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The lines between them are a blur. He’s not quite Haise, even as he holds their memories; and he’s not quite the other Kanekis either. He remembers everything it all; and yet.
It isn’t something he knows how to put into words. They exist as single entireties but are the same people as well.
He is Kaneki Ken, and at the same time he’s also different. He's the Reaper.
He’s so angry, and so tired, wants to lash out, wants to go back to sleep, needs to repent, and isn’t that all of them?
The Reaper faces his other self, the one you can call the original, but really there’s no “real” self between them, they are all Kaneki; the older black-haired one, with gentle hands and eyes, and doesn’t know how to hurt. Hasn’t quite learned.
They are fidgety, restless, not knowing what to do in this bleakness of the mind. An endless of black. He had just woken up, after being asleep for so long. And so much has changed. They had changed so much. It’s not hard to follow the other’s line of thought, the Reaper knows him, and understands him. it’s not quite the same as being there, as being the one that lives in the events and spat those cruel, cruel words and killed mercilessly despite the cries, and sunk down on their knees and cried and begged for all to stop. Or the one who had to deal with the kagune in your gut, tearing your organ, walking up into a completely different world and a monster, though. It's an understanding nonetheless.
The Reaper walks forward closer to himself, footsteps ringing out clear and sharp, and leans his hand towards them. Settles his hand there in the softness of black hair and hopes his touch is gentle enough. He doesn’t know what that is, hasn’t touched another like this and....it's something.
His other self jerks up to him, eyes wide and scared and something inside of him aches. He understands that fear. It’s bone-deep and still inside of him, yawning and clawing. The Reaper tips his forehead and bumps it against his other self. “Don’t be afraid.” He says and doesn’t know where he finds the strength to lift the corner of lips into a resemblance of a genuine smile. “It’s okay.”
He can’t quite see the other’s expression like this, only catches the quaver of — something — and hears the unsteady exhale. It....unsettles something inside him. The Reaper wants to reassure and take away the uneasiness from his other self.
He is startled when he feels a hand curling on his hip, hesitant of a touch that’s so warm and so foreign and familiar. It fidgets and then settles, becoming comfortable and —
There’s a bubble of...something...inside of him.
He hadn’t realised that he was trembling, that he was crying until his other self was pulling back and reeling him into a hug — into the solid presence of another, a steady thing he could lean to, and murmurs back his own words, while patting his back.
“You also don’t have to be afraid, it’s okay.”