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It’s an unacknowledged secret that Kaneki prefers to spend the least amount of time possible at home. It’s at odds, Hide thinks, with how much of a shrinking violet Kaneki is; what kind of a shut-in spends all day and – almost – all night away from home? Kaneki’s bag is always filled with extra provisions: an extra (large) grey sweater for when the afternoon slides away into chilly evening, an apple for a snack, some sweets stolen from Hide’s own daily stash. (He takes these and scolds Hide for ruining his teeth; he doesn’t realise Hide sees him sneaking them after class).
As it is, although Kaneki doesn’t attend any club activities, he always dutifully stays behind after school. Sometimes, they sit by the playground. On colder days, when Kaneki’s fingers are stiff and he grows a frozen, rebellious backbone to match Hide's, they sneak into empty classrooms and close all the windows. Kaneki likes to read. Hide bashes the chalkboard erasers together and scribbles artistic masterpieces until his nails are white with chalk dust.
And after that, if there’s still light, they explore the city. Hide’s the one who drags Kaneki around, lest they retrace a path taken previously. (Kaneki prefers stability. He’d visit the same places everyday if Hide let him have his way). As apology, they end up at Big Girl for dinner, and Hide exasperatedly lets Kaneki order his favourite burger, some kind of monstrous concoction that spans the entire width of his two fifteen year old hands and then some, with greasy sauce that drips all the way to his wrists whenever he takes a bite. Kaneki always rolls up his sleeves in anticipation. Big Girl's big burgers really are big.
At fifteen, Kaneki's sort of starting to grow, still small and even more so when he wilts under pressure, rubbing anxiously underneath his bottom lip. But he's growing, here and there, hands broadening, voice at a tremulous knife-point. His dark hair lengthens and wanes. Hide cuts it sometimes, happily, but seething afterwards at Kaneki's aunt for not caring enough. Afterwards, when Kaneki thanks him, Hide grabs his awkwardly growing hands and chatters with him so fast he forgets about home, and they while away the rest of the day on the floor of Hide's bedroom.
In contrast, Hide grows like a sunflower pressed towards the sun. He towers over Kaneki for a good few months or so before the gap eases once more. He uses his new-found jutting elbows and knees as an excuse to fall all over Kaneki more frequently. Kaneki complains, but his grey eyes glitter and he obligingly half-carries his human curtain without dislodging it.
On Sundays, Kaneki visits the book shop. Hide has long ago abandoned any pretence of whining exasperation – Kaneki lacks the sensitivity to tell gentle teasing for what it is, and besides, book stores are fun. Hide flutters from shelf to shelf, collecting manga, while Kaneki settles down with a nice, lengthy (boring!) book, cracking open the spine with gentle, gentle fingers that smooth down every page before turning it.
On one of these Sundays, Hide has exhausted the amount of manga in the store, and he just knows Kaneki is going to sit down and reread some famous Western book – so he drags him away from the glass doors before he can so much as brush the handle, and throws the palms of his hands into the small of Kaneki's back, propelling him down the street. Kaneki steals a startled glance back, the tiniest of creases furrowing his brow, but doesn't say anything. The crease eases when Hide smiles back at him and drapes his arm over Kaneki's shoulder.
Trust is a feeling Kaneki doesn't give out often; Hide shines gleefully when Kaneki uncertainly smiles back.
“We're going somewhere new today, Kaneki!” Hide declares, and throws an arm forward to point vaguely in the distance. “I can't stand that stuffy book store anymore!”
“We are?” Kaneki's eyebrows raise, and he clutches at the strap of his bookbag.
“I couldn't let you reread Franz what's-his-name again,” Hide says apologetically, and when Kaneki looks a little disappointed, he tacks on: “We're finding another book shop, nerd! It'll be way better. With more books, and stuff.”
Kaneki rolls his eyes, but accepts his explanation. Hide has an explorer's soul, after all, which lets them find something new about the city every day. They proceed, babbling inanities at each other, Hide's arm slung over Kaneki's shoulder and Kaneki's arm securely attached to his bag straps. The early morning's breeze subsides as the sun arches higher, and eventually Kaneki ditches his duck-patterned sweater, looping the arms around his waist. “I was right after all,” Hide boasts, revelling in his jacket-less bare arms. Kaneki's always been one to bring an extra layer just in case, though, and reminds Hide sternly that he'd be the one complaining if the weather turned cold. It wouldn't be the first time Kaneki's lent a layer.
Eventually, true to Hide's word (and good luck, apparently), they stumble across a partially hidden lane, and within it, a store with a worn and faded plaque at the front proclaiming its profession. “Is that a book shop?” Hide asks, squinting at the sign and trying to make out the words. Kaneki, renewed by the mention of books (Hide shakes his head fondly), swings open the door and marches in.
Inside smells like old wood and dry pages. Hide crinkles his nose, breathing in the new scent – sharp, but not unpleasant. The store is dusty, rich wood decorating every edge, the span of the room larger than the vaguely musty smell indicates. Rows and rows of shelves adorn every inch of the space, each shelf towering high above Hide's head. The shop looks old, the high-backed chairs in the reading area moving them some distance in the past; one glance at Kaneki's starry-eyed look is enough to make him chuckle.
The store sits still, like it's from another time, but never oppressive. The storekeeper greets Kaneki warmly, perhaps recognising a kindred spirit, and delivers a friendly nod to Hide. Kaneki's already in the thick of the bookshelves by the time Hide finishes returning the greeting, and Hide wonders just how fast the boy can bury his nose in a book. He looks around; all of the books here look somewhat worn, some with creased covers, others with frayed corners. It's a used bookshop, Hide realises, and when he turns again Kaneki is opening the cover of another book, touching it with care, fingers tracing over the words on the page almost reverently.
“Got something interesting?” Hide asks, and Kaneki jumps, bringing the book up defensively to cover his face. He flushes when he sees Hide.
“It's just a really old book,” Kaneki explains once the red has partially cleared from his cheeks (the colour is hard to bleed out, Hide's discovered, with Kaneki's pale skin). “Look, someone used to own it. Ages ago.”
Hide looks, peering over Kaneki's shoulder. There's a faded signature scrawled into the cover, which, when he looks closely, is another one of Kaneki's favourite foreign authors.
“I wonder if all of the books here are the same...?” a tinge of wonder coats Kaneki's voice, and Hide takes in all the worn and frayed books once more. All of them, once belonging to owners long passed, since donated or sold to this very store. Maybe these previous owners had handled these books with the same gentleness that Kaneki now holds his with. He imagines Kaneki placing one of his own books on the shelf, imagines future patrons picking it up and flicking through it.
Hide blinks. “Whoa,” he says, and Kaneki's lips curve into a tiny smile. He's probably deciphered his eloquent speech, Hide decides, and is just teasing him in his wordless, Kaneki-like way.
In the reading area, there's a somehow surprisingly anachronistic beanbag on the floor, partially hidden by the proper looking wooden chairs. It’s a maroon-y golden colour, and seamlessly camouflages with the rest of the oaky decor. While Kaneki carefully lowers his bag to the ground and gracefully dives into the beanbag, Hide wanders the aisles under the pretence of looking for manga, but instead hovers from section to section, looking not at the book titles, but at the books themselves. His hand touches a particularly ragged cover – did the owner throw it away carelessly? And there, an almost intact book – someone with Kaneki-gentle hands probably owned this one.
Hide can only admire books for so long – he leaves that up to Kaneki – so before long, he returns to the reading area. Launching himself onto the occupied beanbag results in a muffled shriek and the current occupant almost flying off. Kaneki mock glares at him, then glances around worriedly to see if anyone heard them, then willingly wiggles over to give Hide space.
Without more stimulating forms of entertainment, Hide resorts to reading over Kaneki's shoulder, but predictably, the words are so rich and convoluted that he fast finds himself drifting. He closes his eyes for a second and opens them to find he is now on Kaneki's shoulder. With a minor grumble, his eyes slide off the page and roll uselessly upwards, and he curls towards Kaneki.
When Kaneki has finished reading, he shakes Hide awake (softly), and returns the book to its rightful shelf while struggling with a handful of bare-armed teenager. He smirks when a gust of cold air greets their exit from the store. Hide yelps, and Kaneki smugly puts on his sweater.
*
The next few weeks herald some kind of new routine for them. On Sundays they bypass the normal store and head into that hidden street. Kaneki finds a new book every week; Hide starts bringing along his headphones, but somehow always finds himself yawning himself awake atop the other boy's shoulder when afternoon light sets the reading area aglow. Once, he sits up and notices a reddish looking imprint on Kaneki's neck.
“What's that, Kaneki?” he asks in mild alarm, reaching out to soothe the mark.
“It's the mark your big orange headphones make when you sleep on me,” Kaneki replies, and waves a finger in his face. “And anyway! Haven't I told you not to listen to your music so loud? I could hear it from here!”
Hide makes a face. “Kanekiiii. You should have told me it was uncomfortable,” he whines, and steals a guilty look at his skin. Kaneki doesn't seem bothered, though, and scratches his neck idly.
“It's fine, Hide,” he says exasperatedly, when Hide still looks concerned. “It didn't hurt. Your hair tickled more, actually.” He reaches up, and pats Hide's downy fluff forcefully a couple of times. Hide sighs a long-suffering sigh, as they leave. When they return again the next week, Hide’s headphones are conspicuously nestled around his neck as he leans in, and Kaneki can’t hear any music leaking out.
“I thought you brought them here to listen to?” Kaneki protests helplessly, shrugging his Hide-laden shoulder up and down. It’s true – Hide doesn’t do much here other than contentedly read along with Kaneki and doze, and Kaneki doesn’t mind the headphones, really, not at all.
“Well, your shoulder’s better than my music,” Hide replies, patting Kaneki’s shoulder. Underneath Kaneki’s daggy shirt is a most comfortable perch, the bow between shoulder and chin soft and perfectly shaped for Hide’s face. He demonstrates. A spare hand performs a thumbs-up.
“High praise,” Kaneki says doubtfully. But he rests his head back against Hide’s, straw-yellow hair in the corners of his eyes every time he tracks to the end of a page.
*
Saturdays are the hardest to satisfy. After school, they follow the stream of students into the city. Kaneki shares half a mandarin with Hide; they pass by the hidden alley without entering. Favourite foods taste the sweetest in moderation, and the old shop is a delicacy best left for lazy Sundays. Instead, they buy snacks from the convenience store, count clouds from on top of a playground’s monkey bars.
And when the sun starts to go down, so, too, turns Kaneki’s stormy eyes. He rubs his arms to escape the chill and makes to stand up, unwillingness and carefully hidden resentment weighing down his limbs. “I’d better go,” he mutters, voice tilting upwards as if asking for contradiction. Hide gladly provides.
“Why don’t you stay over for the night?” he fiddles with Kaneki’s bag straps, poking them together and then twisting them around his fingers.
“Ah, I don’t want to bother you…” the hated finger makes its rounds on Kaneki’s chin. Hide grabs his arm.
“Nonsense!” he declares firmly. “It’s a weekend! We’ve got no work!” Pausing, Hide amends himself. “Well, I might have a ti-i-ny bit of homework…that you could help me with…”
Kaneki tucks his hand away from his face, smiling. He can never stand up to Hide when he’s like this. And Hide’s already got his triumphant face on.
Kaneki’s been to Hide’s home so many times he really does know it better than his own. Partly, it’s because Hide’s enthusiastically propelled him into every corner of the house (each with its own story). Partly, it’s because even after five years of living in his aunt’s home, there are still cupboards and doors he dares not open.
His shoes – a size smaller than Hide’s – neatly line the front door as they walk in. Evening shadows already blot out the remaining sun, and Kaneki flicks the switch on in the hallway.
Dinner is served in the form of two packs of instant noodles. With Hide’s parents working late, and two teenage stomachs braying for food fast, there’s nothing to it – although Kaneki hums thoughtfully inside the fridge for a precious few minutes, picking out boilable vegetables and artfully throwing them into the mix. After, Hide pre-emptively ends any polite argument over showering order by throwing a towel in Kaneki’s face and kicking him in the thigh repeatedly until the boy backs into the bathroom. Hide’s toes are cold, and once Kaneki’s safely sequestered in the bathroom, he jams them into a pair of fluffy slippers, which squeak when he walks.
Kaneki emerges a short while later wearing a pair of Hide's most fashionable pyjamas (bright yellow, which Hide claims is soothing to the eye). It hangs a little too baggy on his scrawny frame, and Kaneki has both the sleeves as well as the bottoms of his trousers rolled. It looks bad and has Hide, who has been shaking out the blankets, rolling in the blankets across the floor instead.
“You look – so – old, grandpa!” he gasps, throwing himself around the floor. It takes patience, and Kaneki's deft flower pressing fingers to untangle him, where he lays breathless on the ground, the laughter squeezed out of his lungs. Unimpressed, Kaneki hoists his pants higher, where they naturally, undeterred, slip right down to his hips again.
They share the bed as they've always done when night finally presses in, and the lights are turned out. Kaneki is sensitive to cold, so Hide's added an extra blanket to cocoon around the two of them. He doesn't help by wiggling his toes once again over Kaneki's bare shins, to which Kaneki retaliates by jamming his cold fingers up Hide's shirt.
Hide surrenders, Kaneki warms his fingers underneath his bottom, and their breathing settles to a calmer pace. They lie there; Hide facing Kaneki, Kaneki facing the ceiling, too occupied with his hands or too shy to turn around. Hide curls a bit – the bottom third of his electric blanket doesn't work, condemning his feet to a cold and lonely death.
Quietness falls, the kind with expectation of being broken.
“Hey, Kaneki?”
Kaneki's dark hair rustles across the pillow, individual locks sliding with ease across the surface. When Hide does that, it crunches with the consistency of thick, prickly hair. “Mm?”
Hide yawns, a deep, soul-stretching sigh that Kaneki begrudgingly echoes a second later. “Do you think you'd ever donate a book to that store?”
Kaneki rolls to face him, and even in the dark Hide can make out the bemused crinkle in his forehead. He sticks his hands underneath the pillow instead – somehow, the electric blanket's warmth extends there, even if it doesn't give the same concern to their feet.
Even confused, Kaneki does his best to answer Hide. “I guess...I'm probably too attached to my books to just part with them like that.” Frowning, he withdraws a hand to scratch his face. “Guess that makes me kind of selfish, huh...”
Hide grabs his hand away from his face and holds it, heat seeping from his warm palms. “Not really,” he says idly, and, a little flustered, Kaneki stares a second before his second hand hesitantly joins the first.
“Ahhh-ohm,” Hide says as he releases one hand in order to encircle both, miming chomping down and trying to rub warmth into Kaneki's fingers. “You have crap circulation, I swear.” Kaneki chokes out a laugh, and Hide peers more closely at him.
“What, are you still cold? Need another blanket?”
“No, I'm fine...”
Hide's eyes roll skyward – or at least, to the back of his head. “Sure you are. Why don't I just give you a hug instead?”
He lets go of Kaneki's hands to wrap his arms around the boy himself, who offers no defence. When Hide settles down, with an armful of Kaneki, he blinks, somewhat taken aback. Kaneki doesn't seem to mind overly much, though, and threads his arms slowly around Hide's back.
“So...this is a bit warmer.” In the darkness, Hide imagines the heat rising from Kaneki's face.
“Pretty good, huh!” he replies cheerfully, before his voice turns mock threatening. “But if you use my back as your heater, I'll kick you.”
A huff of laughter, then Kaneki lapses into quietness, the small puffs of his breaths brushing into the fabric of Hide's shirt. He angles his face downwards, away from Hide, to avoid the awkwardness of talking an inch away from his nose.
“Why do you ask, anyway?” Kaneki says, tilting his head upwards for a second and then hurriedly pushing down again, out of embarrassment when their noses almost hit each other. “Umm, I mean, about the books.” The last remark is aimed at Hide's chest.
“Curious, I guess?” Sleep is beginning to clip Hide's words, so he tries to blink it away. His fingers drum a little rhythm against Kaneki's back. “I saw a few really old books there, but they looked like they'd been really well looked after.” He grins. “I thought it'd be just like you. Since you keep your books so well, I mean.”
Kaneki squirms at the praise, the crown of his head knocking against Hide. “Oh,” he says weakly, and fades. Hide fights down the urge to hug him tighter. He's already got all the warmth he needs, he tells himself.
Instead, Hide headbutts him. “Hey, Kaneki?” he drawls, and Kaneki raises his head. Gently, Hide lifts a hand and touches the back of his neck, slowly sweeping upwards to thread through short, smooth locks. Kaneki breathes in, his lips slightly part.
Hide moves forward, a fraction of a second at a time, until his lips press ever so lightly on Kaneki's. They're dry; a little worn from thoughtful chewing, but Hide kisses them nonetheless, a butterfly's touch. Kaneki sighs against him, and they part – not far, Kaneki's eyelashes still brushing against his cheek.
“Hey, Hide...?” Kaneki has to murmur it twice, clearing his throat the first time to get it through. Hide affectionately pats Kaneki's head.
Kaneki moves against him, kissing back in a softly sweet way that could only belong to Kaneki, His fingers – warm now, Hide realises – brush against his back where his shirt has ridden up. They tug it down.
Hide breathes when the second kiss ends, Kaneki's chapped lips leaving his. His heart pulses a bit unevenly, until Kaneki pulls back and then buries his head towards Hide's chest. Kaneki pulls his body closer, and Hide fondly places the covers over his head, before snuggling down against it.
“Warm enough down there?” he murmurs, and his answer is a tiny headbutt against his chest.