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Three firm knocks on the wooden frame of the door, a pause; the young man waited patiently.

It wasn't long before a servant appeared, loose hair falling everywhere from the ponytail on her shoulder. He bowed politely, hand flying to his hat and tipping it.

"Royal Mail, ma'am" he introduced himself and saw her nod. They must have been waiting for him. "I have a letter from Lord Koutarou Amon."

He told her the charge, and the servant gave him another nod. She slid away from the doorframe, allowing him inside with a maternal look in her big, brown eyes. "Please, sir, do come in. This weather suits best wolves, not people."

He smiled gratefully as he did as he was told, happily finding much needed shelter from the freezing northern wind.

"You can wait in front of the fireplace," she said, guiding him inside, "Dry up those soaked clothes, sir." She excused herself to go and retrieve his payment as Kaneki rubbed his palms against one another trying and failing to warm up his stiff fingers. He absently let his gaze wander from the fireplace to the rest of the room, a soft, almost sad look in his eyes as he recognized all the luxuries that signaled the household status.

Nobody in this mansion would suffer the winter season, he mused. It was fast approaching this year, and he was sure there would be snow by the end of the month.

His battered clothes could do very little against it, however fond he was of them, seeing as he'd grown half a foot taller in the past year, and his shoulders had become so much wider; his scarlet livery was probably the only garment that still fit.

If mother was still there, she would have smiled her tired smile and weaved him another shirt, and he would have bowed his head at her kindness, mute to the sadness resting under her eyes, blind to the severe curve of her shoulders.

He wished she still was.

"Beg pardon for the wait."

Kaneki broke out of his reverie, turning to the source of the voice. The servant had returned, coin at hand, and was handing it to him. He accepted it and gave her the the small, folded pages. He eyed the neat and tight calligraphy on them and couldn't help but think that the expensive charge alone could probably buy him a warm dinner. He didn't know how that fleeting thought made him feel.

It was just a moment though, and it was gone with the blink of an eye.

He thanked the servant politely and smiled despite the thought of the harsh wind still blowing outside tugging at his mind as he went back to the door.

That was the last one, he thought. Time to go home.

He pocketed the money and unfastened the straps tethering his horse. He stayed silent, staring at his faithful companion, an indecipherable look in his eyes. He patted the mare on the head, smiling sympathetically at her whinny. "I know, right? This winter isn't going to be kind to us."

The horse snorted in approval, headbutting on his hand, and the look in his eyes became sad.

He sighed, cold breath puffing little clouds in the air, and he mounted her back.

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Truth be told, Kaneki knew that the Lord had been especially merciful with him. He could still be doing so much worse. He was alive and well. He could still see the light of day and feel the warmth of the sun in summer days.

He deserved none of it.

No, he would then mentally correct himself. He was a kid, and he was a sinner; he wasn't supposed to understand the Lord's ways and reasons. He should be thankful, for He had given a evildoer like him a bed to sleep in and a roof over his head for rainy days, which were quite a lot in this part of Scotland.

But Kaneki was fifteen, and he was lonely, and given that kindness always backfired on him, he lived each day waiting for the sharp slap of adverse luck as he was already so accustomed. Faith was proven difficult when you were so young and seen enough of the world not to believe anymore.

He sighed. He was standing in the kitchen, stirring the soup and relishing in the warmth of the pot that was giving new life to his cold fingers. He'd changed out of his work clothes to his old, ill-fitting ones.

Through the thin wall that separated him from the room where the travelers were eating their dinner, he could hear the shrill laughter of his aunt as she received yet another client and let them take a seat, offering them even more beer to the others to make their belly rounder, their drunken laughter louder, and their bill longer. He wondered if tonight, too, she was trying to delay in providing a meal so that she could serve the same joint up to three or more coach-loads.

He looked down, trying to block her out. God forgive him, he was so undeserving of His mercy! The chopped vegetables boiling in the pot were looking at him with disdain; he was such a sinner!

His stomach rumbled, and he awkwardly hunched in himself to try and conceal the sound. No one except him was in there at the moment, but he didn't trust it. He knew from experience that his aunt had especially good hearing.

He looked down, wondering if the church by the market would be so kind to give crusts to him too, along with the homeless people. It looked like his aunt was short on supplies again.

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The next week came by and with it a bag full of letters ready to be delivered.

He checked one last time that everything was in place, taking a bit longer than strictly necessary to secure the bag straps to his chest. Only then did he notice the lone letter still sitting on the shelf, and he hurried to collect and tuck it in the bag with the others. Except he hesitated once he gave it a good look. It must have come that morning, if not overnight, even.

His fingers rested on the tight lines crossing each other with an almost soft touch; he didn't exactly know why it made his heart warm so much, even after all those years and so many letters like that very same one ending up in his hands during their journey. It was still a marvel to him, how that parchment could hold so much importance to it, for it to be entrusted across the country just like that. He thought of the distance it must have traveled, already, and mused that it was longer than many people were actually able to walk themselves.

He eyed the recipient's name with a smile yet unknowing of fate's schemings. Duke Hideyoshi Nagachika, it read.

He wondered what kind of man could this duke be.

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Many years had passed since then, but that calligraphy he came to memorize never did, although now he had a face to match it with.

He was about to knock on his door when he spotted his own reflection in a window and winced a bit. His face was almost as gray from dirt as his eyes after he took that turn to the coalman to deliver the parcel that unsurprisingly was still locked on the rear of his coach. It was to be expected that a poor worker like him could not afford mail traveling that far, after all.

He eyed the coal dust on his robe and felt bad. It would take a while to remove it all. It was still his only fitting garment, as his aunt still hadn't noticed how much taller he'd become during the last few months.

Normally, he wouldn't have minded being messy, but setting foot in a noble's house always made him feel self-conscious, as if he wasn't meant to be there, making the carpet dirty just by his presence alone.

He gave himself another hesitant look on the reflecting surface, then rubbed his palms on his face to try and remove at least part of the dust. It wasn't like Mr. Nagachika would have minded. Still, Kaneki felt a little better once his cheeks showed their usual pink.

He straightened his back and knocked on the door, almost expecting the Duke himself to show up. It had already happened before. Kaneki had come to learn he was more than a bit eccentric in his habits, so to say. But Nagachika was a  good man; he still remembered his name every time. A small smile appeared on his lips without him actually noticing.

The door swung open, and a woman peered at him from behind it. Once he recognized the once bright red uniform, she let him in with a slight scowl.

He gave a polite nod. "Morning, Miss Kirishima."

She grunted in acknowledgment. "Did you fall on a sack of dirt today?"

He stiffened, looking down on himself and blushing, despite knowing there was no real bite in her words. He heard her sigh. "Please watch your steps. I just swept the floor. He's in the office." Her eyes softened with that maternal look she reserved for very few people in the world. "And don't make a ruckus. He's writing."

Kaneki nodded again and hurried away, retrieving said room with ease. It wasn't that uncommon for him to be asked to deliver Nagachika's mail right to his office. A wistful smile appeared on his lips as he recalled years of doing exactly the same, always in that office bathed in sunlight, always in that very same room that smelled of years-old parchment and fresh ink.

"Please, do come in," came the familiar, soft voice behind the door before he could as much as raise his hand to knock. Had he been that loud? The door was still closed, he noted as he twisted the handle to do as he was told.

His gaze fell to the ground, feeling small. He'd disturbed him, after all. But Mr. Nagachika didn't give him the time to apologize, resting his quill on the writing slope and looking at him with a kind smile.

"Replying to people with no imagination is unsurprisingly boring. A necessary waste of time though, if you ask me. Noblesse oblige," he said, tinging the last bit with a hint of a certain sentiment Kaneki couldn't quite place. "I'd much rather be somewhere else. A park, for example. Or on one of those new locomotives, saying hello to the folks outside. That would be nice, don't you think?"

"Yes, sir," Kaneki dutifully replied. It wasn't like he had much choice in the matter of which company to surround himself with, but imagination or lack thereof was something Kaneki could not yet understand. Maybe, he thought, I lack it too. Among everything else.

Nagachika gave him a searching look. Then he stretched rather unceremoniously on his chair, making the stiff joints in his back crack. "You're allowed to speak your mind, you know," he was smiling with a hint of a tease in the elegant curve of his lips. But Kaneki's gaze couldn’t rise above the folds in the fabric he'd just created, before he let it fall again to the ground. Nagachika was a strange man.

"I'm sorry, sir. I wouldn't understand nobleman's affairs. I'm just a post boy, sir." He unconsciously patted his jacket to get rid of the dust still coating it, missing the look the other man was still giving him. "But a park sounds nice. Fresh air." He smiled without meaning to, his own gaze distant. "I like the green." Kaneki's eyes searched that brown again. He saw the duke's gaze softening.

"And here you said you wouldn't understand. That sounded pretty noble, to me." He said, playing on words. Kaneki's grin widened a tad bit at the praise. As if something he'd say could be worth as much as something of Nagachika's own. "But enough wasting your time. You got anything for me?"

Kaneki nodded, reaching for his bag. "Yes, sir. A letter from Lady Akira Mado from Manchester. It came first thing this morning."

The duke visibly brightened at that, as for every time that particular sender wrote something to him. Kaneki's lips curved upwards as he pocketed the money handed to him.

He wouldn't claim to know people's hearts as good as he sometimes wished he could, but he could tell what happiness looked like, and if the light in those warm eyes was anything to go by, this must have been a long awaited reply. And he was the deliverer of said good news. It made his heart swell with pride even though another part of it sank for a reason yet unknown to him.

Happiness.

Suddenly he felt like he was intruding a private moment, something he had no right to witness, as Mr. Nagachika gingerly unfolded the paper to read the first lines. Lines a woman had written, he remembered.

He awkwardly shifted on the balls of his feet as he waited for his dismissal, not really keen on the idea of interrupting him but not quite comfortable with reminding him of his presence either. The man looked like he was completely absorbed in what he was reading, and Kaneki had to marvel at what could catch his interest so effortlessly after he'd made a point to show how bored he was just moments ago. He wondered what kind of words could have such an impact on him.

Then he wished there were words meant for him too, somewhere, someday. He'd unconsciously gripped the hem of his livery, twisting the fabric between his fingers. Words that could fill the blank space in his heart. Were there even words like that? What could they possibly sound like?

A laugh broke the silence in the room and Kaneki jumped in surprise. Yeah, maybe that was the sound they were meant to have, he mused.

"Fear not, my friend. Today is a good day," he laughed, "a good day."

He threw the letter on his desk and donned his hat. "I want you to celebrate it with me, Ken. Here," he retrieved a small envelope and handed it to the post boy, then resting one hand on his shoulder, not minding the dirt, "I want you to go to the artisan down this street and give him this. He'll know what to do."

Kaneki gave him a blank look, ready to protest.

"This is not work" he said, as if that was what was bothering him, and his gaze softened once again. "Take it as a personal gift of mine. Today is a day worth celebrating."

Kaneki hesitantly nodded and saw the man's grin widen a fraction. What was all of that about?

Nagachika retrieved his cane and wore his afternoon jacket, smile still in place.

Kaneki wasn't good at reading people's hearts, but he could already tell this man's was bigger than London itself, however eccentric people might paint him.

He still remembered his first name, for one, even though he only saw him twice a week at best, for he always remembered the names of his acquaintances. He never treated him like a speck of dirt on his carpet like other nobles and middle-class people did.

But mostly, the duke thought of other people's happiness as well as his own, and that was something Kaneki came to respect and admire a long time ago.

He didn't know when, exactly, he'd stopped thinking of Mr. Nagachika as another address written with neat calligraphy on expensive paper and started wishing for the duke to call him friend again with real sentiment in it.

He sure wished he could gain that right one day.

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A shirt. The artisan had been told to sew him a warm, perfectly fitting, brightly coloured shirt just like the ones his mother used to make him.

As Nishiki unfolded the envelope to collect his payment, Kaneki felt his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

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A few days later, it really snowed.

Kaneki was glad he wasn't on delivery duty as it was a particular cold day. He wore the shirt the nobleman had gifted him with, oblivious to the inquiring look his aunt was giving him at his new possession, when Nagachika himself stepped into the inn, reply already in hand.

It was the first time he'd seen him after that day, and Kaneki had yet to thank him properly. Only he could not find the words nor the courage.

He couldn't help but follow his every movement as he neared the woman behind the counter. His aunt gave him her usual fake smile reserved for her richer customers. Kaneki thought he could see right through it if the man's own bright smile was any indication. Why he still bothered to show her a real one was something Kaneki had wondered more than once, may the Lord condone that unjust thought.

He had to look away when the soup in his hands swayed against the edges of the bowl in a threat to spill. He couldn't afford to make a mess.

When he finally neared the counter too, he'd missed most of their short-lived conversation. One thing he was able to hear though, was the undying good spirits from a few days ago as he made sure the letters were to be delivered with utmost care; the hope travelling with their words could change people's view of the current affairs. Maybe even the world, he'd said with a confident look in his kind eyes, and for whatever little Kaneki knew of the world, he hadn't doubted it. If such words existed, they had to be Mr. Nagachika's for sure.

His gaze must have said it all; the Duke just then turned in his direction and gave him a big, knowing smile. Kaneki let his own lips curve upwards and hoped his eyes alone could convey the message his own words could never be able to form.

Mr. Nagachika nodded, and Kaneki knew.

Snow was still falling outside the small tavern, covering New Lanark and the lord's retreating steps in a cold, white embrace, yet inside his chest something warm blossomed.

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He hadn't noticed his aunt's disgruntled stare following their every move.

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"Change the world, he says." A mocking tone. Hands finding her hips in a condescending manner. A bored look and a smirk on malevolent lips. Even more laughter, masculine, following a scoff.

Here it was.

Kaneki's eyes fell to the ground, already knowing where all of this was headed. Please, not this time too, he silently prayed as the last of their customers took the stairs to their room for the night.

"Words don't possess that power. Hard work does. Not that such useless noblemen at birth could know about that."

Kaneki felt his shoulders tense, each and every word stabbing him like a knife. He kept silent.

"Who does that stuffy man think he is, anyway?" A breathy laugh. "Ah, literate people," she said with enough sarcasm Kaneki could practically hear the disgust in her tone. "They think the answer to people's needs lays in books. Would a book know how to feed unneeded extra mouths?"

His uncle snorted. "I'm sure it would. Look how fat those folks are, going around with tight waistcoats to hide their protruding bellies."

Kaneki's stomach was still empty from the night before.

"Ridiculous," his aunt agreed. She flailed the letters in a vague gesture of boredom. "They keep their nose buried deep in those things, and they forget respect." She fanned herself with them. "But of course a nobleman like him wouldn't care! Barging in here like he owns the place!" A grimace. "What right does he have to act like the world owes him anything?"

Kaneki swallowed thickly, but kept his mouth shut. He knew the bite of those words was not meant for Mr. Nagachika alone.

"I most certainly don't owe him anything. Money privilege is a fleeting power. It blows out like a candle," she giggled, and Kaneki decidedly avoided her piercing gaze.

She would get bored and end her tirade soon; or so he hoped.

A distinctive cracking sound broke the heavy silence. He froze, heart dropping. He heard the rustling of paper being unfolded and his heartbeat sped up.

Please, don't--!

Honoured Sir, the mocking tone of his aunt read,

I am thankful for this opportunity to communicate some sentiments of mine regarding my last work. I dearly appreciate your interest in this delicate matter as you know that the present one has been a subject I've always held dear to my heart.

I hope you will forgive me for this probably goes against common beliefs, but I know Nature has gifted you with an open mind, and I trust you to understand the roots behind my reasoning. It is no news to you, my most esteemed friend, that I have no faith in the prevailing belief on education.

And here she stopped to grimace.

At an early age I had proofs that kindness, unexploited genius and imagination are abilities that overlook circumstances of birth. It is my belief that human character is formed by circumstances over which individuals have no control, and so cannot be properly praised or blamed. I know the most respectable heart humanity was ever gifted with resides in a cage of malnourishment and self-guilt, and I know it to wish for nothing better than that unsuspecting of the true value of their own life. I know this person like I know my own heart, and it pains me dearly to know that their gentle character has been twisted to something that differs so deeply from their original status by the acts of an adverse environment. Nothing has proven more dangerous to me than a bad influence on a charitable heart. Undeserving of love, of care and proper individual rights, that's what I've been told they are over the course of my journey and research. I don't believe that to be true, for I'm graced myself with the inestimable company of people from the lowest social class. To believe and to overlook are pretty different matters, and I pride myself on my open mind and on my open embrace to this cause. Nobody should ever be subject to such violent claims like that of being undeserving of care.

She stopped abruptly, twisting her face into pure disgust, and Kaneki gulped.

I am human and I abhor such inhumane claim for the sake of a bigger economic interest, she continued nonetheless, making those heartfelt words sound ridiculous.

My point is that the secret behind the correct formation of people's character is to place them under proper influences – physical, moral and social – from their earliest years. And as you might have reached the same conclusion, dear Sir, I think that the starting point for this change should be the core of the problem: factories.

An unexpected but welcome support has come by the gentle hands of miss Mado, daughter of Kureo of Manchester, millowner of the cotton mill I visited last month.

Kaneki's heart constricted in his chest. He decidedly ignored it. I was able to find in her intellect and sharp wits a much needed ally to my own set of beliefs. I am ready to step further in this foolish crusade of mine and contact Mr. Peel to start working together on a proper legislation. I have reasons to believe he could help this madness come true, for he at least has the power to change the present state of things. I do not hope, my respected friend, to count your quill among the ones battling for this right of men, but I'm sure your good nature will let you know where to place your heart, for I know your previous letter was a sign of just that.

I may not be able to change people's hearts, but a smile in  place of teary eyes is all I wish for my words to be able to change.

Sincerely yours,

Hideyoshi Nagachika

Kaneki never knew he had tears streaming down his face until he waited for his aunt to go to bed, to collect the letter from the trashcan she'd thrown it into. Droplets full of silent, thankful words fell on the parchment filled with lines, and he didn't know how to stop them from ruining the first beacon of hope he'd seen in his life.

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His hands trembled the following day when his fingertips touched the folded paper in a reverent gesture.

He tucked it into the internal breast pocket of his livery and left it there for days on end, close to his heart.

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He wouldn't be able to deliver a letter that had been clearly read before it reached its actual recipient. His aunt had made sure of that as she'd tampered with the wax seal on one of them, but the duke wouldn't know about that, as long as he received a reply, Kaneki decided a few days later. He was expecting, and he deserved one.

But his hand stilled a few inches away from the paper that had costed him most of his savings. What could he possibly write without sounding like the peasant he was and make his act clear to the nobleman?

His other hand reached for the left part of his chest, staying there for a while. He was already doing this the wrong way, he realized. Mr. Nagachika would never think of him as an illiterate peasant, however kind that lie still sounded to his ears.

Years of being told how much of a hindrance he'd been and still was could not be erased with an honest compliment; it wasn't Kaneki's fault he couldn't recognize one. He'd never been on the receiving end of a kind word.

He'd let his heart speak for itself, he decided. That was the kind of reply Mr. Nagachika deserved.

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As he received and payed for his morning's mail, Hideyoshi felt something pull a string to the left side of his chest. Maybe it was the shaky calligraphy on the letter. Or perhaps just the way dark clouds obscured the sun that day.

He'd thanked the post boy with an earnest smile nonetheless, ignoring the sharp look Touka was giving him, as she probably saw right through him. He'd have to tell her there was nothing to worry about later. He closed the door to his office and sat at his desk, taking his time to unfold the sheets with care, a slight frown on his lips. Something didn't feel right, but he couldn't yet place what, exactly.

He stirred the paper and let his expression relax. His intuition had never failed him, but that didn't mean it was bound to stay that way forever, he reasoned.

His eyes raked through the tightly written lines on the sheet once, twice, then another time again.

He blinked, leaning back on the recliner of his seat as he finally placed it on his desk.

Respected Sir, the letter read,

You speak words of wisdom, but once again I am rendered speechless to such a show of the great kindness of your heart.

I have been raised to know no different environment than the one I was born in, but never before today I felt like this could possibly be a hindrance to my ability to see the world. You've showed me how little imagination resides in my heart. Yet I am replying to such heartfelt words with what I hope to be the same sentiment.

You speak of people's hearts like you know the darkest path they can take, so I'm asking you, honoured gentleman, what makes men monsters, if not lack of education. My circumstances of birth were favourable, and I was only ever treated with the utmost care from the people I loved the most. Yet I don't pride myself on a good heart. I only ever made my loved ones suffer, for my existence only brings pain to people who are tied to it by parental duties.

I know you enough to tell you will disagree with me, my most respected friend. But I confide in the compassion of your heart for you to answer with much needed honesty.

The world you so clearly see is one which doesn't lack hope. I know you won't deny me my own selfish one.

If the world has room for change, I want to be a part of it too, one day.

May the Lord bless your soul.

Yours sincerely.

Ken, Hideyoshi thought worriedly, retrieving blank paper from his desk, what have they done to you for you to think that badly of yourself?

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When the duke showed up in the inn some days later, Kaneki felt his palms sweat from nervousness. He didn't know what he expected for him to say, but he surely did not expect his silence, nor the piercing and thoughtful gaze the nobleman failed to suppress as his eyes met his for a moment too long.

Kaneki tried to smile. He didn't know if he'd succeeded.

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The sun had already given way to the intimate touch of moonlight when Kaneki was finally able to open his letter with shaking hands. He was alone in the stables after his turn of taking care of the horses, and he'd placed his candle on a nearby box, relishing in the quietness of the night.

My beloved friend, it said, and Kaneki already felt a lump building in his throat. Oh, how he wished the man really meant those courtesy words!

I trust you to be a much fairer judge of character than what you've already showed to be for yourself. I have reasons to believe your words aren't true.

The main one being that I know you personally, and I've never seen such devils in your honest eyes.

And here Kaneki had to stop, a wistful and guilty look in his eyes. Of course the duke still thought he was speaking to the original recipient, what else had Kaneki been wishing for? It wasn't his place to keep that letter even after his aunt had read it aloud. No one had given him the right to do what he did.

Now you're just robbing an honest man of his friendship, he thought, and he had to look away. And to think that Nagachika believed to be writing to an honest man!

He didn't know how long had passed until he found the courage not to throw the letter away. The light from the candle was dying out, as he tentatively raised the paper again to his eye level.

You offend me, my dear friend, when you say I can offer you something different than the truth. Yet I won't try to force my sentiments onto you, although I reserve for myself the right to dissent with your unjust words. You talked about lack of imaginative power as though that was something you could experience yourself; I believe the only thing you, respected man, could possibly lack is perspective. Your fireplace has not met my words, as it more than once, already, has been regarded as a suitable place for my thoughts. Thus I am grateful for the attention and for the opportunity I have been given, because that in itself is proof alone, for me, that the man reading my lines is indeed the kind of man I talked about in my previous letter.

Remember my words, my friend, for I mean every single one of them: a wounded heart is no reason for shame. The sincerest people are those who've faced difficulties and still find the strength to believe them as such, and not as the ending point of a pointless path leading nowhere.

Industrialisation came faster than we all were able to walk, and some of us were left behind. But the real monsters are to me the men who think of people as machines.

I met a boy who worked as a mule scavenger in a cotton mill once, and the look in his eyes was that of a dead old man. He'd been raised knowing no other truth than that of productivity, and he never knew the soft touch of sympathy of a friend's smile.

He never knew he had the right to cry as every other child does.

This is what I deem evil, my dear friend. Looking into sad eyes and not acknowledging the sentiment in them, whatever reason it's there for. I know yours, and I see no monster in them. Only a lonely child, crying like that boy never did, so many years ago. A child who needs someone to listen to his story.

I'll be an avid listener, if you will let me.

Yours sincerely,

Hideyoshi.

By the end of the letter, Kaneki had to bite his hand to try and suppress his quivering sobs as the night swallowed the last of his remaining resolve to just stop that dangerous correspondence.

Crying had never quite felt so liberating before.

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It had been a month since that fateful day, and the bulge underneath his livery was becoming noticeable.

Kaneki didn't know when, exactly, he'd started regarding those rare, intimate minutes in the stalls with the solitary company of the moon, candlelight and paper smelling of days-old ink as something to look forward to, nor when the companionship of those words had become a better consolation than praying. And he was a madman, he knew it, for this was a foolish and blasphemous thought. But he'd regarded his existence as a sin for so long that perhaps all he ever craved, instead of mercy, had always been forgiveness and condoning.

The thought that Mr. Nagachika didn't yet know about his identity still weighted heavily in his heart, but he couldn't bring himself to drop his mask just yet. He'd already confessed to being someone different from the designated recipient of his mail, upon noticing that the man had stopped putting that name on his letters and instead had changed it to a cryptic "to my dearest friend cloaked in shadows.” But to say his name was something that required a greater deal of courage, and Kaneki wasn't sure he was ready for that.

Deep down, as much as the words of wisdom of the man had warmed his heart,  he still feared rejection above everything else.

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Hideyoshi wondered more than once if he was doing the right thing, pretending not to know who was the sender of the mail he looked forward to the most, among all his correspondents.

It felt like betrayal of the trust Ken had showed him with that first letter, as the trembling calligraphy on it had been enough of a testimony. Still, he felt like paper was a needed mediator; he knew that without the present distance, Ken would have never tried to establish a bond with him. Letters were his mask, his armour to cover his still healing heart, and Hideyoshi didn't want to deny him something that put him at ease enough for him to actually share some childhood memories with him. Those terrible, terrible childhood memories.

He felt like he had been entrusted with his heart, and the last thing he wanted was to betray it.

But the present situation was bound to change if he pressed on too much. He twisted the paper in his hands with a worried expression on his face. That was something he had realized a long time ago: as much as the boy's strong features suggested otherwise, deep down he was so much more fragile, and so much more insecure.

The white hair that caressed his face in a cold embrace of unspoken horrors had won his affections as much as his heartfelt words had won Ken's. But it still pained him deeply, to know that he could offer no better help than that of talking to a friendly face, because all he wanted was for Ken to look him in the eyes as he unraveled the sorrows hiding inside them, so that Hideyoshi could rest a hand on his shoulder and bring him close, where he could finally find some rest, if need arose.

He bit his lips and sighed. Would he run away from his grasp, if he told him just how much he cared for him, as Ken had so many times been lied to before from undeserving lips?

He unfolded the paper and read:

Honoured Sir,

Before I knew it, this correspondence with you has become the better part of my days. The more I think about it, the more I realize I am not being fair to you, and I have yet to apologize for stealing from you the original reply you were meant to have if I hadn't so selfishly stepped in the way. You've showed me kindness and acceptance, and I never even gave you my name in return.

Hideyoshi blinked. Had he made clear his wish for this friendship of theirs to take a step further? He hastily read the following.

Yet I feel like you're the only person who really knows me, perhaps even better than I do. Am I a fool, respected friend, to say so? If I am, then I'm glad I was able to find companionship in a good man ready to listen anyway. This is my way to say thank you.

Hideyoshi smiled fondly, realizing his feelings weren't completely one sided as he'd thought. As much as he could still detect a bit of self-loathing in those words, he couldn't help but feel a pleasant warmth spreading through his chest; Ken, too, had been wishing for something different than a written correspondence for the distant future. That thought alone meant more to him than any other earnest compliment ever could.

But enough with that. I don't want to bore you any longer. You told me about your childhood in London, so it's only fair for me to share all of mine too.

Hideyoshi frowned. Was he really going to…

Unfortunately, it's not a pleasant story. But you were honest with me, so I will be with you, too.

As I already told you once, my circumstances of birth were favourable. My mother was not noble at birth, but she found love in a charitable and caring man whose family had become wealthy by means of textile manufacturing. He'd bought his nobility with a previous marriage, but his heart had been broken by a premature loss. Having met my mother, he was able to heal. He loved her in turn, and together they were happy with what little they had.

After their marriage, for a while they traveled a bit, moving alongside the market, and that was something that my aunt came to resent them for. She'd lived her whole life in the countryside, and even though at that time I could not yet understand it, that is a sentiment I no longer blame her for.

Those early years, though, were the happiest. My father loved us deeply, and provided a good education for me. That would prove useful in later years, as I now treasure my ability to read and write fluently, for it is required for my job. I especially loved the company of his books, among which I recall being some of your pamphlets and critiques, too. But I also enjoyed the long walks on the countryside with my mother, for the wonders of nature always brought a smile to her lips.

Those peaceful days came to an end when mechanical weaving and the cotton industry robbed my family of a large part of their income. At that time I could not yet understand that to pay my education, my father was not able to pay his debts; he loved his family too much, and that was what destroyed him. He was imprisoned for his debts, and that was the last time I ever saw him. I must confess I don't remember much of him at all, even after his sacrifice, and this will forever weigh heavily on my heart.

I was four when my mother had to resort to the mill that had destroyed her, to be able to buy us dinner. I was five when I started working there too, because two or three shillings more a week meant less responsibilities on my mother's already tired back. I saw her crumble under the increasing workload, barely even seeing her during her fifteen hours of work a day. I spent mine under the machines, trying and failing to force my fingers to move faster to avoid the punishments from the overlookers. I saw Seidou lose three of his own, smashed by the machines. He was seven, and I was so afraid, my dear friend! And so I became sloppy, thus it's really no wonder Mr. Yamori noticed and punished me. I deserved it. But that's not why I kept quiet all the times he made me work with my shirt off in winter, or left me hanging by my wrists above the wheels of the machines so that I had to keep my legs buckled to try and avoid losing them. He was a madman, that much I knew even back then. But I was no martyr, respected friend, because I only did it for selfish reasons. My mother was ill and her work was even slower and sloppier than mine. I couldn't afford to lose her too to such a monster, even if keeping her alive then prolonged her suffering, in the end. I only ever thought of myself, even back then. There's nothing noble in that.

I ended up losing her anyway to cholera. I cried myself to sleep for the following weeks, because I didn't have anyone to live for anymore. I didn't value my own life, and I started believing it wasn't worth the scarce pay I was given. Things only looked up again when I reached adulthood, and I found myself begging for crusts on my aunt's door. I was sacked because I could no longer reach under a machine, and women could be paid less to do the same job I had been doing for most of my life. My aunt was so kind to take me in, even if I such a cursed existence like mine didn't deserve an ounce of her pity. She said I had her eyes. That was what has kept me alive, in the end, giving me a reason to wake up each day under this cold, cold sun.

For many years on end, I thought that my unhappiness had to be tied to the place I lived in, because industries were what had cursed our fate in the very beginning. Then, when I left Manchester's cotton mill I came to realize that maybe it was far more deeply rooted, and that it had to be tied with me instead.

Only now I see how wrong I was, to consider my heart meant for evil. But it wouldn't have been possible for me to realize what happiness tasted like, if a friend's words hadn't shooked me to the core like yours did, respected Sir.

That being said, I hope my gratitude towards you will not sound empty anymore, to your ears, for I certainly mean every word of it. I'll understand if you'll be repelled by the show of my real nature. But to unmask my identity, I need you to see behind my mask before, so that I will no longer have a reason to run from you anymore.

Sincerely yours as ever.

Hideyoshi felt numb as his hand unconsciously crumpled the sheets in his hand. His mind was elsewhere, on another world entirely.

His heart though, was there slamming painfully fast in his chest, making him want to puke and cry at the same time. Now he understood. Now he wished he'd done something sooner.

That old man in the eyes of a boy had been him.

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His mind didn't register the noise of all the people chattering about in the coffeehouse, nor the stupid babble of his publisher as he went on and on about technicalities.

He only needed him to say his yes.

Hideyoshi looked at the coffee in his cup with a distant expression. The churning in his stomach had yet to stop; he looked away.

"It could work. It's a good opportunity. This kind of book could be useful to the cause. Will this boy be of any help, though?" A dubious tone.

He pursed his lips. That wasn't what mattered. Could Hideyoshi be of any help to him? That was his question, his duty of care.

He wouldn't let ken think he was unneeded and undeserving of love anymore.

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Hideyoshi loved him enough for the both of them, anyway. He didn't need anything in return.

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When he barged in the inn with a frantic gaze in his eyes and the still crumpled letter in his gloved hand, Hideyoshi hadn't cared for people standing by and watching wide-eyed.

He only needed to say four words.

Ken followed suit, not a question asked, the enquiry evident in his eyes sated when his gaze fell on the paper in his companion's hand.The slouch of his shoulders felt like relief, happiness, and a tinge of something else.

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Five years later, Kaneki sat at Hide's desk in his studio, pouring roller blotter all over the letter Hideyoshi had dictated to him only moments ago.

The year was 1815, and Mr. Peel had kept true to his word to write a proper legislation to regulate mill working. It was still a small step, they both knew it. The Factory Act alone could do very little, especially if people like that Mr. Yamori still had so much power over innocent and defenceless people. But it was a start, and neither of them was actually keen on the idea of giving up after the first try, not especially after their joined publishing of "The memoirs of Ken Kaneki" had won a few supporters to their cause.

Hide leaned on the desk, peering at the neatly written lines with a smile. “Nice,” he then said, and he kissed the top of Ken's head, making him flush all the way down his neck.

Hide's smile only grew at that sight. He couldn't help the fondness showing in his eyes before he went back to the fireplace to stare contemplatively at the flames raging inside it. Moments later, he felt Ken's presence beside him, right where he'd been for the past five years, where he was meant to be.

He reached for his hand, feeling his own smile stretching impossibly wider when he noticed Ken's hand rising to meet his halfway. They stayed like that for a while, not minding the time. They'd been separated long enough.

It hadn't really been a big surprise; perhaps Kaneki had come to realize just how much he'd been wrong for a long time now. Unhappiness couldn't be tied to his heart, for it was his heart that was making him content, right now, steadily beating against his own palm.

That was all that mattered, in the end. They were able to reach for each other.

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Kaneki never told his aunt what those four words had been as he was packing his few belongings to move to his new place.

Perhaps it had been something like: "Leave with me, Ken."

or maybe even a: "I knew all along."

It most certainly did feel like a: "They never deserved you."

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(But perhaps, it had only been something far more simple)

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(Something heartfelt.)

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((Perhaps it had only been an "I love you too."))