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Touka found him slumped against the wall in :re's backroom, looking more tired than she'd ever seen him before.
Kaneki has always - even in the throes of most ardent tragedy - had a sort of life to him, a warm, tangible thing that curled around him. The kind of brightness that the world wanted, so badly, to stamp out if him.
That presence was truly gone now, and Kaneki was slumped against the wall like a puppet with cut strings.
It was understandable, considering everything that had happened recently - the return of his memories, Eto's revelations, Arima's death, and then breaking Hinami out of Cochlea - but it still stung at Touka, in the darkest corners of her bitter heart, to see him like this. Perhaps that was selfish, her desire to avoid noticing how the world had chewed Kaneki up and spit him out, but... it was what it was, in the end.
"Kaneki," she said, breaking the silence.
He stirred at his name, meeting her eyes with a hollow gaze. It reminded her, a little, of how he'd been when they'd first met - lost and alone, but even then he'd been clinging to some sort of conviction, weak as it was.
It wasn't- it wasn't right, she supposed, was the word she was looking for. He wasn't supposed to be like this.
"Touka," he returned, his voice hoarser than it should have been and softer than she'd thought was possible.
She hadn't bothered to come up with anything to say to him, when she went looking, figuring she'd play it by ear. She wasn't the type to plan things out like this - never had been.
"You look like hell," she blurted, and couldn't bring herself to feel bad for it. Not when it was true.
"Thanks."
"Seriously," she continued, crossing her arms and pointedly ignoring the pang of nostalgia his wry smile had struck in her. "You look like you've been dragged backwards through a hedge and then spat on."
"Like I said. Thanks."
Touka's mouth twisted in an expression that was half scowl, half affectionate grin. This was- it was not how she'd expected this conversation to go.
She thought he'd be happier to see her.
But, she understood, really - she did. He'd lost - essentially - his identity, his painstakingly carved-out home in this world as Sasaki Haise, he'd lost his mentor, and all he's gained in return were the still-bleeding memories of Kaneki Ken, the world's foremost tragedian.
Or something.
Touka winced, internally, and let herself soften. "Are you alright?"
Kaneki snorted at the question - which was fair, it was a stupid one - but answered it anyways. "No. Of course not."
"Makes sense."
God, she was bad at this.
"What do you want, Touka?"
"To check up on you," she said, easily, and then backtracked. "To see you. To talk to you."
"Right."
"It's been years, Kaneki. I missed you."
He turned a wry smile towards her, looking... well. Looking old. He shouldn't have looked that old. He was only in his twenties. "Kirishima Touka, missing me? That'll be one for the history books."
"Fool," she muttered. "Of course I missed you. I care about you."
Kaneki laughed, and it was a wet and sad laugh, the kind that was pathetic to let happen and unbearable to hear. Touka didn't know why she was letting herself be so soft with him. It was obvious, painfully so, that Kaneki Ken was no longer the nervous boy who fretted endlessly about ghouls and humanity and who looked at a monster like her and still called her Touka-chan.
He'd become something different. Something like her, but not.
"Can I touch you?" she asked, suddenly, and Kaneki blinked. It seemed she'd caught them both off-guard.
"Can you- why?"
Touka shrugged. "You look like you need a hug."
Kaneki blinked, and for a moment, Touka was sure that she was going to be rebuffed, but she wasn't."
"Alright," he said, simply, and that was that.
Touka moved towards him cautiously, like one would approach a scared animal - a caricature of concern. She reached out a hand, and rested it, softly as she could, on Kaneki's arm, crouching before him as she did so.
He laughed, a soft puff of air almost close enough for Touka to feel it on her skin.
"This is a very bad hug," he said, lightly, and Touka pulled him in towards her.
He wasn't expecting it, didn't brace against her as she hugged him properly squeezing him against her chest like he'd disappear if she let him go.
To be fair - last time she'd let him go, he had. Disappeared.
Kaneki was cool to the touch, not overly frigid but lacking the warmth she'd remembered from him, but he felt as stiff as ever under her arms. He didn't hug her back, hadn't even relaxed in her arms, so Touka gave him a squeeze.
Slowly - ever so slowly - Kaneki raised his arms and returned the hug, wrapping his arms not around her chest, but her lower back.
Avoiding her kagune.
Touka huffed a little, and that, and let it come forth from beneath her shoulder blades, tearing through the back of her shirt as she allowed it to come free, as gently as one ever could, with a kagune.
It was a predatory organ, not built for things such as gentleness, but the slow release usually reserved for shows of intimidation was a close enough approximation. She let her fiery wings wrap themselves around Kaneki, moving ever-so slowly, almost softly.
She let her kagune close itself - gently, loosely, in a gesture of protection and not restraint - around them both, but felt Kaneki stiffen further in her grasp."
"Touka," he breathed, in a tone that could have been a whisper, could have been a hiss. "What are you doing?"
She hadn't closed her eyes, gazing instead at first the wall behind them and now, the gently-pulsing wisps of her kagune, the flame-like edges flickering to accentuate the more solid centre - the centre that was wrapped around Kaneki like a blanket, a protective shield.
He was still so cold under her skin.
"I'm hugging you," she said, simply.
"Why?"
Touka let the ghost of a grin flit actoss her face. There was, perhaps, more indignation in his tone than he'd intended for. It was achingly familiar
"Because you're huggable. And I want to hug you. And you said I could."
"With your kagune."
It was the wrong intonation to be a rhetorical question rather than an observational statement. Touka hummed.
"With my kagune. Do you want me to stop?"
Minutely, Kaneki shook his head, and Touka leant further forwards into the hug. She allowed her chin to rest on Kaneki's shoulder, her arms tightening around his chest even further, and her kagune encircling them both, pressing gently against them both but not pushing, not squeezing, not exerting anything more than light pressure. It felt... comfortable.
For a moment, they were still, and then Touka felt something shift, under her arms - Kaneki had formed his kagune, too, wine-red tentacle-claws stretching out from her back. It had been a terrifying sight, on Rize; on Kaneki, the kagune just reminded her of the early days at Anteiku. Earnest sparring against Yomo, and vitriolic beatdowns with her. No matter that Anteiku was gone, and they were all different people now.
The memories remained the same.
Idly, Touka wondered if he was going to shove her off, demonstrate his impatience for her continued cuddling with his actions rather than his words, but instead, he relaxed a bit further into her grasp.
Oh.
Unlike Touka, Kaneki was not slow with his movements. The rinkaku tentacles wrapped around them both swiftly, fiercely, pressing them together in a way Touka hadn't dared to. His arms, too, tightened in their grasp, his hands being brought up to rest in between the two wings of her kagune, between her shoulders, as his kagune tightened around her waist.
Predatory organs, hah! Touka had never in her life felt safer than she was now, encircled in her kagune and Kaneki's.
God, but she'd missed him.
Kaneki's kagune was cool against her back, even through the remaining fabric of her shirt, and he held her fiercely, like he was just as afraid of losing her as she was of losing him again.
It was a nice thought.
"Is this," Kaneki said, his voice as quiet a whisper as he could no doubt make it, as though he were afraid of damaging the moment if he spoke too loud, "okay?"
Touka gave a sad, angry, happy smile that Kaneki couldn't see, pressed together as they were.
"It's fine."
It was far, far more than fine. She let herself sink into the embrace completely.