you were gonna die like a million times) so who knows.

[ohstardust]

It Feels Like Time's On Our Side

REQUEST: from @lowdenglynnstyles​ i was hoping you could write something about the reader being a young detective, a job that i would like to have, dating jack?? x A/N: I can’t believe I promised this to you back in September when I was sat at Birmingham New Street station before uni started up and when I still had time/a life. I’m sorry it took me so long my angel, but I hope this is okay for you. And this definitely would not have been written if it wasn’t for @wardley10 who wrote about 85% of the plot for me (a long time ago), all I did was write the fic. I can’t thank you enough for that babe <3 I hope there aren’t too many inaccuracies with this. Title: Years & Years by Olly Murs My Jack playlist can be found on Spotify (x)

Jack’s hands were sweating by the time he checked his watch for the seventh time in as many minutes. It was four thirty-seven in the afternoon, twenty-three minutes until the press conference would air live on television and the Scot was not only unbearably nervous on behalf of his girlfriend for chairing said conference, but he was overcome with sickness that he would potentially miss it despite his reassurance that he would watch it. He’d specifically picked this train to be home on time, after being away from her for four weeks on a small shoot, all he wanted was to surprise her today and to be there when she came home. To be her stress reliever and tell her how proud he was of her, not be a tinny voice at the end of a phone or be a pixelated version of himself on a small screen. But as luck would have it, just as the train had pulled out of the second station on the journey, an announcement was made to inform passengers that part of a tree had very inconveniently caused an obstruction on the track his train was headed down. If Jack wasn’t so anxious, and a little pissed off, he’d have laughed at his lack of luck upon noticing his mobile internet was also down and he’d be unable to catch the conference live on his phone.

There was no way he’d let her down without a fight. Simply put, Y/N was Jack's soulmate. The person he loved most and who loved him as deeply in return. The person who had a heart full of compassion, a deep sense of justice to do the right thing. The person who felt a sense of hatred at the evil in the world and couldn’t fathom why the simplest concept of everyone just loving one another seemed to be such an impossibility. Jack had fallen in love with this compassionate side to his partner. Her dedication and sense of duty to society went some way to explain why she was one of the youngest detective inspectors in the Met Police history. Jack had never felt such elation or pride as he did when she had been awarded that position and title. Everything she’d worked so hard for, in just a few short years, had paid off and he couldn’t believe they were both striving in their careers before they’d even reached thirty. Perhaps in that instance fate had been on their side. He’d tell her a dozen more times this evening how proud he was of her, if he ever got off this damn train that is. As Jack watched the countryside whir past his eyes, dazzling blue skies fusing with a blur of freshly cut grass on the sunlit summer afternoon, his phone notified him of an incoming text message and he snatched it off the seat beside him. Y/N. Y/N: Jack, I’m so nervous I think I’m going to be sick. Y/N: I can’t believe this is being aired on telly. Y/N: I know you’re probably busy finishing off up North, but if you get chance can you please watch? It’d calm me knowing you were watching even if I can’t see you. Y/N: Sounds silly I know but you know me xxx Jack: Sweetheart, you’ll be wonderful. Just stay in your zone, concentrate on your lines and you’ll be fine. You know this case inside out, no one is in a better position to do this than you. I love you hen, of course I’ll be watching xxx As the train slowed to a stop at his station, Jack jumped out of his seat and hastily collected his belongings off the seat beside him. He pulled his suitcase from the rack before speeding off the train and onto the platform. Another glance at his watch told him it was four fifty-nine. The blonde wasn’t overly sure what his plan was from here on out, he was winging it but he hoped for a working TV screen or at least some decent internet signal. He wasn’t selective at this point, anything would suffice as long as he caught the broadcast. Trusty old fate seemed to have cast a light on Jack for a brief, fond moment as he glanced into the waiting room he’d stopped himself in front of. The blaring lights of the television played a mindless game show that, at any other point he’d likely have sat on the sofa and heatedly competed against himself during, however he didn’t have the time nor the inclination to pay it any attention. He shuffled through the door with his belongings and fumbled around for buttons on the back of the screen, hoping against all odds that he’d be able to navigate it to the correct channel, desperate for BBC News to be available. As the image sprung to life, he pounded on the volume buttons to make it a few notches louder and his face twisted into a beaming smile as he caught sight of his girl. Oh how he’d missed her. Y/N looked divinely smart and professional behind the overwhelmingly large desk beside her colleagues, as cameras flashed and she calmly divided her attention between the press and her statement papers. He relished how composed she appeared despite her mini meltdown via text message mere minutes earlier. She had remained thoroughly professional throughout the entire case, only divulging the odd detail she knew she could spare to her partner, and Jack knew better than to try and wangle some more out of her. It was admirable. But now the details were becoming public and he looked forward to hearing her enthusiastically talk about the ins and outs of the case and how her and her team were able to capture, and arrest, a gang of jewel thieves operating in Islington over the past few months. “- six men have been arrested and charged on the account of eight robberies in the Farringdon area between January and June of this year. We believe the men to committed previous thefts due to the professionalism executed throughout the past six months, however myself and our specialist team were able to garner DNA matches as a result of minor traces the offenders began to leave upon their three previous crime scenes.” Jack’s breath was caught in his chest and he was on edge as he immersed himself in her words. “- we have successfully recovered some of the stolen items and these have rightfully been reunited with their owners. On behalf of the Metropolitan Police, I would like to thank the public for their assistance with this case and their ongoing support.” He watched her gather her papers before her and her colleagues stood from their positions and the broadcast ended. His eyes remained glued to the television screen for a few moments more in admiration, he was so incredibly proud of her. “I’m so glad you’re home.” She grinned, swigging her beer with one hand and her other grasping Jack’s tightly for fear of letting him go again. “Me too, missed you.” He wrapped an arm around his girlfriend’s waist and pulled her closer to his chest, her body situated between his legs on the loveseat in a moderately filled beer garden. The sun was fading into the early evening air and the strings of fairy lights were twinkling. “I missed you too, the flat feels even emptier when you’ve not been round for a while.” Y/N let her head rest back against Jack’s chest and his lips nipped at her shoulder. “You should just move into mine, less empty with all of our stuff there.” Y/N stopped tracing her fingers along his arm for a minute or so, sat still not quite sure if she’d heard him correctly, or misunderstood his meaning. “Was that too much?” Jack internally panicked. It’s not that he’d just blurted it out of nowhere, well he had but he’d been thinking of asking her for some time, it seemed natural. But he hadn’t wanted to ask her that way, he didn’t want it to be a solution to a mere problem, he wanted to be honest about how much he wanted to live with her, share a bathroom, a bed, a life. To see her in their kitchen when he cooked her breakfast, or putting away their groceries, or lying on their sofa watching a film and not having to worry about her leaving early to get a good night’s sleep in her own bed before work. Her head shifted and caught her lip between her teeth as she looked up at him, “Were you serious?” He licked his lips nervously before smiling down at her, “Yeah, if you want to I mean. I don’t want to pressure you or anything, I just thought –“ Y/N cut him off as her lips met his and she grinned oh so widely, palm pressed to his cheek as she nodded, “that’s a yes, an enormous yes.” “Today has gone from absolutely dire to ‘I’m so proud I’m going to explode’ to ‘I’m the happiest man alive’.” Y/N rolled her eyes with a fond smile, “You’re terribly lame, Jack.” “Looks like you’re gonna be stuck with me a quite a while now, hen.” Her arms looped his neck and her forehead pressed against his, “Mmm, guess it’s worth it.” Instead of replying, Jack kissed Y/N in celebration or pride, love and everything in between.

[little-inkstone]

A Fate Sealed with String Part 11

Summery:  After meeting the man her parents have arranged for her to marry, Belle decides she’ll take her own fate into her hands.  Literally, with the help of a charmed piece of thread that will lead her to her true love.

AN:  I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten

AO3

Too soon Rumple had to leave for the front again.  Belle knew it was selfish, but she wished they could just shut out the rest of the world.  They could spend lazy days in his bed talking about all the feelings they’d been too afraid to give voice to before in between bouts of love making.  In a perfect world they could spend as much time as they wanted like that, but Belle knew Rumple was their best chance at beating the ogres back.  That truth didn’t help lessen the sting when she said goodbye to him.  They parted with one last kiss, her hand slipping inside of his jerkin to brush the string that had first connected them.  He made his promises that he’d return as soon as he could, and that when he did the war would be over.  Then he was gone.

Belle wrapped her arms around herself at the gates of the castle as the heat from his body pressed against hers began to disappear.  She didn’t even have the opportunity to stare after him as he rode away; instead he had whisked himself away in a cloud of golden smoke.  Letting out a sigh she turned back to the castle; she wasn’t getting anything done just standing there and everyone needed to do their part.  In the courtyard of the castle they had set up tents and beds for the people that had lost their home.  There were so many of them that they had begun to spill into the garden, and most of the castle’s staff were at their wits end.  As a princess Belle had never been taught practical skills like cooking or healing.  But she did what she could by handing out supplies and sitting with the sick.

The waves of fleeing refugees needed to be fed and clothed and in some cases they needed help finding missing family members.  More than once Belle ended up with a little child on her hip, tears streaking their pudgy cheeks as she looked for their parents

Some of the stories Belle heard as she worked among the refugees made her stomach sink with worry. It wasn’t just fear for Rumple, although her fear for him couldn’t be ignored, but for the other soldiers and knights that were risking their lives as well.  Rumple had magic, but that could only do so much to protect him.  If he didn’t see an attack coming then he would be just like any other man.  Belle tried not to think about all the horrible things that could happen to the man she loved.  If she did then she wouldn’t be able to get out of bed in the morning.  Instead she redoubled her efforts to hand out supplies as more and more people fled to the safety of the castle walls.

“Excuse me, your Majesty.”  A soft voice called, breaking her out of her thoughts.

Belle turned and smiled softly at the boy standing in front of her.  If she had to guess she’d say he was about thirteen or fourteen with shaggy brown hair and eyes that were oddly familiar.  His clothes had seen better days and his face was smudged with soot and dirt.  Belle made a mental note to find him something better to ware and to make sure he got a bath, or at least a damp rag to clean himself with.

“What can I do for you, young man?”  Belle asked sweetly.

The boy shifted and ducked his head shyly as she looked at him and then looked up and gestured to the little girl’s hand he was holding.  “They said that the princess could help find her parents.”

“Oh course I’ll help”  Belle said. She kneeled down so she was at eye level with the little girl and smiled as kindly as she could.  “Hello, what’s your name?”

After an hour of looking the little girl was reunited with her parents and Belle was happy to see the family made whole.  The sight made Belle’s heart ache; someday, if fate was kind, she could have that with Rumple.  They hadn’t had time to discuss the future or marriage, but she hoped that their new understanding would lead to them spending forever together.  Rumple had said he wanted to stay with her after all. She wasn’t the kind of person to trap Rumple into marriage because of the night they had spent together.  But Belle knew that he was the kind of man that would ask to marry her even if they weren’t true love.  The reminder of what they shared eased the pain she was feeling at being separated from him.  He would return and they would be together.  Until then she had a job to take care of.

Turning back to the boy that had brought the little girl to her attention she smiled.

“Do you need help finding your family?”  Belle asked.

He shrugged and ducked his head.  “I’ve no family to find, your Majesty.”

“Oh,”  She replied softly.

That explained his unkempt appearance and ragged clothing.  There was no one looking out for him.  Now that she took a closer look at him she realized he was rather thin under the dirt covering his face.  He looked up at her were soulful brown eyes and she felt her heart clench.  No child should have to suffer the way he clearly had. Even before the horrors of the ogre wars he had been alone and no doubt scared.  Not to mention he would have had to deal with the very real and pressing issue of hunger and shelter.  Yet despite all he had been through he was still kind enough to take the hand of a poor lost child and bring her to someone that could find her family.  His hardships hadn’t made him cruel or harsh; instead somehow kindness had endured in his heart.  Perhaps it was silly of her, considered she had just met him, but she wanted to take care of him.  Even if it was just making sure he got a good meal and a bath.

“Thank you for your help, Princess.”  He said, breaking Belle from her thoughts.  The boy bowed and made to leave.

“Wait,”  Belle requested.  “Since you don’t have anyone, why don’t you let me help you?”  She asked with a kind smile.

“I couldn’t ask anything of you, your Majesty.”  He replied timidly.  “I’ve already taken up too much of your time.”

“Nonsense, what is a Princess good for if she can’t take care of her people?”  Belle said briskly.  “We’ll get you all cleaned up and then some food in your belly.”

Once Belle set her mind to something there was no arguing with her, and the poor boy was soon swept away from courtyard and into the castle.  There were a few maids that weren’t busy and she recruited them to draw a fresh bath and find him some clothes that no one would miss.  While her guest bathed she went down to the kitchens to find him something that would be rich enough to nourish him, but not so much that it would make him sick.  The kitchens were busy cooking foods that could feed a large group of people, stews and full pig roasts.  It was easy for Belle to grab some wonderfully smelling fresh bread and a bowl of hot broth with vegetables and chunks of hearty meat.

As she returned to the upper floors of the castle with tray in hand she frowned and bit her tongue as she passed Lady Cora.  She hadn’t told her parents what she had tried, but now Belle was beginning to wish she had.  Every time they crossed paths the woman would give her a knowing smirk that set Belle’s teeth on edge.

“It must be trying times when the Princess has to fetch and carry like a common maid.”  Cora simpered.

“We all must make sacrifices in this time of need.”  Belle replied with a tight smile.  “I’m doing my part; what good are we nobles if we can’t protect our people?”

Her eyes narrowed at Belle’s word, a sneer pulling at her lips.  “Well, that might be the case, but no noble man will want a woman that will service just anyone.”

“Then perhaps it’s for the best that Lord Rumplestiltskin and I have agreed to wed.  And he already knows I’m fully capable of servicing him.”  She said, her smile turning sly.

Two spots of red appeared on Cora’s cheeks as she clenched her fists in anger, but Belle didn’t bother staying to hear her retort. Instead she brushed past her with her chin held high and a satisfied smile pulling at her lips.  This wasn’t the end of her strange skirmish with Lady Cora, but for now she felt as if she’d managed to win this round.  Soon she’d have to deal with Cora fully.  That woman couldn’t be allowed to stay in the castle to cause more trouble, but for now she had someone that needed her attention more then Cora.

Belle found her spur-of-the-moment ward waiting for her in a warm sunlit drawing room where she set the food she’d brought in front of him. Even the mere idea of a princess serving a peasant was something that would make any of the women at court faint from shock and then set their tongues wagging.  No doubt Lady Cora would be the worst of them all.  But Belle didn’t care what they would think. Especially when the boy fell on the food she brought him like he hadn’t seen a proper meal in weeks.  The troubling part was that Belle knew it was entirely possible that it was true.  She pushed the thought and focused on the here and now.

The clothes that had been found for him were too large for his thin frame, but they were clean and would be warmer than the rags he’d been in before.  His hair was still dripping from his bath and now that his face was clean she couldn’t shake that he looked even more familiar than before. It was the colour of his eyes and the tilt of his lips when he smiled at her.  Something was pulling at the back of her mind, but every time she reached out to take hold of it, it turned into mist and slipped between her fingers. There was a possibility he was the bastard of one of the nobles that served her father, but at the same time that didn’t make sense.  It would be foolish to believe that none of the lords or knights had dallied and produced a child out of wedlock.  But in most cases that child would be taken care of in some way. This boy seemed healthy enough; it was odd that he hadn’t been recruited for a trade yet.

Too late Belle realized she was staring at him intently when he looked up at her and then ducked his head nervously.  The action added to the feeling of familiarity, but she still couldn’t tell where she’d seen it before.

“Have I displeased you, your Majesty?”  He asked weakly.

“Oh, no, not at all. I just realized I’ve been terribly rude. I haven’t asked your name.”  She said with a gently smile.  The poor child was skittish; she didn’t need him thinking she was mad at him.

“I’m Baelfire, your Majesty.”  He replied with a shy smile.

Belle tilted her head to the side as her heart clenched.  “Baelfire?”

“Yes, your Majesty.” Baelfire said, running his spoon along the bottom of his bowl.

“That’s a wonderful name.”  She replied with a smile that was a little too bright.  Standing she patted his shoulder.  “If you need anything don’t hesitate to call for a maid; I’ll be right back.”

“O-okay.”  He said as he watched her leave.

Belle closed the door of the drawing room and leaned against it as her head swam with shock and confusion.  This boy must be Rumple’s lost son; there was no other explanation.

[lettersofsky]

Reunited

Strifesodos prompt fic using this prompt here. 

      Ko-Fi

Genesis hadn’t been aware of the passage of time within his sleep. He had known that time had passed of course, but until he ascended to the surface he hadn’t known for much time or the status of the world.

Once he had emerged from the underground caverns of his once home, he had decided to make his way to Midgar. As much as he would like to avoid the sprawling city, it was the largest city in Gaia and a good place to start searching.

He had frozen at the sight that greeted him approaching the city, almost plunging from the sky in his shock.

Where the city once stood, floating proudly above the ground, now stood only ruins. Misshapen piles of rubble and broken buildings all that was left of Shinra’s glory.

There was the beginnings of a civilisation close to the site of ruin, but Genesis decided to avoid it for a moment. At least until he knew if he would be attacked on sight or not.

He waited until nightfall, sitting perched on the cliff-face, before making his way into Midgar, unwilling to reveal himself to those that might wish him harm. He spent the hours, attempting to tame the mess of his hair. 

It had grown longer in his sleep, it was past his shoulders now, far longer than he had ever had it. Perhaps the change was for the better though.

He manoeuvred around dilapidated buildings delicately, until he touched down on the dead ground. He tucked his wing away for the moment; the limb folding back into his body as he made his way along ruined streets.

He wondered for hours, it was nearing daylight when he found a building that looked to be in better condition than those surrounding it. He found himself blinking in bewilderment at the interior of the building.

Halfway across the room, the floor had been stripped away, wooden boards replaced by a garden of white and yellow flowers surrounding a pool of crystal clear water.

There were a few broken pews lined up before the start of the garden and stained glass decorated the windows causing Genesis to assume that this had been a church of some kind.

He walked further into the church, enjoying the peaceful feeling the place gave him. He paused when his eyes caught sight of something beyond the pool.

He couldn’t make it out from where he was so he approached cautiously, keeping his senses trained on his surroundings as he went.

He had almost reached the thing when he was finally able to recognise it.

The Buster Sword. His oldest friend’s most treasured possession.

But that couldn’t be true, the blade had been gifted onto Zack Fair; Angeal’s apprentice. What would it be doing here of all places?

The blade looked to be in good condition; free of rust and grime despite where it was. If the Buster Sword was here then where was Fair?

He tried to search his memories of the last time he had seen Fair. He didn’t have the best memory of the time he suffered from degradation but he was sure Fair had been there before he retreated into the underground passages.

And he had...

A panic seized him suddenly, gripping his heart tightly within his chest at the thought. He gripped his arm tightly, shoving the sleeves of his tattered coat up his arm to reveal the pale skin of his arm.

A great sigh of relief left him at the sight of stark, black lettering on his skin. The name stood out boldly on his body, meaning that the worst had not come to pass.

The name was of his most beloved person, though he didn’t deserve the other at all. His beloved had been his every before the degradation poisoned his mind and he had turned against Shinra, leaving him behind.

The last he had seen him, he had been unconscious due to Mako Poisoning and Fair had been taking him to Midgar. His name hadn’t faded though, meaning that he was still alive somewhere.

Genesis felt tears build up in his eyes and was unable to repress them, the relieve filling him simply to great to contain. Sobs raked his form as he stood before the sword clutching his arm to his chest.

He still had a chance to fix things, if his beloved would let him. Genesis wouldn’t blame him if he wanted nothing to do with him anymore after what he had done.

He turned when he heard the sound of footsteps at the entrance of the building, flinching into himself at the future in the entrance. It couldn’t be... what were the odds?

There standing at the door to the church was his beloved, Cloud Strife. He hardly looked different from the last time he had seen the blonde, a bit older yes but beyond that it seemed the little in the other’s general appearance had changed.

Genesis’ heart hurt at the suspicious, weary look Cloud was giving him, noticing how he kept a hand on the hilt of the weapon strapped to his back. He almost flinched again at the cold way in which Cloud spoke to him.

“What are you doing here?” There was a current of barely contained anger in the blonde’s voice as he spoke to him, carving into Genesis’ heart.

“I woke up...” he wanted to say more but was unable to think of anything to tell the other, fear began to rise in his again. Was Cloud going to leave him here?

A harsh, angry noise left Cloud’s throat before he strode to him, each step quick and purposeful until he stood right in front of him.

Genesis wanted to hide anyway from the enraged, bright blue eyes glaring up at him but resisted the urge. Cloud had the right to be angry at him after all, he had caused so much harm then simply hid himself away from the world because of his guilt.

He had driven his two friends to death, then sealed himself away so that he would condemn the man before him. “I’m sorry,” he barely breathed the words, though they were far too true.

He wanted to apologise to Cloud for being to cowardly to face the consequences of his misguided actions, but the words wouldn’t come. tears built in his eyes again, falling to stain his cheeks.

He was expecting an attack of some kind, for Cloud to throw him down upon the ground and demand he never return to this place... He had not expected the smaller to wrap strong arms around him and pull him into a warm embrace.

Genesis broke down then, curling against the smaller frame holding him, burying his face into blonde spikes, soaking the hair beneath him.

Cloud was weeping too, holding him close as if afraid he would run off and disappear again.

He wouldn’t do that to Cloud again, not if it hurt the both of them this way.

They remained that way for what felt like hours, until the tears had dried for the moment, leaving them clinging to each other in the sunlit church.

Cloud pulled back from him, giving Genesis the chance to look him over properly for the first time in years. He had filled out a bit, had gotten his ear pierced and...

His heart clenched at the sight of Cloud’s bare arm, proudly displaying his own name. Before he had covered the words, afraid to admit who his heart was bound too, he had covered his too to respect the younger’s wishes.

To see his name displayed so proudly on his beloved’s skin made his heart fill with joy.

Cloud was giving him a knowing look, having caught what he was staring at. He met the other’s gaze levelly, uncaring to have been caught by his gaze.

“We’ve got a lot to talk about,” Cloud’s voice was heavy and serious, drawing Genesis’ attention immediately. “Come on, we can talk back home.”

He stood up, keeping a tight grip on Genesis’ hand as he moved towards the entrance. There was a motorcycle waiting outside, most likely Cloud’s.

Genesis felt a stirring of unease at the sight of the machine, he had never done too well with motorcycles. He would have to endure though, he didn’t want Cloud to see the ugliness of his double-jointed wing.

Cloud mounted the bike with the ease of long-familiarity, gesturing for Genesis to get on behind him. He kept a tight grip on Cloud as he started the vehicle, directing them through the ruins.

Genesis wasn’t sure what Cloud was going to reveal to him but he knew for certain that this was going to be a long conversation. He didn’t care though, as long as Cloud wanted him to stay around he would do his best not to hurt his beloved again.

[gastricpierrot]

Title: Flowers of Eden

Series: Tokyo Ghoul

Pairing: HideKane

Rating: T

Summary: They were children born of a mixed set of parents: one human, one ghoul. Raised and trained in the Sunlit Garden, they possessed strength that far surpassed that of normal people, as well as a lifespan that's significantly shorter. Vibrant flowers that bloomed quick and wilted even quicker, if you must.

And among them were a certain half-ghoul and his half-human best friend; one who wanted freedom, and one who wanted to spark a revolution.

[Based on the Sunlit Garden HCs i posted really long ago]

Warning: contains slightly heavy themes 

[Next Chapter]

Also available on AO3 

His earliest memory of them involves a certain incident with strawberry milk.

They were four then? Five? He doesn’t quite remember. He’s never been much good at judging time and it’s not like being cooped up within a walled and gated compound helps a lot. At any rate, it doesn’t matter. Back  to his narration.

Nagachika Hideyoshi is raised in an orphanage dubbed as the Sunlit Garden. No one’s really able to answer him why it’s called that for years. Had it been named on a whim? Maybe the director was feeling poetic? Or is it simply named based on the spot in the place which gets the most sun during the day and that’s the garden? Hide could spend hours and hours coming up with conspiracy theories for that itself, but not even his best friend is willing to humour him on that for that long, so he grudgingly doesn’t.

Speaking of best friend, Hide should introduce his. His best friend is a guy by the name of Kaneki Ken; a shy, quiet kid who sometimes offers the sweetest, most earnest smiles he’s ever seen. They’re the same age, as are the rest of the kids in their dormitory. Hide has always found it strange; how systematic the difference in ages between the orphans of each dormitory are. Hide and Kaneki are ten now. The dorm above them houses kids exactly three years older, and the one above them are another three years older. The ones below them are younger by two years. Those in Hide’s age group are the second youngest thus far. Those older than eighteen had left and never came back, with a few exceptions.

Anyway, strawberry milk. Right.

Strawberry milk was a luxury in the Garden. Their everyday meals always only consisted of stuff that’s supposed to make them grow up strong and healthy, and even though Hide has to admit they don’t taste too bad, it got bland real fast with them rotating between five to six variations a week. Sometimes when their tutors and trainers were feeling generous, they would reward their achievements with snacks like chips or chocolate or—in a rare case once—cup noodles. Still, strawberry milk was arguably the most popular, and it’s not because it’s something that doesn’t begin with ‘c’. Just thinking about it makes Hide want to find out who’s idea it was to let them try strawberry milk so he could shake hands with them for making such a great life decision.

It all started one unannounced morning. They were all standing in line for breakfast according to dorms, their teeth cleaned and hair brushed and clothes straightened. There were around thirty of them in total, all displaying varying intensities of drowsiness depending on the amount of discipline and fear they had towards the person in charge of overseeing them for the morning. Hide had been smack in the middle of the queue then, so he hadn’t been able to process the turn of events right away when whispers suddenly erupted around him and orphans began jostling one another and pointing to the front. One shush was all it took to quiet them down, however, and Hide was forced to wait minutes after excruciating minutes in bursting curiosity before he’s finally at the front, a rectangular packet about the size of his hand thrust towards him in a silent prompt for him to take it.

And Hide had taken it. And he’d walked off to a corner, clutching it to his chest like he’s just been handed some kind of priceless treasure. “Strawberry milk,” he read off the label once he’s huddled against the wall, his cheeks flushed with a sort of excitement he can’t quite explain even until now. Perhaps new, unusual things tend to bring this sort of effect when you’re brought up the way he was.

Hide had just finished inspecting the cute pink print on the packet and attempted to read all the small numbers and words when he heard a cry. His attention snapped up, instantly focusing on a boy at the table not too far away from him who’d started to sob pitifully. There’s a patch of pink liquid on the spot on the table before him.

Now it’s the events that transpired after this that struck Hide as odd only much, much later. The child next to the boy who was apparently the culprit for spilling his milk spent around half a minute begging him to quiet down, their own face pale as paper. Then as Hide watched on, one of their caretakers stepped into the scene, and literally dragged the then also weeping child away and into the corridors where his voice died into an eerie, abrupt silence once the door closed.

Everyone acted as though nothing happened, as though one of their own hadn’t just been taken to some kind of disciplining that might make him return a different person. But well, it was almost everyone, anyways. There was the victim of the incident, trying his best to stifle his sniffles and dry his eyes before he too, was taken away. That’s the thing about the Garden: tears and mistakes weren’t exactly highly tolerated, and the rule only gets stricter and stricter as they grow older. Which was why Hide (and a majority of the other kids, really) had gradually learnt to stick to himself most of the time. You can’t exactly seriously mess up and be sad when you’re alone.

And then there was the boy Hide knew as Kaneki Ken just a bit later, his first and closest friend for years and years to come. Kaneki had never stood out to Hide until then; they went through the same classes, the same training regimens and the same processes of being pricked by needles once a week. He was just like them; a child born under special circumstances and nothing more.

Or at least that’s what Hide thought so at first.

Kaneki had been the only person to approach the crying boy once their caretakers had their back turned, whispering words Hide could not make out before pressing his unopened packet of milk into his hands and hurrying off. Perhaps it’s this act of unexpected boldness on Kaneki’s part that caught his attention. Perhaps it’s the fact that he was actually willing to give up something as great and rare and awesome as strawberry milk for the sake of cheering up another person that earned his respect. Hide still can’t really be sure. All he’s certain of is that the next thing he knew, he was getting on his feet to catch up to the other boy and offering to share his packet of milk with him in honour of his sacrifice.

They… just kinda stuck together after that, he supposes. They began sitting together during classes and meals and hung out with each other during whatever free time they had. Hide’s pretty sure he might even have tried persuading either his or Kaneki’s roommate for a switch so they could spend more time with each other if they weren’t monitored so tightly. Then again, they were given the privilege for an optional shuffle every new year, so Hide had his chance soon enough. It took them exactly four months to have their names form a pair. Nagachika and Kaneki. Wherever one was, the other would usually be there too.

Fast forward several years to the future where Hide is now. He exhales a slow breath as he does his stretches, his muscles burning slightly as he strains on them. Combat training is something the Garden kids are all thrown into the moment they reach six years old, the age Hide had discovered where other children outside their orphanage would usually begin attending ‘elementary school’. They were made to run daily even before that, whether on treadmills or around the orphanage compound within the walls. It didn’t take long for him to realize that that’d been the earliest form of physical training they’d partaken in, and it took even less time for him to begin secretly loathing the regimen set for them. He’s seen his peers do everything they can to maintain their composure until they’re out of sight before collapsing into an exhausted heap or even throwing up from the harshness of the activities they had to go through. Hide himself had had to skip meals too many times already because he’d pushed his body to the point where the littlest movement made his head spin and stomach churn and all he wanted was to lie down forever.

Hide takes his position at the centre of the gym section they’re occupying for the day once he’s done warming up, pushing his thoughts away to focus. They’re sparring today as part of their training, and Hide’s opponent is one of the older orphans. He silently assesses the guy as he waits for him to get ready; noting his dominant hand, the slight favour he puts to his left foot, his sturdy stature that probably grants him a firm sense of balance. He isn’t someone who’s going to be easily toppled, but hey, Hide did earn the title of being one of the best among his group by achieving near-impossible stuff. He’s got a reputation to keep.

With that motivational thought, Hide launches himself into battle; using a minute on being defensive to have a better idea of how the other boy moves so he can plan a proper comeback. Still, he could tell that the guy’s being wary as well and that he’s holding back from showing him anything more than the basics. Hide almost heaves an internal sigh. Experience sure is an unfair advantage.

He takes a sharp breath, and abruptly switches to offense. He uses his opponent’s second of hesitation to press him hard, always aiming for the few vulnerable spots he’s managed to pick out so far. The other boy blocks his attacks well, but Hide subtly notices how he’s often barely quick enough to match his speed. Hide’s breathing doesn’t even falter when he feints a strike towards his chest, his other hand going straight for his throat the moment he sees him moving to block and—

And then Hide’s falling face first towards the ground, hardly even registering the impact across his entire body—and particularly, face—past his stupefied incomprehension. Wait. What. What the heck happened? He tries to recall the flow of events that’d taken place as he slowly pushes himself off the ground, blinking the spots from his eyes. One second he was going for the finishing move, one second he was so certain that it’s his victory once again. And then…

His left leg seems to hurt more than the rest of his body and ah, it makes sense now. The guy tripped him. He saw his chance when Hide was too focused on winning that he’d let his guard down and tripped him to the ground. He used the very same move Hide had considered using on him.

“You okay?”

The older boy enters Hide’s field of vision when he looks up, his hand outstretched. Hide runs his own hand over his face, wincing involuntarily when he touches his nose and feels a jab of pain through his entire head. His fingers touch sticky wetness when they brush below his nostrils.

“I don’t think anything’s broken, so I guess?” Hide grimaces before accepting his help and getting on his feet. “I should probably do something about this, though,” he adds, gesturing to the blood now running down his face in a steady stream. The older boy only nods, making no further comments and turning to go on his way. Hide tilts his head upwards, and tries his best to navigate towards the infirmary. He really hopes that fall hadn’t broken his nose. It’d be a huge bother if it did, ugh.

“Hide, are you alright? You fell pretty hard back there.”

Hide stops in his tracks when he hears the voice, soon peering down upon a familiar head of tidy, black hair. You’d think he’d be more embarrassed about his absolute defeat, but he’s rather proud to say his record definitely had more losses than wins so far. And Kaneki has bore witness to at least ninety percent of those losses, so it’s not exactly something that impresses him anymore at this point.

“I think my pride took an even harder fall back there, to be honest,” Hide jokes, cringing slightly when he tastes blood in his mouth. “But I’ll be fine, Kaneki, don’t worry about it.” A short pause. “Wait, when’s your turn?”

“It’s already over,” is all Kaneki says. He circles his fingers loosely around Hide’s arm, and starts leading him towards his destination. With his head tilted, Hide can’t see his expression.

“How did it go..?” Hide asks, almost tentatively. Not that he doesn’t already know how it went.

“It was barely a competition,” Kaneki answers, his tone matter-of-fact and void of any frustration. He just sounds tired. So, so tired.

Hide’s tempted to risk a waterfall of blood down his face to look at him properly, but he’s saved from doing that when he realizes they’ve reached the infirmary. Kaneki insists for him to lie down while he gets him a wet cloth and some ice for his nose, and Hide doesn’t argue. His head has actually started spinning from his fall and weird position for the past two minutes and he’s worried he might actually get vertigo if he doesn’t lie down a bit. So much for a tough Garden kid, hah.

“Does it hurt again?”

It’s Hide who poses the question once they’ve both settled down, his voice quiet. He finally gets to see Kaneki properly, and  he reaches to loosely tangle his fingers with his. Kaneki’s eyes are averted, his free hand fiddling his chin slightly.

“It’s not so bad this time,” Kaneki says with a reassuring smile, and Hide would have believed him too if he hadn’t known him so well that he’s picked up his habits and quirks over the years.

Kaneki’s… different from the rest of them. “Special” is the word the guys in lab coats would always tell them. They’re officially registered as ‘orphans’, but they’re taught the moment they could understand the meaning of words about who and what they really are. Children who are not really human. Children who have a parent, either their father or mother, who can’t eat anything but human meat to survive.

They’re called “ghouls”, these cannibalistic beings. And they���re often reminded that they’re the baddest guys around, the main threat to the human population. However, what makes less and less sense as Hide grows older is why they, children of ghouls, exist when ghouls are supposed to be hated and hunted down to extinction before they wipe out the human population. Aren’t they kind of contradicting their own aims by raising the young of a species they’re supposed to eliminate?

The children of the Garden are all “half-breeds”, born from a human-ghoul pair of anonymous parents with the help of science. They do not possess the main characteristics of ghouls; the superhuman regenerating abilities, the flaring red irises and darkened eye-whites which are also known as “kakugan”, and the special organ to store and manifest RC cells into appendages that could be shaped at the will of a ghoul, known as the “kakuhou” and “kagune” respectively. As such, they’re allowed to keep the title of being “humans”, but only half so. They’re an in-between existence. Half-humans.

Well, at least most of them who actually manage to live past the exiting the womb or whatever machine used to cultivate them are. The fact that they have the chance to utter their first cry as a newborn is rare enough. But there’s a case that’s even rarer, that’s only occurred a grand total of two times ever since the Garden was founded approximately thirty years ago.

Half-breed children born with the characteristics of a ghoul, yet retain the ability to gain nutrients from human food—half-ghouls. Perhaps in a genetic sense, they can be said to have the better deal; a more balanced mix of both species. Realistically, it could very well be a curse. After all, why would the other half-ghoul—a girl some years older than them—have done everything she did to escape the Garden walls just a few years back? Surely, something must’ve motivated her to do so. Surely, there’s something she couldn’t have been able to stand in here that finally pushed her to leave the confines of their “orphanage”.

It doesn’t take long for Hide to gain a suspicion over what that “something” is, being so close to Kaneki. That’s right, Kaneki’s the second half-ghoul to ever exist in the Garden, and currently the only one left.

“Kaneki,” Hide says, catching his companion’s gaze and silently willing him to not look away. “It’s just me you’re with. You don’t have to lie, you know.”

For a moment, Kaneki seems like he’s about to make another denial. Then slowly, he nods without a word, letting his shoulders slump further with the tiredness he’s been holding back. Hide feels something in his heart darken with a deep, seething rage and loathing. Being the only rare existence left, Kaneki’s called to the labs more frequently than the rest of them; going through procedures that more often than not leave him exhausted and in pain all over. Sometimes it’s so bad that Kaneki can barely push himself out of bed in the mornings, whimpering at any movement that sends jolts of pain across his body. Hide can only imagine how much he’s enduring, to actually fail in masking the agony he’s in when he’s gotten so good at it over the years.

“Stay here with me a little longer?” Hide suggests, giving Kaneki’s fingers a slight squeeze. Kaneki graces him with a lopsided, but grateful smile.

“Is your nosebleed that bad?” he asks even though Hide’s pretty sure he knows the blood flow has long since stopped. That’s the thing about being a half-human; their bodies might not recover from injuries as immediately as a ghouls, but they still recover pretty darn fast.

“Bad enough for me to have to lie down longer than I have to,” Hide says, wiggling his eyebrows in mischief. His smile widens when Kaneki lets out a small laugh.

“They won’t let you slack off for long,” he warns, but makes no more moves to leave than Hide. He exhales a long breath, leaning forward to lean his head onto the mattress in a rather awkward position. Hide tries to scoot over so he can join him, but Kaneki dismisses him with the reason that at least like this he’ll be able to react before they get caught. Hide, sadly, can’t argue. The Garden isn’t too sympathetic towards those who miss training.

But looking at it another way, isn’t what they’re doing quite counterproductive? Hide’s mind wanders as it always does when he’s physically idle. What’s the point of pushing them so hard every single day to the extent that most of them are breaking apart by the end of it—and then strain them with another brutal training menu the next day when they barely have the strength to get out of bed? Even if they are bound to be great fighters, to be the strongest weapons mankind has ever had against ghouls—is there a need for all this?

…Even if they’re just tools, is there a need to treat them like this?

xXx

Kaneki always looks forward to Arima’s visits.

He always manages to bring an array of random things with him whenever he drops by; candies, smooth stones, leaves they’ve never seen before, toys no one really knows how to play. And just recently, books. Books that are never allowed in the Garden; ones about freedom, justice, deceit. Books on revolutions.

Arima Kishou is eight years older than Kaneki, and the youngest ever to have left the Garden for the outside world. Kaneki has never bothered to ask the older boy directly because he doesn’t think it matters anyway, but he’s heard that Arima left when he’s barely sixteen. He’d even skipped the year the children from the Garden would usually spend in the CCG’s academy, being assigned into field work straight out. Kaneki isn’t surprised. He doesn’t need rumours to know that Arima’s the strongest half-human to date, and that he’s on the way to being the strongest ghoul investigator of their time. The fact that their trainers always attempt to motivate/threaten them using his name should be enough to prove it.

Kaneki has mixed feelings towards Arima. He respects him, that’s for sure. Admires, even. He’s awed by him, always taken aback by the small acts of gentleness he sometimes displays. He’s grateful for the books he’s smuggled in for him, all of them stashed away from sight under his bed and read almost to pieces. Strongest investigator or not, Kaneki knows Arima doesn’t completely live up to the expectations of how someone with such prestige should be. Though his range of expressions isn’t all that wide, he has a slight, but kind smile. He has a surprisingly rebellious streak, often sneaking in items with him as gifts to the other children during his visits despite being aware of the strict restrictions imposed upon matters they are allowed to be expose to. He’s sometimes comically awkward. The younger kids adore him.

And perhaps it’s because Kaneki has seen these sides of him that he also somehow feels pity for him whenever he sees him now. The increasing number of white strands in his hair are stark against his original dark blue. The look in his eyes has grown even more faraway, and though it’s not obvious, Hide has pointed out how he seems to carrier a heavier, more tired air around him now. It’s as though something’s constantly weighing him down lately, Hide had observed.

“How is work like out there..?”

The question is asked tentatively, with Kaneki half hoping that Arima will just brush him off. He’s never dared and wanted to know until then—he wonders what made him suddenly blurt that out. He averts his gaze when Arima’s eyes flicker towards him from the novel he’s reading, unable to maintain eye contact. Arima’s silent for a long while, as though quietly contemplating what he should say and how he should say them. Two seconds in and Kaneki’s already regretting some life choices. He stares at the cover of Arima’s book as he waits, scarcely even daring to breathe for some reason. He’s reading one of Franz Kafka’s works today, he muses half-heartedly to himself.

“I—“

Arima’s finally about to say something when he’s interrupted by Hide walking into their conversation. Kaneki can’t decide whether to feel miffed or disappointed or relieved. Maybe it’s for the best that he remains ignorant for now?

“What are you guys talking about?” Hide asks as he shifts on his spot to cross his legs, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. Kaneki’s attention is drawn to the multiple bruises that decorate his bared skin, all already fading despite Hide gaining them just the day before.

“Ken’s just asking me how work’s like,” Arima replies evenly, and Kaneki flinches. Is he really going to tell them?

“It’s probably tough as hell, isn’t it?” Hide says almost offhandedly, balancing his elbow on the side of his knee and resting his chin on his palm. That’s what it would seem like on the surface, but Kaneki manages to detect the thoughtful undertone in his voice. That’s just how Hide is, no matter what kind of image of himself he usually tries to project in front of others. He’s always thinking, questioning, analysing.

It’s dangerous, to have such strong independent thoughts in the Garden. That’s why Hide chooses to mask them with his everyday façade—it wouldn’t end well for him if he raises suspicion upon himself for having enough self will to resist the Garden’s ideals. Even Kaneki is aware of this much.

“Well, it’s certainly not easy,” Arima responds, but offering no further elaboration. Kaneki finally exhales the breath he’s been holding. It was a stupid idea for him to have asked about this in the first place—not to mention a rather insensitive one. Arima-san’s here for a break and here he is, making him think of the burdens he has to carry.

He notices how close Hide is to blurting more questions, and quickly scrambles for a different topic of conversation. “B-By the way, Arima-san!”

Arima regards him, head tilted slightly to the side. Kaneki’s cheeks burn. His voice had came out squeakier than he’d intended. That doesn’t matter.

“I just finished reading the anthology you gave me the other day a-and,” Kaneki swallows, his sudden boldness making him stumble over his words, “I’d love to talk to you about them, if that’s okay.”

Arima’s quiet for a moment. “Was it Hakushuu’s The Seal and the Cloud?”

“Yes.” Kaneki’s heart beats just a little faster with excitement. He’s always loved reading, loved how words alone are able to bring him to an entirely new world besides giving him a fuzzy feeling in his chest and at times even taking his breath away with their beauty and the plot’s intensity and making him forget about the almost constant ache that plagues his body. It’s a passion that sparked within him since they were made to read some literary works in class, and it’s only been growing ever since Arima smuggled in more books and a dictionary into the Garden.

Huh. Now that he thinks of it, how did he find out about his love for books? Was it simply some good guessing on his part? Maybe it’s a coincidence? Or did he hear about it from someone?

“I thought Ode to an Old Ainu was pretty interesting,” Arima says and oh gosh it really is happening they’re going to talk about books now. Kaneki takes in a breath, ready to blabber on about how much he agrees that the poem is great and how one may interpret it so, so many ways and how much of a literary genius Hakushuu truly is when Hide decides to heave a deep, loud sigh. Ah, he’s never been a fan of Kaneki’s boring stuff written by pretentious old people, he’d always say. Kaneki nods apologetically when he catches his eyes, but Hide only shakes his head subtly, encouraging him to go on.

Still, Kaneki feels bad for leaving him out of the conversation like this. Hide remains without comment, only bringing his knees to his chest and leaning forward to use them as a makeshift pillow before closing his eyes—perhaps intending to reassure him further that it’s okay for him to just do his thing, he’ll be there if he needs him. Very reluctantly, Kaneki lets himself indulge.

He talks with Arima about Hakushuu for what seems to be hours and hours; relentlessly exchanging insights and theories and opinions. And as silent as he is on every other day, Arima turns out to be a great conversational partner when it comes to talking about books; having an excellent memory and sharp observational skills to notice details even Kaneki sometimes missed out. It’s easy to forget about Arima’s rising status as a ghoul investigator and see him as just another orphan from the Garden when they’re like this. Kaneki hopes it’s the same for Arima as well, that he can just be himself without bearing the weight of a genius right then where none of his talents in combat matters. If anyone deserves this little bit of peace, it’s him.

“It’s different,” Arima comments at one point, so out of the blue that Kaneki fails to follow. “The world described in his poems and the world outside right now,” Arima adds shortly, absently watching his own finger as he draws circles  on the floor by his foot, “they’re very different.”

“In what way?” Kaneki shifts, longing to stretch his stiff legs but worried that he might seem rude to do so when there’s already not much space between them to begin with. From the corner of his eye, he notices that Hide’s awake now, listening to them in silence.

“It’s—“ Arima’s cut off by a call of his name from one of the instructors. Their tone was wholly professional and lacking a certain warmth—the default voice used for most of them, really, but Kaneki can’t help but feel it’s even more so in Arima’s case. Maybe it’s just him thinking too deep into things, he doesn’t know. Also, would people please stop interrupting the poor guy already, geez.

Arima moves to get on his feet without a word, the two younger boys soon following suit. Arima’s expression remains unchanged, but Kaneki seems to hear a tinge of wistfulness in his tone when he bids them farewell.

“Thank you so much for today, Arima-san,” Kaneki manages to tell him before he could walk off, bending forward in a slight bow. He catches a glimpse of one of his rare, small smiles when he straightens. “See you soon.”

He doesn’t get to watch him go; Hide’s tugging his hand to remind him about the next class they have to attend before he has the chance.

xXx

Their days eventually begin passing in a new sort of monotone.

Their physical training gets replaced by weapons training immediately after they turn thirteen, each of them assigned a type of weapon to master based on past assessments of them before they’re allowed to choose their second choices. Hide’s advantages lean towards his speed and wit for ending battles quickly, so he’s made to train with short weapons for easy manoeuvrability and quick, precise strikes. Kaneki, who excels in learning new moves and techniques by simply observing and generally an all rounder with a sturdy core as long as his pain isn’t too prominent, is assigned to handle standard length weapons like swords.

Hide has to admit though: training with weapons is much more interesting than what they were used to. Perhaps it’s because he’s suffered way too many losses during his hand-to-hand combat days and sees better chances in something that can properly end a battle with a nudge of wood against certain spots of a body. Perhaps he’s attracted to the rush of adrenaline that comes with the sudden spike of urgency knowing a defeat in training would might mean death if it were a real fight. Perhaps he’s just happy to take it as a sign of him growing up and growing stronger.

He has to grow up and grow stronger.

Kaneki’s uniqueness as a half-ghoul has gotten even more distinct recently. He now receives a special menu during meal times—and by ‘special’ Hide means an extra bowl of gooey red stuff that reeks of iron but apparently smells just like chicken soup to Kaneki. He’s starting to train with his kagune as well besides mastering how to swing a weapon effectively. All on top of the increasingly painful and draining procedures he has to go through.

Kaneki practices using his kagune alone during the hours where the others are free to do as they like, not just because he’s the only one with a kagune, but also because he hates standing out in front of people. Hide always keeps him company, that’s for certain. He’d sit at the sides of the practice hall and watch as Kaneki performs a succession of moves with the blood-coloured appendages that sprout from his lower back; simple ones at first, but he’s using them as if he’s been using them all his life in no time. Sometimes Hide finds goosebumps rising over his skin at the sight of Kaneki’s deft movements that incorporate using his kagune with seemingly so little effort. So this is how a ghoul fights.

Hide has been having a bad feeling since he woke up the day the incident happens. Kaneki hadn’t returned to their room at all the night before—his bed remained untouched even after Hide snapped awake from the drowse he’d eventually nodded off into as he waited. It’s not the first time something like this has happened; Hide’s been caught sneaking out to the labs way past curfew to check on him so many times that he’s been punished to solitary confinement twice already. He’d keep doing it anyway if Kaneki hadn’t personally assured him that he’ll be alright and asked for him to stop getting himself in trouble and just wait for him because he’ll surely come back sooner or later. Hide doesn’t like it any more than he likes the idea of being locked in a room with nothing but white walls and a small corner for him to do his business for hours and hours without food or entertainment, but for Kaneki, he’d decided, he’ll listen to him.

Still, the nagging feeling in his gut only intensifies further when it’s past lunch time and Kaneki still hasn’t made an appearance. He’s missed an entire morning of lessons; they usually wouldn’t let him do that even when the painkillers no longer make a difference. Hide’s also suspicious of how he’s suddenly more engaged than normal, being almost constantly targeted by their tutors to either answer questions or read passages or carry materials from one class to another. The Garden is a small institution—there’s no one who shouldn’t have, to the very least, heard of the inseparable Nagachika and Kaneki. With the behavioural record he holds, he’s not surprised that he’s the one they’re wary of if anything’s happened to Kaneki.

The fact that he’s more and more certain they’re trying to distract him does little to lessen his apprehension. Maybe he should risk enduring another day in confinement and look for Kaneki to check on him and beat up anyone who’s trying to—

“Nagachika!”

Hide’s jerked out of his thoughts by the sharp call of his name. He abruptly registers the sting in his palms; his fingers uncurling with effort. He glances towards the owner of the voice, a girl his age.

“Didn’t you hear? We need to go to the labs now,” she says, tugging his arm to urge him to hurry. Hide blinks, almost stumbling over his feet when he moves.

“Why so sudden?” Hide asks, though possibilities are already beginning to cloud his thoughts, backed by the bits and pieces of information Kaneki has been able to tell him along with those he’s picked up himself during the few times he’s stumbled upon careless conversations. The girl shrugs, eyes set ahead and pace hastened to catch up with the rest of the group that’s already ahead of them.

“Don’t know. They didn’t care to elaborate.”

Hide says nothing to that, instead holding his breath as he moves to join his peers. His teeth dig into the flesh of his lower lip until they draw blood. His intuition has never really been wrong all these while. This sudden visit to the labs—he’s sure it’s connected to Kaneki’s sudden absence that day somehow. Dread settles in the pit of his stomach like a layer of tar; dense, toxic. What have they done to him? What are they still doing to him?

Hide doesn’t make the turn into the usual room where he’d get his arm pricked every Saturday, his steps speeding up as he walks straight ahead despite the calls of question and warnings for him to go back. Kaneki wouldn’t be in this corridor, but Hide knows how to get to where he should be without even thinking now. He slips into the emergency stairway and climbs up, his bare feet making no sounds at all against the cement floor. He shortly emerges in an annoyingly bright hallway lined with doors and large one-way glass windows along the walls. It’s quiet—eerily so. A calm before a storm.

Hide heads forward, all thoughts of being caught forgotten and replaced only by a numb sort of static. He goes to the room at the very end of the corridor, and stops. Looks through the window.

And stares.

And stares.

The scene before him is like a muted nightmare, only perhaps much, much worse. Kaneki’s strapped on his belly onto an operating table, his limbs straining against their constraints as he thrashes about. His face, turned to one side for him to breathe, bears an expression of excruciating pain; his mouth open in screams that are silent to Hide’s ears, his dark hair sticking to the sides of his sweat-drenched face. The skin where he—impossibly, given the raw strength he owns—is tied down is chaffed raw and bleeding. And on his lower back...

The rush of air that suddenly enters Hide’s lungs almost chokes him. He could only watch on in complete stupefaction as Kaneki’s kagune furled and unfurled in spasmodic movements into ever-changing forms, lashing at nothing and everything. It’s eating him, is the only thought that Hide’s mind seems to be able to piece together. He doesn’t know how it’s possible or why it’s happening but Kaneki’s kagune is going out of control and he’s in pain and he has to do something he can’t just stand there and—

Hide feels hands grabbing him and roughly yanking him back and away from the glass panel the exact moment he spots a researcher enter the scene, holding an item that unmistakably resembles a gun. Hide vaguely remembers struggling, words he can’t hear leaving his mouth in shouts, in desperation. They can’t hold him down, he has to see if Kaneki is alright! He has to go to him and he’ll fight anyone who dares get in his way and perhaps he goes too far at one point because the last thing he remembers before waking up from unconsciousness in a white-walled room is a sharp jab of pain piercing  his arm.

Being locked away has never bothered him as much as it does then. He’s utterly restless at first, unable to find the composure he normally holds on to so firmly. He paces, slams his fists against the door that stubbornly remains shut. Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat. Then when he’s finally exhausted and starving, the thoughts come; those of helplessness and despair and frustration all mixed up in an overwhelming whirlwind. He’d only stood and watched as Kaneki suffered. He hadn’t been able to do a thing.

He’s never been able to do a single thing.

They couldn’t have shot Kaneki dead, Hide’s at least certain of that. He’s still got too many uses for them to be disposed of so early. The ammunition for that handgun was probably some kind of sedative, maybe even some concentrated form of the RC suppressants they learnt about in class.

Kaneki often warned him that he thinks too much (which, he begs to differ because he’s pretty sure he’s doing it to a decent, healthy extent) and perhaps it’s become obvious without him realizing despite his efforts trying not to let it show. After all, why else would it feel like they’re lengthening his isolation if it’s not to show him that he’s not the one in power here and that he can spend an eternity pondering over how he can help his closest friend in the world and still remain unable to change a thing?

The realization of having his weaknesses used against him gives Hide the resolution to refrain from showing any more signs of an external breakdown, but with his parched throat and hunger combined with his unfading concern towards Kaneki’s current wellbeing, it still feels like there’s a thorn stuck in his gut . Hide lies flat on his back on the cold, marble floor, his closed eyes doing little to block out the intense white lighting around him. He tries again and again and again to distract himself, to uncharacteristically stop thinking for just a second, a minute. He can’t show them he’s lost. He can’t show them he’s completely disobedient either; he can’t risk being monitored any more than he already is.

The plan taking root in his head would be harder to be put into motion otherwise.

xXx

Kaneki wakes to a badly aching head and an unusually numb body.

It’s dark. He doesn’t recognize the ceiling above him. He takes a breath, exhaling slowly. It’s... actually quite nice like this. He’s forgotten how it is to not feel like his muscles are constantly being roasted over a slow flame.

His memories begin creeping back in patches. The metal capsule that’s filled with some sort of liquid, the mask over his face, the contraptions that fit over his lower back for ‘harvesting’ purposes. The pain. The iron cuffs cutting into his wrist and ankles, the syringe of greenish chemical injected into his bloodstream. The feeling of his kagune tearing into his flesh. More pain. Much, much more pain.

He begins to wonder if the numbness right then is actually artificially induced or if it’s just his body being utterly exhausted from the amount of pain it had to endure. Either way, he’s not looking forward to when it all wears off.

Kaneki’s attention flickers to the place where he’d spotted a shadow move. He closes his eyes once more, hoping that the person will leave him be if they see him still asleep. It’s strange, though. He doesn’t remember the researchers’ footsteps being this silent; their shoes usually make sure they can be heard through an entire empty hallway.

“Kaneki.”

Kaneki’s heart skips a beat, his eyelids snapping open to see Hide standing over him, the shadowed expression of worry on his face matching the tone of his voice. Seeing him awake, Hide breaks into a smile of relief, and Kaneki feels a sting in his chest. He wants to apologize, wants to reach out and take his hand and assure him that he’s okay and that he doesn’t need to look like he’s almost lost him because he hasn’t, not this time as well—but he can barely move a finger, let alone do anything beyond that level.

“Hide.” His voice comes out hoarse from his dry throat. In response, Hide disappears from view, reappearing half a minute later to dribble some water between his lips. Kaneki swallows gratefully, the squeeze in his heart growing in intensity at the care and gentleness in the way Hide treats him. What has he done to deserve someone like him?

“Better?” Hide asks once he’s presumably ran out of water to feed him, reaching to brush some strands of his hair away from his eyes. Kaneki nods, the ache in his head gradually fading to something more tolerable.

“What happened to you?”

It’s Kaneki who makes the inquiry, noting Hide’s hunched shoulders and generally haggard appearance. Even in the scarce lightning Kaneki could see how his hair is more tousled that it usually is and how he seems like he hasn’t slept in days. Wait. How long has he been unconscious, then?

“Nothing new,” Hide dismisses casually, and it’s enough for Kaneki to make a guess. He’s gotten himself punished again for his sake despite all those times he’d told him to lay low, hasn’t he? A lump forms in the base of Kaneki’s throat. If Hide’s caught being here now, he might be locked up and starved and who knows what additional forms of discipline they might come up for him next and no, Hide can’t stay. No matter how much he wants him to stay, Hide can’t because Kaneki doesn’t think he can bear the thought of him finally being broken by the cruelty of the Garden because of him. They can do whatever they want with him until his body rots away, but not Hide, please.

Please.

“Kaneki?” Alarm tinges Hide’s voice. “Hey, what’s wrong? Does it hurt anywhere or—“

“Please leave, Hide,” Kaneki pleads, shakily. His palms and back feel damp. “I’ll be okay in a while, so please leave before they find out you’re here.”

“After all that trouble I took just to get here? No way,” Hide scoffs, earning himself an incredulous stare from Kaneki.

“But—“ he begins, but Hide interrupts by pressing a finger to his lips, effectively shushing him.

“I have permission this time,” he simply tells him, in a way that Kaneki is unable to decide if that’s really the truth. Hide doesn’t give him room to argue, however, by proceeding to make himself comfortable at the end of his cot. Gradually, reluctantly, Kaneki lets himself relax. It’s not like Hide would leave even if he keeps protesting—stubbornness is one of the qualities they both share, after all. But still...

“They’ve really done it this time, huh?”

The words are muttered in a muse, not directed to anyone in particular. Hide’s face, now turned away from Kaneki, is fully hidden by the shadows. There’s a ring to his voice that Kaneki hasn’t heard before.

“I think they’ve finally found a way to harvest my kakuhou,” Kaneki says, remembering the voices that swarmed around him while he was in that capsule. The procedures he’d gone through over the years were mostly about trying to extract enough bits of his kakuhou to be transferred to another person. It’s a different and more intricate process than obtaining one to make a quinque, he’s figured long ago. There have always been complications, perhaps due to the fact that he’s a natural-born half-ghoul. Something’s always bound to get in the way of a breakthrough; as if his body is consciously refusing to cooperate with the hands that persistently violate it over the years.

It’s no longer a secret why the researchers are so fixated on Kaneki’s kagune. All half-humans born in the Garden are fated to a short lifespan. Many are prone to prematurely contacting conditions an average person would not suffer from until later in life. Strong and inhuman as they are physically, they’re also ironically fragile. Disposable. Flowers that bloom quickly and wilt even quicker.

And Kaneki’s kagune has been found to hold the key to fixing that.

“Yeah, they told us that yesterday,” Hide says, in the same unreadable tone as before. He’s silent for a few seconds before he speaks again. “Say, Kaneki?”

“Hmm?”

A slightly longer pause, a moment of hesitation. Then, “on second thought, it’s nothing.” He perks up and turns to face him right after, his mood taking a sudden drastic shift. “Come to think of it, I should mention that they brought us some pudding just now. I’ve already saved some for you, by the way.”

Kaneki sees the slight jerk of his head to the side, indicating the top corner of the room where there’s a surveillance camera mounted on the wall. They can’t talk about it here, he interprets. He wonders what exactly does he want to tell him.

“I hope I’ll be back before it goes bad, though,” Kaneki plays along with hardly a falter, laughing sheepishly. Hide leans a little forward.

“It should be fine; the weather’s still cool anyways,” he says, and despite his earlier solemnity, he’s starting to revert back to his everyday self. “Also! Did you know that I finally beat that Furuta guy this morning?”

“I just woke up about fifteen minutes ago, in case you’ve forgotten,” Kaneki reminds him with another small laugh, amused by his childish excitement. “But isn’t he the one who always uses dirty tricks and never gets reprimanded?”

“For the record, he’s still cheating and they’re still letting him,” Hide says drily, huffing a tired sigh. “Apparently their reason is that there’s no such thing as fairness when it comes to survival or something? I had to kill him like, four times before the referee finally acknowledged my win. Talk about playing favourites, sheesh.”

“Did he try to stab your eyes again this time?” Kaneki tries to keep his tone light, but something churns deep down in his core as the words leave his mouth. He remembers now. Furuta’s known for having no qualms in causing bodily damage to others even when it’s just training, as well as being the pet of almost everyone in charge. Kaneki’s seen firsthand how differently he’s treated compared to the rest of them; the most obvious being how he alone is allowed to use unfair and harmful means when sparring while anyone else would be subjected to punishment in the form of thicker needles or reduced food portions.

“Nearly shoved his fingers up my nostrils, too,” Hide affirms, absently rubbing his nose at the memory, “and he even tried to kick me in the nads again, can you believe the guy? And I’m the one who’s supposed to be famous for getting in trouble!”

“He didn’t seriously kick you, did he?” Kaneki worriedly glances towards Hide’s pelvis. He feels a smile tugging at the corners of his lips when he looks back up and sees the triumphant grin plastered across his companion’s features.

“Speed has always been my thing, so no. But I did kick his in the end.” Hide makes a fist and scrunches up his face. “Ah, the sweet, sweet taste of revenge!”

Kaneki can only imagine his sense of accomplishment. Furuta has gotten in the way of Hide’s winning streak too many times; his sparring matches with him would never end until Hide’s the one on the ground. It doesn’t help that he too, is highly skilled when it comes to combat and it’s difficult enough to score a victory against him the first time. Kaneki has long lost count of the times Hide would rant about Furuta’s shitty smirk and pretentious words of apologies when they’re back in the privacy of their room and ready to settle down for bed. And if Hide isn’t exaggerating—which he tends to at times—it must’ve been quite a long match, to have to score five kills against him before they were stopped.

“I get the feeling he’ll probably try to pay you back in other ways, though,” Kaneki tells him, to which Hide only makes an indifferent gesture with his hand.

“I’d like to see him try,” he says carelessly. At that, Kaneki shoots him a frown. He doesn’t know Furuta through and through, but he knows enough to expect him to be the kind to hold grudges. Hide should as well; his intuition is miles better than Kaneki’s, after all.

“I can take care of myself, Kaneki, don’t worry about it,” Hide promises, not exactly doing much to ease his worries. Seeing his unfading glower, Hide reaches to gently poke at the furrow on his brow. “Come on, man, don’t look at me like that!”

Kaneki complies by switching to a more judgemental look, failing to restrain the laugh bubbling up his throat when Hide playfully demands to be respected after coming this far. Kaneki has never been able to understand how Hide’s always able to break tension with so much ease. He seems to always know what he needs to do to lift Kaneki’s mood, no matter what happened.

“I’d like to go back to join everyone again soon,” Kaneki says, almost wistfully. Even if it could be just for a couple of days, it gets lonely real fast. Hide’s hands find his and squeezes encouragingly.

“I’m sure you would,” he says, with so much confidence that Kaneki finds himself believing him. “But I’ll try to drop by as often as I can if you have to stay longer. Even if I do have to do it illegally,” he mumbles the last part.

Kaneki’s protest is immediate. “Hide!”

“Joking, joking!” Hide holds up his hands in surrender. “I’ll only do it illegally if I can’t get permission, okay?”

“That’s not assuring at all and you know it,” Kaneki points out. Hide merely shrugs, showing no signs of being bothered by the idea of receiving punishment. If there’s one thing Kaneki really fears about him, it’s his foolish selflessness when it comes to him. Don’t get him wrong; Kaneki would willingly give up even his life for him if the need ever arises, but Hide’s loyalty is almost at a whole new level. No matter how close they are, no matter how much Kaneki means to him, he shouldn’t have to go to such lengths for him. It just…doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t seem healthy.

“I’m serious, Hide,” Kaneki says, catching his gaze and holding it firm. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid just to come see me?”

He stares him down until Hide finally heaves a weary sigh, reaching to scratch the back of his neck in a rather sheepish manner.

“I can’t say no if you give me that look now, can I?” he murmurs in defeat, and bit by bit, Kaneki smiles once more.

xXx

As it turns out, Kaneki gets sent back to the rest of the children the day after the next.

And for the first time in a long while, he returns hardly feeling any perpetual pain across his body. Was his regeneration abilities pushed to the point that it even got rid of the ache it hasn’t been able to for the past ten years? Or maybe it has something to do with the packet of clear chemical he didn’t recognize that was hooked to his arm not long after Hide left from his visit? He guesses it’s probably the latter. There’s no way his body would be able to make such a drastic change by itself so abruptly.

It feels great, being able to move as he likes without having to wince every five seconds. Kaneki finds himself working through his training with more enthusiasm than he ever had; defeating his opponents with an ease he doesn’t know he had until he’s staring down at them, his breathing barely off rhythm and his muscles tingling with adrenaline. It’s a new feeling, to realize he’s been this strong all along and that the only thing holding him back was the constant soreness he’s newly freed from. How much further could he go like this? How much more room for improvement does he have when he’s already this good now? Such thoughts drive him to try harder even with his already obvious advantage, tempting to test his limits, to do things that never seemed possible for him all this while when they really had been. To fight, to win.

Kaneki’s jarred from his daze-like state by the sound of bones breaking and a howl of pain.

He stares at the girl sprawled on the ground in front of him in growing horror. What has he done? Her right leg is twisted in a strange angle, her knee red and swelling angrily. He takes a step back, his heart pounding in his chest. Oh, god, what has he done?

“I’m—“ His words stop in his throat before he can voice them, unable to even utter an apology. For that one moment, he’d been drunk on his own power. That’s what happened. He got carried away the instant the only restraint he knows was eliminated, carelessly wielding his own strength until someone is hurt.

Despite himself, Kaneki silently thanks no one in particular that his opponent hadn’t been Hide.

He knows his best friend is watching; the commotion he’s causing is quite hard to miss. But Kaneki doesn’t turn to look, instead only able to stare at the injured girl while standing so still he hardly dares to breathe as he awaits verdict from the instructor. He doesn’t dare find out how Hide’s looking at him then; if his eyes are wide in terror or mouth twisted in disgust or eyebrows drawn together in disappointment. Disciplinary punishment is something he can handle. Hide distancing himself from him because of something he did—because of something he most likely is—is not.

He watches numbly as the girl is carried away in a stretcher, the buzzing in his ears making it difficult for him to tell if someone’s talking to him. He looks up when he feels a sharp pat on his shoulder, but the person who’s done it has already disappeared. Huh? His confusion gives him the courage to glance around him, trying to make sense of what’s happening. Everyone else pays him no attention, scattered across the gym in small groups and each of them returning to their own devices. Had Kaneki been given any instructions in specific that he didn’t hear? It almost seems so.

…what’s he to do then?

“Kaneki.”

Upon hearing the call of his name, Kaneki tenses. He keeps his gaze stubbornly averted from Hide even when the other boy leans close to catch his eyes, completely ignoring all notions of personal space. He doesn’t want to see, doesn’t want to see.

“You’re excused from the rest of the session, you know,” Hide tells him once he’s finally decided that Kaneki’s obstinate in not facing him, crossing his arm over his chest. Absently, Kaneki nods.

“Okay.”

A pause. “Hey, Kaneki?”

“Hm?”

“Are you, by any chance—“ Hide leans in once more, just a little—“feeling bad over what you just did?”

Kaneki’s breath hitches. “I just—“ he tries, stopping to purse his lips in search of a way to describe the hollow, uncomfortable sensation in his belly. “I don’t really know what I’m feeling, to be honest. I… I just know I didn’t like it; hurting her like that.”

A lapse of silence from Hide. A slight sink of Kaneki’s heart. Does he not believe him? Has the way he’s acted earlier given him the reason to doubt him now?

“It’s not your fault, Kaneki,” Hide says at last, appalling Kaneki with the absurdity of his statement. What is he even saying? It remains an undeniable fact that Kaneki had been responsible for the injury causing the girl so much pain that even years and years of discipline isn’t enough to stop her from crying out. That extent of agony is something Kaneki’s only too familiar with; it’s not something he’d feel pleasant upon inflicting on someone else who hasn’t done him any wrong.

“She tried to kick you but you caught her leg,” Hide further explains when Kaneki doesn’t respond, as though being aware of the haze of concentration that clouded his mind during the deed. “She tried to twist herself free. You held on.” He then frowns. “Well. I guess it’d be more accurate to say you’re not entirely at fault in that case but the point is—“ he trails off with a huff, his expression seemingly deflating by each second of stretched wordlessness. He eventually notices Kaneki looking at him funny and works to amend his façade at once, waving his hands elaborately.

“S-Sorry! I lost my train of thought back there,” he says, his sheepish smile not quite convincing. Still, Kaneki doesn’t push for more explanations; he’s more than happy to leave the discussion there.  

“I think… I’ll just go back to our room for now,” Kaneki says, gesturing for Hide to stop before he could offer to go with him. “You still have to train, don’t you?”

“Will you be okay?” Hide asks instead of answering, eyebrows drawn together in concern. Hesitating a split second, Kaneki nods. “Alright then. I’ll join you once I’m done here.”

Kaneki doesn’t feel Hide’s gaze leave him until the door closes behind him.

xXx

Kaneki’s pain doesn’t return and it scares him.

Hide doesn’t need to hear the words from Kaneki himself to tell. It’s obvious enough in his body language, his actions. His hesitance to spar, his tentativeness to touch even Hide. The constant furrow of concern across his brow.

The disappearance of Kaneki’s pain should, by all rights, be something to be celebrated. It’s only logical; it’s been the source of his suffering for so long, after all. It doesn’t make sense for the loss of it to torment him as much. Everyone tells Kaneki that it’s fine even if he doesn’t hold back, that it’s actually more beneficial to the others because it’ll give them an idea of what calibre of strength a ghoul possesses. The other Garden kids don’t particularly seem to mind bearing some injuries if that’s what it takes to learn and even actively encourage Kaneki to stop looking down at them and fight them seriously. The issue lies mainly on Kaneki himself. It’s simply not his nature to be aggressive.

But, as always, the Garden isn’t a place where one’s unaggressive nature is taken into consideration. It’s either Kaneki sucks it up, or he’s spending even more time in the labs trapped in a capsule and have his kakuhou harvested. And as much as he hates harming others, Kaneki hates the labs even more.

He’s never given a choice. It’s always choosing between the devil or the sea for Kaneki, and Hide has always loathed everyone who made it so. He’s always loathed not being able to make a difference, not being able to help give Kaneki a third and possibly better option.

But maybe—just maybe, if everything goes well, he can finally take his first step in changing that soon.

It’s been painstaking, working on the wild plan that’d suddenly sprung up in his mind during his solitary confinement the other day to where he is now. Hide can never relax; no one must know what he’s up to. The maps, the schedules, the secret discussions with Arima who agreed to help them because he too, sees the wrongness of the Garden and wishes for change even though he claims it’s long past since there’s hope left for himself—Hide can’t let anyone find out about them. Even a slight suspicion is too dangerous. He’s betting on the CCG’s firm belief that the children from the Garden can only depend solely on the institution for food, finance and shelter. As long as they think no one would act up as long as they still need a place to call home, no matter how unbearable it is, Hide’s confident that things are still in his favour.

The only challenge now is to find the proper timing.

Hide’s new coat feels too heavy on his shoulders; he wonders how Arima seems to still be able to move so fluidly while wearing his. Hide, Kaneki and another girl from their batch are currently assigned to join Arima’s squad for a small mission for “exposure”—that is, to start helping them get used to actual fighting instead of just the usual sparring. Hide’s excited for exactly three things: 1) only children who’s deemed to have a certain level of skill are allowed to participate in actual missions, which means Hide’s gotten strong enough to qualify, 2) he’ll get to see Arima Kishou on the battlefield for the first time and he’s always been curious to see for himself how crazy strong the older boy is, and 3) they’re going outside.

The first and last are the most important. Being strong enough means he can do his best to help Kaneki fight his share of opponents if it ever comes to it. Going outside means he’ll have a better idea of how certain places would look like so he can use them to his best advantage when it matters. Hide can’t let chances like this go to waste.

“Stop.”

Arima’s voice is soft, but his command firm. Hide halts in his tracks, his thumb poised above the knob of his briefcase. The air around them is still, the silence broken only by the sound of water dripping from a pipe nearby. Hide glances around, swallowing in nervous anticipation. How many ghouls are there? Are they surrounded? He takes a breath, feels a slight bristle in the atmosphere—

And the entire squad suddenly bursts into a flurry of movement; with Arima whipping out his Quinque and parrying a kagune aiming for him in one smooth motion, Hide leaping to the side to narrowly avoid a shower of ukaku projectiles, and the rest of them lunging straight into action to engage their enemies. Everything happens at such a rapid pace that Hide doesn’t have time to think. There are around twelve ghouls facing their squad of five. While Arima can probably handle all twelve of them by himself, Hide’s pretty sure he and his original squad member have been ordered to hold back to give the three younger ones a chance and only intervene when it’s absolutely necessary. So either way, Hide has to fight.

It’s very different, fighting in a battlefield for real and training in the gym back in the Garden. There’s always been a subconscious assurance that a mistake during training will only mean a few bruises, a broken streak, a motivation to work harder next time. Now Hide has to constantly remind himself that if he blunders now, there might not be a next time. That can’t do. He still has goals to achieve, plans to carry out. A best friend he desperately wants to give a better life to. Not having a next time is not an option.

It’s still unnerving, though. Ghouls look exactly like humans, and no matter how hard Hide tries to convince himself that they’re different, they’re monsters, he can’t. Not once, not completely. Not when the only difference between them and his own best friend is the fact that Kaneki can eat human food. But not killing the ones he’s facing now would mean showing hesitation, and Hide doesn’t know if it would be so easily overlooked. He’s already drawn enough attention to himself; any more than this and his plan might be jeopardized.

It’s… alright. Hide doesn’t owe them anything.

But they’ve never done anything to personally antagonize him as well, have they?  

Hide dodges the hand reaching to choke him, ducking in close to the ghoul. Then before it—he? She?—could react, he swings his arm in a wide arc, gritting his teeth at the resistance that meets his blade when it cuts through flesh and bone. Blood stains his hands, splatters against his face in warm, dense droplets. The smell of iron fills his nostrils when he takes a sharp breath, but just as he realizes he’s missed the ghoul’s throat, he’s pushed back in a single forceful kick that crushes the air from his lungs.

He stumbles back coughing, regaining his bearings just in time to tighten his grip on his Quinque and deflect a kagune aiming for his middle. It shouldn’t be this difficult, Hide can’t help thinking as he once again throws himself into combat, trying and trying to find the opening that simply refuses to reveal itself. He’s sparred with almost everyone in the Garden—he should be used to exposing weak spots by now. He usually is during training. But he can’t seem to do the same when it matters? Like now? Is it because there’s too vast of a difference between the experiences of a ghoul who’s fought to live for all their lives and his own? Had he been unconsciously underestimating them all this while?

He can hear him panting from his exhaustion and pain. Yes, the ghoul’s a “him”. The ghoul’s mask had slipped away from his face when the butt of Hide’s dagger caught its edge earlier, revealing the face of a boy not much older than himself, by the looks of it. As Hide works to defend, he notices the ghoul’s movements slowing down. He’s tiring. And with the way he uses his kagune sparingly, it must’ve been a while since he fed.

Yet he’s still fighting tooth and nail against him. Now that he’s seen his face, he can’t let him leave alive.

Hide would very much prefer to leave alive.

Their fight eventually comes to an almost abrupt end, as all fights do. One bad step back and the ghoul slips, giving Hide the chance to lunge forward and drive his Quinque through his heart. He hears him mutter something before he falls unmoving on the ground, and it’s only when he reaches down to retrieve his dagger that he realizes what he’d said. What he’d called him.

Monster.

In each other’s eyes, they’re both monsters.

“-gachika, look out!”

Hide turns just in time to see a kagune pierce through the ghoul aiming to strike him from behind. Kaneki walks up to him as he works to remember how to breathe, and gradually, it dawns him why something seems to feel off. It’s the silence. The mission’s complete. They’ve eradicated their targets.

“Hide, are you okay?” Kaneki asks, bending to offer him a hand. The calmness in his voice almost sounds cold, detached. Hearing it gives Hide a strange sensation in his gut.

“Yeah.”

As it turns out, however, Kaneki’s hand is trembling every bit as much as his own.

…

It’s different.

Ken finally begins understanding Arima’s words from before. Many of his books speak of wars, of gray judgements, of monsters—but to read about them and to experience them himself isn’t the same. Ghouls are monsters, it’s been drilled into their minds the moment they can understand words. Their existence itself is a mistake. They have to be killed for the survival of the human race.

But…they’re also so human in so many aspects, Kaneki slowly comes to realize with dread. The missions he’s taken part in showed him how even ghouls care for their friends, mourn over deaths of those they hold close. Even ghouls have the ability to give up their own lives for the sake of their children’s.

Sure, there are a number of them who choose to be aggressive by actively killing humans and wrecking havoc. Sure, there are those who cause so much damage and death in their wake that it’s only right for them to be stopped. But there are many times when it dawns Kaneki that they, the CCG, are also killing those who are simply trying to survive. Those who take the lives of others because that’s the only way they could thrive. Those whose actions are judged as “wrong” even though there’s not much difference from  those of humans simply because what they consume aren’t animal meat.

Is this really the right thing to do? Kaneki can’t tell anymore. And even if it isn’t, does he have a choice? The whole purpose of his existence is to fight ghouls; it’s been determined the moment he’s born. Would he have anything else besides that?

“Have you ever thought about running away?”                                                  

Hide whispers the words close to his ear, his wariness towards being heard ingrained into his being by now. Kaneki almost suspects it being another one of Hide’s conspiracy talks that they initiate every other night, but something’s different. There’s a certain conviction in his voice now that scares him as much as it captivates him. It sounds more like an invitation rather than the start of a discussion that’ll lead to nothing in the end.

“Have you?” he whispers in return when Hide leans back to face him properly, studying the warm brown eyes he’s become so familiar with. Hide’s gaze remains firm when he answers.

“Yes.”

Somehow, Kaneki already expected he would have. It’s Hide, after all. His best friend who thinks too much to be safe in a place like the Sunlit Garden.

“Is it even possible?” With how their entire lives depend so heavily on the place? Without the Garden, where would they stay for shelter? How would they find money for food and clothes? How will they be able to keep hiding from being hunted down? Hide sure makes it sound so simple.

“It is.” He also sounds so certain, confident. “Someone has done it before, and we can do it again.”

“It won’t be easy,” Kaneki warns, “they’re sure to have tightened their security by now and—“

“I know, Kaneki,” Hide assures, reaching to take his hand in his. “Trust me, I know. That’s why it took me so long.”

Kaneki frowns, confused. “What do you mean?”

“If you’re tired of being treated like a test subject,” Hide explains, never once flickering his eyes away, “if you’re tired of killing ghouls for no reason other than it being an order, or even if you’re tired of being caged in here under this annoying surveillance—we can run away. Just the two of us. I’ve just finished planning everything out. If you want to leave, our soonest chance is when we join Arima-san on a mission next month.”

“And if I want to stay?”

He promptly feels stupid to even have asked.

“Then I’m not going anywhere as well.”

“This is too sudden, Hide. I—“ Kaneki shifts to hug his elbows—“I don’t know. We don’t have anything outside the Garden.”

“Hey, we’ll still have each other,” Hide reminds him with a small laugh. “And Arima-san, too. He’ll be helping us if we decide to leave.”

And at that, Kaneki stares at him. “Arima-san? As in the Arima-san?”

“Unless there’s another Arima-san you happen to know.” Hide smiles wryly, though he’s quick to turn serious once more. “I guess this is one of the only ways he thinks he has left to rebel. He might not act and look like it, but even he…”

He doesn’t finish, but Kaneki understands. Of all of them, Arima is probably the one who’s the most shackled down by the CCG. He was already their strongest weapon by the time he’s about their age, and gained himself the title of a Death God by his twenties. It’s obvious how much the CCG relies on him, how much possibly unwanted responsibilities he has to carry. It’s no surprise that even someone as seemingly detached and distant as him would yearn for freedom.

I no longer have the chance, but I can help give you yours, seems to be the message Arima’s trying to tell them. But does Kaneki deserve it? Is there anything he can do as a token of gratitude for Arima risking so much for their sakes?

“I need some time to think about it.” Kaneki takes a deep breath. “I’ll let you know when I’ve decided, Hide.”

Is there anything he can do at all in return?

xXx

When Hide hears his name in the list of those compatible to receive Kaneki’s kakuhou, the only clear thought he has is thank god Kaneki isn’t there to know.

He mustn’t know. Otherwise he would stubbornly refuse to leave.

Hide’s not even the most compatible one; he’s smack in the middle of the list. So even if he does stay for the implantation, there’s still a fifty-fifty chance that it’ll fail and he’ll get eaten alive by the kagune. Hide himself isn’t sure he’s willing to take the risk. He’d rather live the few years he still has the way he wants and in relative happiness with his most important person than to place his bets on a do-or-die surgery.

They can’t stay for the implantations. Hide’s certain that once that phase of the Garden’s project begins, their chances to escape will drop to a barest minimum. Not only will they be more heavily monitored, Kaneki will be too exhausted. Hide’s plan heavily relies on them going on missions outside; they’ll face a huge setback if that’s taken from them.

But it’s been a week and Kaneki still hasn’t decided. Hide doesn’t understand. Should it really be that difficult to choose between leaving a prison-like institution that treats your body like some kind of organic resource and staying for the basic needs that they can no doubt be able to provide for themselves somehow anyway? Don’t get him wrong, Hide’s fully aware of the risks they’ll have to face if they escape. He’s aware that the CCG will hunt them down to the ends of the earth before they’re able to spread word about what they’re actually doing behind the scenes. He’s aware that once Kaneki leaves the Garden’s protection he’ll be vulnerable to being executed just like any other ghoul. He’s aware that if he doesn’t receive Kaneki’s kagune, he’ll die before he can reach thirty years old.

Yet he’s willing to risk it all because if Kaneki stays, he too, might die before he reaches thirty. Or even his twenties, with the strain those experiments are putting on his body. Hide doesn’t want that. He wants Kaneki to live and see things and meet people and do all the things they’re not allowed to do if they remain in the Garden. He wants to show him that beyond the walls that surround them, there’s a life worth struggling for.

He just hopes he’ll let him.

“Have you decided?”

Hide has come to realize over time that sometimes, he has no choice but to be pushy when it comes to handling Kaneki in certain situations. He gets the feeling that Kaneki will only stay wavering if he doesn’t say a thing.

He sees him hesitating even now.

“I… I still don’t know, Hide,” Kaneki tells him, eyes averted in remorse. “I’m sorry.”

Hide falls silent for a moment, studying his companion’s face. “What’s bothering you?”

Kaneki tenses the slightest. “It’s—“

“Do you think you don’t… deserve this chance to escape?” Hide ventures, and with the way Kaneki pales, he knows he’s guessed right. The effort it takes him not to breathe a sigh is almost comical. “And why would you think so?”

“Because there’s nothing I can think of doing that’ll honour everyone’s efforts in helping me get out,” Kaneki says, his words rushed and voice tight with frustration. “Because I don’t even know what I can do for Arima-san’s sake even though he’s putting himself in such a dangerous situation for us.”

“Kaneki, that’s not tru—“

“How can you be so sure, Hide?” Kaneki interrupts, and it’s as he watches him slowly lose his composure that it finally dawns Hide. Kaneki has been thinking. He’s been thinking about it for so long and still hasn’t found an answer and the stress has only been building up more and more. “Or you’re not and you don’t even care because all that matters to you is your own freedom?”

Wait. Whoa. Hide does a mental rewind. Did Kaneki actually just say that? Did he actually just accuse him of something? The mellow, passive Kaneki he knows since he was a kid? That’s a first. Hide’s grown up pretty thick-skinned if he may say so himself, but Kaneki’s words sting him more than anything’s ever had in a long time. Maybe it’s because deep down, he finds it unfair that Kaneki’s mad at him when the primary reason for this entire plan of his was Kaneki himself in the first place. Maybe it’s because he feels painfully underappreciated despite having gotten to this point.

Maybe it’s because Kaneki’s accusation hit home.

It seems to slowly dawn Kaneki; what he’s just said and done. “Hide, I’m s—“

“Don’t,” Hide speaks before he can finish. He inhales sharply; this isn’t the time to be feeling offended. “Don’t apologize. You’re right. I want to leave this place so bad that I can barely even bring myself to care what happens to the people who might be affected if I do that.” He huffs a breath, raking his fingers through his hair. “I should be the one to be sorry, Kaneki. I’m sorry if you feel like I’m being too forceful.”

At that, Kaneki only purses his lips, not saying a word. Hide keeps going anyway.

“Tell me truthfully, Kaneki,” he says, leaning a little forward to try meeting his eyes. “Whether you deserve it or not aside, what do you really want? Do you want to run away with me?”

And he waits. He waits until his best friend finally looks at him and nods like it’s the hardest thing in the world to admit.

Then slowly, Hide smiles.

“I’m not sure if you realized, Kaneki,” he begins, “but Arima-san isn’t expecting to gain anything much by helping us to begin with. No offense, but I’m sure his expectations for us aren’t all that high—there’s only so much we can do by ourselves, after all. It’s like you said: we don’t have anything outside the Garden, not even an identity. We’re too insignificant to bring any obvious changes, and I’m sure Arima-san knows that better than anyone.” He holds Kaneki’s gaze steadily. “Yet he’s chosen to help us. Do you know why?”

“Because I’m the only half-ghoul in the Garden,” Kaneki mutters in a way that implies he still hasn’t figured out anything beyond that. Hide nods.

“Because without you, the experiments and the Garden project will be interrupted,” he explains, “and they will be halted indefinitely until they’re able to breed and raise another natural-born half-ghoul—which, may never happen again. Ever.”

“But doesn’t that just mean they’ll keep doing whatever they’re doing anyway?” Kaneki argues, “even if they can’t breed half-ghouls they’ll still be able to breed half-humans as disposable weapons. There’s nothing to stop them.”

“A small step is still a step, Kaneki,” Hide says patiently. “Sometimes we have to accept that small steps are all we can take. Some responsibilities are just not ours to bear.” He lets out a breath, and adds in a quieter voice, “Sometimes there’s nothing else we can do but to turn away.”

“And if I don’t want to turn away?”

Hide studies his companion’s face; noting the set of his lips, the determination in his eyes. It’s not like him to want to be this involved in sparking changes—he wonders what’s going on in his mind. He can’t exactly decide if that’s a good thing, either. If all the attention he’s going to potentially bring upon himself by doing so would ultimately lead to more trouble for him in the future.

“Then I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you know you’re not alone in whatever it is that you want to do,” Hide swears, holding Kaneki’s gaze firmly. “I promise.”

Kaneki falls silent once more, contemplating. A minute passes, three. Then his expression hardens with resolve, and Hide knows he’s finally come to a decision.

“Alright. How are we going to leave?”

xXx

Ever since the first runaway incident, it’s been virtually impossible to sneak out of the Sunlit Garden’s walls once more.

That’s why Hide’s plan doesn’t involve sneaking out. It instead takes advantage of their periodic assignments to Arima’s Squad Zero in missions, bypassing the tight security of the institution. They’ll slip off during the heat of the battle and into the network of sewers underground where it’ll be the most dangerous, but also the safest way to avoid being found. Arima’s given Hide a copy of the sewer maps (he has them because he’s apparently also often sent to deal with ghouls underground), and both Hide and Kaneki have memorized the routes they’re to take. Though whether or not it’ll make a difference when it comes to the real thing, Kaneki doesn’t know. It’s a dense, dense maze down there.

The most immediate problem at the moment, though, is the fact that a certain Furuta Nimura is included in this mission as well. Of all people and times. To say they’re wary of him might be an understatement. There’s no way at all he should even have the slightest idea about their escape, but Kaneki’s still worried. Furuta seems like the kind of person who has a knack for ruining things without trying and finds enjoyment in doing just that.

Kaneki guesses they’ll just have to deal with him if the situation calls for it.

“Hey, hey, Nagachika-kun?”

Kaneki could almost hear the sigh Hide immediately suppresses when Furuta trots next to him with a slightly mischievous bounce in his step. He seems to be the only person so far who’s unaffected by the usual grave atmosphere of ghoul exterminations; being able to retain this playful, apathetic air around himself despite being on the way to yet another potentially bloody battle. Kaneki finds it unnerving—no wonder Furuta’s the Garden’s favourite. He’s the perfect fighting machine.

“What?” Hide sounds like he’s trying very hard to resist ignoring him. Given how much he hates his guts, Kaneki’s impressed that he didn’t shut him up flat out. He doesn’t like the way Furuta glances at him with that little smirk on his face, though.

“You’re scheduled to receive Kaneki-kun’s kakuhou in two weeks, right?” Furuta asks, almost too loudly. Kaneki’s breath promptly stops in his throat. “Aren’t you excited?”

Kaneki knows about the kakuhou implantations that are supposed to take place a little after they return from this mission. He’s been informed of at least that much and he also knows why it’s so crucial for them to leave before that. But… Hide being one of the candidates compatible to receive his kakuhou? Why didn’t he tell him anything? If the operation succeeds his lifespan can be lengthened and he won’t need to die and—

Ah. He abruptly realizes the exact reason why Hide hasn’t said a thing to him.

“Not at all,” Hide replies coolly without looking Kaneki’s way even once. “There’s only a fifty percent chance of success for me, and knowing there’s a one in two chances that I might die doesn’t exactly sound appealing.”

“Aww, don’t be so negative!” Furuta says without sounding a bit reassuring. “I’m sure Kaneki-kun’s kagune will like you since you’re both so close!”

Hide mutters something Kaneki isn’t able to hear under his breath the exact moment Arima orders them to quiet down. Kaneki’s heart hammers against his chest, his mind spins from the new information. If they stay, Hide might have the chance to live longer. A fifty percent success rate is still better than none at all. Hide won’t have to die early and leave him alone.

Kaneki starts when Hide brushes his fingers across his arm, shooting him a look that tells him not to think about it. Kaneki returns it with a frown, to which Hide then responds with a subtle shake of his head. I’m not taking the risk for that operation, he seems to insist, the look in his gaze pleading for him to understand. Kaneki doesn’t. Surely they’ll find another opportunity to escape in the future? Once Hide gives up this one chance to receive Kaneki’s kakuhou, there will be none left. Kaneki doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand at all.

He doesn’t even have the time to try understanding Hide’s reasoning behind his decision.

Fights with rogue ghouls are always abrupt, intense. All it takes is one attack to disrupt the balance, one person to make the first move, and whatever that follows will be almost impossible to keep track of. Kaneki’s engaged in combat before he knows it, his body instinctively moving to lure his opponent further away from the rest of the squad as Hide planned despite his newfound hesitation. Hide has given him the freedom to choose whether or not he wants to run away with him; isn’t it only right that he gives him his in return? Even when this case involves Hide choosing to live a shorter life?

Kaneki’s so distracted he nearly gets impaled in the gut; managing to dodge with just a graze on his right rib. He tries to retaliate, but his movements feel unusually sluggish. What’s he supposed to do? Will he disregard Hide’s resolution to rather die early than let the Garden go on doing whatever they want with the children’s bodies? Will he put everyone’s efforts thus far to waste for his own selfish wish of not wanting his closest and dearest friend to leave him behind a few years in the future?

It feels like that one time again, where every part of his body was numbed of feeling. Except even his mind feels numb now. He can’t think, can’t think. They’ve come this far. He can’t—

“Don’t look down on me, brat!”

This time, Kaneki snaps into attention a second too late. Pain flares up in his hands, his Quinque knocked from his grip in a blow he no doubt could’ve avoided had his thoughts been calmer. The ghoul he’s facing then attempts to take advantage of his second of surprised daze and lack of weapon, charging  right towards him with his kagune poised to attack.

Hide intersects him before he reaches Kaneki, pushing him back with a firm kick. For a reason Kaneki can’t explain, the sight of him causes something in him to finally crumble, and the panic he’s been unconsciously holding back comes flooding forth.

He can’t breathe, can’t breathe.

“Kaneki, we have to—“ Hide doesn’t finish his sentence, trailing off the moment he turns and sees the state Kaneki’s in. “Kaneki…?”

He doesn’t get to ask him what’s wrong, being forced to defend against the ghoul now thirsting for his blood. As Hide leads the ghoul a bit away, the strength seems to suddenly leave Kaneki’s legs, and he falls to his knees.

“Hide, I...” he gasps, his voice shaky. His chest hurts, his head spins. “I-If we leave, you can’t—“

Air doesn’t seem to be entering his lungs. Spots dance in his vision. He’s scared. The noises of combat around him sound too loud, too overwhelming. This is bad. Not now, please. He can’t break down, can’t break down, can’t break do—

“Kaneki!” Hide enters his field of vision with a firm call of his name, a splatter of blood across his jaw and neck. It’s not his, it doesn’t smell like his. He reaches out, but seems to hesitate in touching him at the last minute. “Listen, it’s going to be okay. I’m here.”

With an absurd amount of effort, Kaneki swallows, nodding haltingly. He gradually registers the sting in his scalp where his fingers tug harshly on his hair. Tentatively, Hide rests his hands on his shoulders.

“Take it slow, Kaneki. Yeah, just like that. One breath at a time.” He times a deep inhale along with him, guiding him in a slow exhale. “It’s alright. I’m not leaving you. Don’t let Furuta throw you off; I’ll be okay.”

Which part of dying at a young age does Hide find ‘okay’ is beyond Kaneki’s ability to fathom. Still, he’s slowly calming down again. The tone of Hide’s voice and his reassuring presence is helping.

“They couldn’t find any flaws in my genetic makeup that’ll lead to any conditions, you know,” Hide explains further while keeping a close eye on him. Kaneki struggles to process his words. Is that the truth or is he just making something up to put him at ease? “It’ll be fine, Kaneki. I’m not leaving you anytime soon, I promise.” Hide glances around, frowning. “I wish we can take a little more time for you to recover, but we have to hurry.” He turns to face him once more. “I’m really sorry, Kaneki. I know I shouldn’t rush you in this but…”

“Oh my, what’s the haste, Nagachika-kun? Can’t you see your dear Kaneki-kun’s not exactly in the best shape at the moment?”

Furuta definitely has a knack for ruining things. Kaneki hears Hide take a sharp, self-controlling breath.

“He’ll be in worse shape if you keep staying there and running your mouth, Furuta,” Hide retorts drily as he stands up. His cutting words don’t faze the other boy the slightest.

“Hey, I was just worried because I didn’t see the two of you around,” Furuta says with mocking concern in his voice, swaying his body comically. “So I volunteered to look for you guys! Fancy me finding you both so far away from the rest of the group! What may you be up to, hmm? Oh, what may you be up to?”

“Go back to the squad and tell Arima-san we’re fine; we’ll return as soon as Kaneki recovers,” Hide says, his composure giving nothing away. He’s doing a great job sounding authoritative despite the pinch they’re currently in.

Furuta simply smiles indulgently. “And if I don’t want to because I’m too worried about my precious friends from the Garden?”

“Please, as if you’re ever worried about anyone besides yourself,” Hide scoffs, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. Though Kaneki’s breathing has finally evened out by now, his heart is still beating fast and his muscles tense. He can’t see Hide’s expression from his position, but he knows he’s thinking, weighing their options.

“I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what bothering you,” Furuta assures suddenly with a dismissive wave of his hand. At this point, Kaneki won’t even be surprised if he’s seriously on to them about their plans to run off. His timing alone gives out enough suspicions.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Hide deadpans. Furuta clucks at him in disapproval, waggling a finger.

“Hideyoshi, Hideyoshi,” he shakes his head in exaggerated disappointment. “Don’t you think it’s obvious enough that the two of you are going t—“

He stops just in time to dodge the dagger Hide abruptly flings towards him. Then just as he’s opening his mouth to make yet another one of his annoying remarks, Hide picks up Kaneki’s Quinque from the ground by his feet and runs him through in such a smooth, rapid and precise transition that Kaneki’s muddled brain only registers what’s happened after Hide grabs his hand and pulls him along into a run.

This is it. There’s no going back.

Kaneki doesn’t see anyone following them even as they scramble down the porthole Hide has singled out beforehand and into the darkness. They don’t risk the seconds to even catch their breath, forging on by torchlight before their eyes could adjust to the lack of light. Despite how firmly Hide holds his hand, he’s unable to mask the tremor in his touch. Kaneki returns his tight grip as he steps into Hide’s pace, using his free hand to brush the tears staining his cheeks.

The thought of having to let go of him permanently some time in the near future truly, truly terrifies him.

[readbookywooks]

Wreckage

And now comes the strangest thing in my story. Yet, perhaps, it is not altogether strange. I remember, clearly and coldly and vividly, all that I did that day until the time that I stood weeping and praising God upon the summit of Primrose Hill. And then I forget.

Of the next three days I know nothing. I have learned since that, so far from my being the first discoverer of the Martian overthrow, several such wanderers as myself had already discovered this on the previous night. One man-- the first--had gone to St. Martin's-le-Grand, and, while I sheltered in the cabmen's hut, had contrived to telegraph to Paris. Thence the joyful news had flashed all over the world; a thousand cities, chilled by ghastly apprehensions, suddenly flashed into frantic illuminations; they knew of it in Dublin, Edinburgh, Manchester, Birmingham, at the time when I stood upon the verge of the pit. Already men, weeping with joy, as I have heard, shouting and staying their work to shake hands and shout, were making up trains, even as near as Crewe, to descend upon London. The church bells that had ceased a fortnight since suddenly caught the news, until all England was bell-ringing. Men on cycles, lean-faced, unkempt, scorched along every country lane shouting of unhoped deliverance, shouting to gaunt, staring figures of despair. And for the food! Across the Channel, across the Irish Sea, across the Atlantic, corn, bread, and meat were tearing to our relief. All the shipping in the world seemed going Londonward in those days. But of all this I have no memory. I drifted--a demented man. I found myself in a house of kindly people, who had found me on the third day wandering, weeping, and raving through the streets of St. John's Wood. They have told me since that I was singing some insane doggerel about "The Last Man Left Alive! Hurrah! The Last Man Left Alive!" Troubled as they were with their own affairs, these people, whose name, much as I would like to express my gratitude to them, I may not even give here, nevertheless cumbered themselves with me, sheltered me, and protected me from myself. Apparently they had learned something of my story from me during the days of my lapse.

Very gently, when my mind was assured again, did they break to me what they had learned of the fate of Leatherhead. Two days after I was imprisoned it had been destroyed, with every soul in it, by a Martian. He had swept it out of existence, as it seemed, without any provocation, as a boy might crush an ant hill, in the mere wantonness of power.

I was a lonely man, and they were very kind to me. I was a lonely man and a sad one, and they bore with me. I remained with them four days after my recovery. All that time I felt a vague, a growing craving to look once more on whatever remained of the little life that seemed so happy and bright in my past. It was a mere hopeless desire to feast upon my misery. They dissuaded me. They did all they could to divert me from this morbidity. But at last I could resist the impulse no longer, and, promising faithfully to return to them, and parting, as I will confess, from these four-day friends with tears, I went out again into the streets that had lately been so dark and strange and empty.

Already they were busy with returning people; in places even there were shops open, and I saw a drinking fountain running water.

I remember how mockingly bright the day seemed as I went back on my melancholy pilgrimage to the little house at Woking, how busy the streets and vivid the moving life about me. So many people were abroad everywhere, busied in a thousand activities, that it seemed incredible that any great proportion of the population could have been slain. But then I noticed how yellow were the skins of the people I met, how shaggy the hair of the men, how large and bright their eyes, and that every other man still wore his dirty rags. Their faces seemed all with one of two expressions--a leaping exultation and energy or a grim resolution. Save for the expression of the faces, London seemed a city of tramps. The vestries were indiscriminately distributing bread sent us by the French government. The ribs of the few horses showed dismally. Haggard special constables with white badges stood at the corners of every street. I saw little of the mischief wrought by the Martians until I reached Wellington Street, and there I saw the red weed clambering over the buttresses of Waterloo Bridge.

At the corner of the bridge, too, I saw one of the common contrasts of that grotesque time--a sheet of paper flaunting against a thicket of the red weed, transfixed by a stick that kept it in place. It was the placard of the first newspaper to resume publication--the DAILY MAIL. I bought a copy for a blackened shilling I found in my pocket. Most of it was in blank, but the solitary compositor who did the thing had amused himself by making a grotesque scheme of advertisement stereo on the back page. The matter he printed was emotional; the news organisation had not as yet found its way back. I learned nothing fresh except that already in one week the examination of the Martian mechanisms had yielded astonishing results. Among other things, the article assured me what I did not believe at the time, that the "Secret of Flying," was discovered. At Waterloo I found the free trains that were taking people to their homes. The first rush was already over. There were few people in the train, and I was in no mood for casual conversation. I got a compartment to myself, and sat with folded arms, looking greyly at the sunlit devastation that flowed past the windows. And just outside the terminus the train jolted over temporary rails, and on either side of the railway the houses were blackened ruins. To Clapham Junction the face of London was grimy with powder of the Black Smoke, in spite of two days of thunderstorms and rain, and at Clapham Junction the line had been wrecked again; there were hundreds of out-of-work clerks and shopmen working side by side with the customary navvies, and we were jolted over a hasty relaying.

All down the line from there the aspect of the country was gaunt and unfamiliar; Wimbledon particularly had suffered. Walton, by virtue of its unburned pine woods, seemed the least hurt of any place along the line. The Wandle, the Mole, every little stream, was a heaped mass of red weed, in appearance between butcher's meat and pickled cabbage. The Surrey pine woods were too dry, however, for the festoons of the red climber. Beyond Wimbledon, within sight of the line, in certain nursery grounds, were the heaped masses of earth about the sixth cylinder. A number of people were standing about it, and some sappers were busy in the midst of it. Over it flaunted a Union Jack, flapping cheerfully in the morning breeze. The nursery grounds were everywhere crimson with the weed, a wide expanse of livid colour cut with purple shadows, and very painful to the eye. One's gaze went with infinite relief from the scorched greys and sullen reds of the foreground to the blue-green softness of the eastward hills.

The line on the London side of Woking station was still undergoing repair, so I descended at Byfleet station and took the road to Maybury, past the place where I and the artilleryman had talked to the hussars, and on by the spot where the Martian had appeared to me in the thunderstorm. Here, moved by curiosity, I turned aside to find, among a tangle of red fronds, the warped and broken dog cart with the whitened bones of the horse scattered and gnawed. For a time I stood regarding these vestiges. . . .

Then I returned through the pine wood, neck-high with red weed here and there, to find the landlord of the Spotted Dog had already found burial, and so came home past the College Arms. A man standing at an open cottage door greeted me by name as I passed.

I looked at my house with a quick flash of hope that faded immediately. The door had been forced; it was unfast and was opening slowly as I approached.

It slammed again. The curtains of my study fluttered out of the open window from which I and the artilleryman had watched the dawn. No one had closed it since. The smashed bushes were just as I had left them nearly four weeks ago. I stumbled into the hall, and the house felt empty. The stair carpet was ruffled and discoloured where I had crouched, soaked to the skin from the thunderstorm the night of the catastrophe. Our muddy footsteps I saw still went up the stairs.

I followed them to my study, and found lying on my writing-table still, with the selenite paper weight upon it, the sheet of work I had left on the afternoon of the opening of the cylinder. For a space I stood reading over my abandoned arguments. It was a paper on the probable development of Moral Ideas with the development of the civilising process; and the last sentence was the opening of a prophecy: "In about two hundred years," I had written, "we may expect----" The sentence ended abruptly. I remembered my inability to fix my mind that morning, scarcely a month gone by, and how I had broken off to get my DAILY CHRONICLE from the newsboy. I remembered how I went down to the garden gate as he came along, and how I had listened to his odd story of "Men from Mars."

I came down and went into the dining room. There were the mutton and the bread, both far gone now in decay, and a beer bottle overturned, just as I and the artilleryman had left them. My home was desolate. I perceived the folly of the faint hope I had cherished so long. And then a strange thing occurred. "It is no use," said a voice. "The house is deserted. No one has been here these ten days. Do not stay here to torment yourself. No one escaped but you."

I was startled. Had I spoken my thought aloud? I turned, and the French window was open behind me. I made a step to it, and stood looking out.

And there, amazed and afraid, even as I stood amazed and afraid, were my cousin and my wife--my wife white and tearless. She gave a faint cry.

"I came," she said. "I knew--knew----"

She put her hand to her throat--swayed. I made a step forward, and caught her in my arms.