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As he waits for the water to boil, Kaneki buries his nose in his latest purchase—a book on his ever growing list of titles to be read. With such a small amount in the stovetop espresso maker, the water will boil in no time, and he will have brewed the perfect cup. It gives little time for reading; however, with all that he has read throughout his life, his reading skills have been honed, and he will have read at least three-and-a-half pages by the time he hears the water coming to a boil.
He chews his lip absentmindedly as he reads. The story is complex, telling the tales of two separate individuals and the events in their lives that lead to the connection of their stories. He’d discussed it with his wife as he lay in her lap, her fingers threading their way through his hair and gently massaging his scalp. He would rant and rave over crucial plot-points, and she would ask the questions she deemed necessary to understand his words. And as his eyes scan the final pages of the current chapter, the excitement within him begins to bloom. He can’t wait to tell her what’s happening over their morning coffee.
The water begins to boil, that all too familiar bubbling sound reaching his eardrums, plucking him from the world crafted by the author, and setting him back into reality. Quickly, he marks his page and sets his book aside before grabbing for the espresso maker. He begins to pour, just as he’d learned at Anteiku, when his hand slips.
“You look real good pouring that coffee,” his wife whispers in his ear, her breath hot against his skin. “I think we should skip breakfast and go back to bed.”
Coffee drains from the espresso maker onto the countertop, narrowly missing the mug. The hairs on Kaneki’s neck stand on end, his jaw clenches, and an all too familiar heat rises in his abdomen. Draped over his shoulders are his wife’s arms; she’s standing on her toes to do this, whatever this is.
“T-Touka!” he squeaks. “What are you d-doing!?”
Her palms rest flush against his bare chest. Her touch is a flame licking at his skin, setting every inch ablaze. His heart beats wildly in his chest, crying out for the woman it belongs to. She holds more power over him than she realizes, and yet, she pulls back, retracting her hands as fast as she can manage. The sudden motion knocks the ring that dangles from the chain around his neck to the side, nearly throwing it over his shoulder. A hair on his chest—one of the very few he’s capable of growing—catches in the chain and is plucked free. Kaneki winces.
“I’m sorry! I thought…!”
Her voice has risen an octave, a clear indication of her embarrassment. He grits his teeth, a wave of regret washing over him. They weren’t inherently new to sex, having had plenty during their time in the 24th ward, but both had always been awkward when it came to initiating. Despite their awkwardness, both preferred direct questions—his thoughts drift to the day he’d hoped she would open up about her pregnancy, instead meeting him with a question of “wanna do it?” There had been instances where she would pull him into an empty room, or he would sneak into her cell, but words had never been uttered. Lips crashed together, clothes were shed, and hands wandered areas they had memorized. There hadn’t been reason to use words of seduction with one another.
Touka, however, must have had a surge of confidence.
And he had ruined it.
Crap .
He sets the espresso maker atop the soiled countertop, beside his empty mug. He turns to face his wife, deciding to clean the mess after he’s taken care of the bigger one he’s created, and frowns.
Touka’s face is the reddest he’s seen since he’d moved into her apartment. She wrings the hem of her nightshirt in her hands and casts her gaze to the left, seemingly finding something fascinating about the refrigerator, and puffs out her cheeks. Despite his mistake and her embarrassment, Kaneki can’t help but smile at the woman before him.
“Cute.”
“What?” she asks, cheeks deflating and gaze returning to him. She furrows her brow.
“You’re cute.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“No.” He leans back and grips the edge of the counter, accidentally sticking his hand in the spilt coffee. “Ah…!”
A giggle escapes her, and it’s like music to his ears. “Idiot. You should’ve cleaned that up. Here, let me help.”
She rips a paper towel from the roll and pushes Kaneki aside. The paper towel quickly absorbs the coffee and is wadded up in Touka’s hands, only to be tossed in the trash. She produces a washcloth, hanging from the oven door handle, and runs it under the tap. As she cleans the remaining mess, Kaneki approaches her from behind and wraps his arms around her waist. He lowers his head and rests his chin against her shoulder.
“Change your mind?” Touka asks, seemingly unbothered as she moves back to the sink, dragging her husband along. He waddles awkwardly, refusing to let go.
He presses his lips to her neck. “No. I never didn’t want to.”
“So,” after tossing the washcloth into the sink, she turns in his arms and smiles, “you wanna…?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”