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Tsukiyama found himself panting, hand clutching Kane- Sasaki’s sword. His legs were on either side of the Dove, straddling him, visibly trembling, though both of them pretended not to notice.
“Why are you hesitating?” the boy beneath him asked, a hand rising to meet his – maybe push the sharp end into himself. Tsukiyama couldn’t understand why he was always so suicidal; of all the traits he could've retained, suicidal just had to be it. He slapped Sasaki’s hand out of the way and flung the sword aside, using his kagune to block Sasaki from retrieving it when the boy shifted his attention to where it lay, gleaming.
“Why am I winning?” Tsukiyama retorted. Corrected: “Why are you letting me win?”
Sasaki said nothing, just kept his eyes on the glinting blade. His right hand curled into a fist. His fingernails pierced through skin, and the sharp scent of delicious, delicious blood had Tsukiyama nearly passing out.
Their moment of silence passed with Sasaki’s hard eyes staring straight at Tsukiyama’s pitiful core.
“I remember,” Sasaki replied at last, and Tsukiyama nearly self-combusted – from happiness or fear or another feeling he was afraid to give a name to – before Sasaki added, “in bits and pieces. A wound here, a smile there.” He paused. “Not that there were many.”
Tsukiyama climbed off him and allowed the both of them to stand. He had half a mind to dust the back of his pants, but the half-hearted starting motion of his hands felt too pathetic that he withdrew them midway. “Was it I who made you smile, monsieur?” Tsukiyama joked, a bitter remnant of himself.
Sasaki closed his eyes, the faintest smile clinging onto his lips. “No,” he said. “Never you.”
“What a horrific lie!”
The smile grew, and Tsukiyama all but shattered.
“I can’t,” Tsukiyama blurted out suddenly, to which Sasaki blinked in confusion. His lips were quivering as he steered the conversation out of trodden path. “I could never kill you, or you. I could never let you leave me behind. I mean,” he paused and tried flashing his million dollar smile, only to feel it crumble around the edges, “look what that’s already done to me.”
Sasaki took him home. To Cochlea at first, and then through some miracle, to a guarded apartment. Heavily guarded, Tsukiyama might clarify, but better than a revolting ghoul prison, which was in turn better than anywhere Tsukiyama had to live without him. He came most days, whether it was to interrogate him – both on and off the record – or to simply, dare Tsukiyama suggest, be there. It was as if Sasaki was subconsciously seeking out companionship from days past, and Tsukiyama just happened to be the most convenient ghoul to visit. When he was transferred to the apartment, Sasaki would arrive bearing books and patiently wait for Tsukiyama to get the door, grinning when he did and almost fooling Tsukiyama into thinking he was back in that coffee shop with Kaneki – their first date – and none of the past three years has happened.
It was a pretense of power. It wasn’t like Tsukiyama could deny Sasaki access into the apartment, but he was grateful the other boy acted like he could, like he would actually walk away if Tsukiyama kept the door locked one day. The higher-ups wouldn’t take it as well as Sasaki – would probably force the door open – but that wasn’t something Sasaki could control. Anyway, it was Sasaki’s principle that mattered to Tsukiyama; Sasaki’s principle that had Tsukiyama unlocking the door every time.
That, and, of course, the feelings that somersaulted through him at the mere sight of Sasaki; at an accidental grazing of his fingers as he passed Tsukiyama the books; at the lovely picture he made on Tsukiyama’s loaned couch, sitting cross-legged and comfortable. Sasaki still maintained the walls Kaneki built around himself, but they were worn. Most days the sadness that Sasaki allowed Tsukiyama to witness was enough for him to justify the pain he suffered when Kaneki… disappeared.
Sasaki was a hammer attached to a stick of glue. Sasaki was Athena who breathed life and Thanatos who escorted the dead underground. Sasaki was – Tsukiyama felt the hammer at work again, his insides crumbling into nothing – well, Tsukiyama wished he was his.
“Oh,” Sasaki perked at the bookmarked book on the coffee table. “Are you rereading Takatsuki Sen?”
A lesser man – a man who did not overflow with feelings he didn’t know how to express – might scoff and remind Sasaki that his reading options were a bit limited, since he had to rely on Sasaki to bring him books. But Tsukiyama was not a lesser man. The thought of such snide remarks didn’t even occur to him as he assented, “Yes, she’s a wonderful writer.”
Sasaki stared at the books contemplatively. “Hm. I used to read her a lot, didn’t I?”
The past was a topic that was brought up a lot. Sasaki wanted to know, and Tsukiyama wanted to remember, so the both of them indulged each other.
“You did,” Tsukiyama said, before thinking of the conversation they shared beneath a tree a few afternoons ago. “You never used to be bad with them, though.”
“Really?” A chuckle.
“Truly.” A chuckle in reply.
“But don’t you think that was kind of sad?” A beat Tsukiyama missed. “That I’m not bad with her books--”
“Yes.” Tsukiyama was willing to say anything for Sasaki to stop talking, to stop suggesting that he’s somehow different from Kaneki, that Tsukiyama didn’t know who he was dealing with or how to deal with him. “You’re right.”
And just like that, the joy in remembering was stolen from Tsukiyama.
Just, he thought, like everything else.
“Coffee?” Sasaki offered the in one of his next few visits, who nodded out of an inability to refuse Sasaki anything. Anyway, he had faith in Sasaki’s coffee, and Touka’s, Yomo’s –basically everyone who has passed through Anteiku.
Sasaki hummed as he got to work, pouring tap water into a water heater and coffee beans into the funnel top of a grinder. Tsukiyama realized that he’s never seen the other boy upset before. He always barged into this tiny apartment with a smile too large for the place and left as equally cheerful. Tsukiyama didn’t think his cheerful persona was ever feigned, but today, there seemed to be something off about the way his eyes remained unsmiling even when his lips were perpetually quirked upwards.
“Sa-,” Tsukiyama started, but didn’t know how, or if, he should even continue. How was he going to explain what his instincts were telling him?
Large, round eyes peered up at Tsukiyama as the pleasant humming which had filled the room stopped. “What is it, Tsukiyama-san?”
“N-Nothing.”
Sasaki made a noise from the back of his throat – a light yet somehow guttural sigh. “Tsukiyama-san, you’ve never been good at lying,” he started. “Even before, when you thought I didn’t know the only thing you think about is how to get another taste of me.” He picked out two cups from Tsukiyama’s glass cabinets as he waited for the coffee to brew. “So why don’t you cut to the chase and tell me what’s on your mind now? Ah,” a pause, “it couldn’t be that you still want to eat me, Tsukiyama-san?”
The polite way Sasaki was addressing him contrasted against the vulgarity of his words was really messing Tsukiyama up. He tried responding but couldn’t, couldn’t get any words out of his mouth. You’re wrong, he wanted to tell Sasaki, but in a small-voice-in-the-back-of-his-mind way, he knew Sasaki was right. Of course, the circumstances surrounding Tsukiyama’s desire was different now, but it was still there.
Tsukiyama doubted it would ever disappear.
So he closed his mouth back together and swallowed Sasaki’s mirthless laugh like medicinal pills.
“And what if I offered a part of me right now?” Sasaki continued, pushing the rolled sleeve of his left arm upwards. “What if I said, ‘Here, Tsukiyama-san, eat me?’ What would you do?”
“I-,” Tsukiyama started, stopped. “Sa-,” gulped, swallowed. “N-No,” he finally said, shaking his head. “No, Ka- Sasaki-kun, no, please don’t, don’t tempt me like that, don’t-”
“I’m not tempting you,” Sasaki said, cold smile still pulling on the edge of his lips. “I’m seriously asking.”
Tsukiyama crossed his legs and uncrossed them. He made to stand up but seemed to change his mind halfway through before pushing a palm against the faux leather wrap of the couch and getting on his feet. He stared at Sasaki. Took a step. Tried to see how the boy would react, but could gauge nothing from his face. Swallowed. Had Kaneki always been this hard to read? he thought, forgetting, again, that this wasn’t Kaneki.
Sasaki’s bare arm was still gleaming in the distance- wait, how did the arm get within reaching distance? If Tsukiyama just stretched his hand, Kaneki- Kaneki would be-
mine.
Sasaki sidestepped just as Tsukiyama lunged – was that a whimper coming out of him? – pulling his left arm back as he pulled Tsukiyama in with his right. “Pathetic,” Kaneki whispered when he was right beside Tsukiyama’s ear. Tsukiyama let out another unidentifiable noise, prompting a sigh from Sasaki. “Fine,” he said, shoving his arm at Tsukiyama again, “I suppose I should keep my promises.”
There were no reluctant protests from Tsukiyama this time – only teeth meeting teeth, jaw clenching down; a burst of blood splattering across the carpet.
They laid passed out on the floor after Tsukiyama has relieved his frantic, delirious need. Sasaki had all four limbs stretched out, spread-eagled, and Tsukiyama watched as the sinews of him arm stitched themselves back together, while he kept his own hands close, by his side, and his feet straighter still.
“What?” Sasaki questioned, a bit breathless (and, oh, how Tsukiyama would like to hear the boy’s words come out in pants every day, knowing he was the one who stole his breath). “Are you afraid I’ll eat you next?”
Tsukiyama whimpered, and Sasaki scoffed. “Don’t worry. I’m not like you, Tsukiyama.”
A tiny part of his brain tried to make sense of the drop in honorific, but the rest of Tsukiyama could scarcely care right now.
“No, not afraid,” he said.
Sasaki turned to look at him, staring unflinchingly for a few honest seconds before turning away, his feet scrambling for purchase as his elbows tried pushing him back up.
There was a moment of silence as Sasaki struggled, and Tsukiyama thought about how there was no time like the present and if he didn’t ask now, he would never know, he wouldn’t know what was on Sasaki’s mind, and if he didn’t know that, he wouldn’t be able to help the boy like he promised he would, all those lifetimes ago.
A quiet voice rose from his throat. “Are you alright, Sasaki?”
He grunted an agreement.
“No,” Tsukiyama shook his head and corrected himself. “I mean- well, yes, the bite too, but I didn’t think I hurt you too bad.” Sasaki shot him a dirty look, and Tsukiyama smiled weakly in reply. “I meant, today. Is something the matter, monsieur?”
Sasaki stared at him again from where he was sitting, hands crossed between his thighs. He opened his mouth, though no words came out until a good minute later, and even then it was only a simple statement. “My underling died.”
He said underling, but Tsukiyama could hear comrade resonating clearly beneath the word.
“You probably don’t know what that feels like,” Sasaki continued, which is a double jab at Tsukiyama because of the implication that he treated death lightly and because he did know what losing comrades felt like. In fact, “Have you forgotten,” Tsukiyama interjected bitingly, “of the massacre that took place in my father’s building? There were people- people protecting me, dying for me.” Tsukiyama took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself down. Sasaki was a good man, Tsukiyama reminded himself. Sasaki, who remained quiet and solemn and waited for Tsukiyama to finish, pointedly avoiding his gaze, probably didn't have much of a choice.
But still. “And you think I don’t know what losing people you have a responsibility towards feels like?” he said at last, voice no more than a broken whisper.
“I’m sorry.”
Tsukiyama shifted over on his side, as if that would relieve the crushing weight of his family’s passing. “I know,” he said. Not your fault, he almost said, but didn’t; let it hang in the air between them because he didn’t think those words were appropriate. There were limits even to white lies – how pure its shade could be. Take a wall, for instance. If one tried using ghostly-white to paint over the cracked bits of a creamy-white wall, one wouldn’t be covering its flaws, but drawing attention to it.
There were many, many pains Tsukiyama would allow Sasaki to inflict upon him. Many. But still, he was a white lie with limits; the creamy-white to Sasaki’s ghost.
“I’m sorry,” Sasaki repeated, to which Tsukiyama simply shook his head and gestured at the arm he took a large chunk of previously. “Are you healing well, Sasaki-kun?”
“Fine.”
He forced a smile. “Do you want a bite of me to help speed things up?”
Sasaki wondered if the sadness he felt a moment ago was spent on the wrong person.
Tsukiyama chuckled. “I’ll take that as a maybe later.”
Neither of them started talking again until Tsukiyama made another offer. “Do you want to tell me about what happened?” Sasaki quirked an eyebrow. “That… comrade… of yours.”
Sasaki closed his eyes, as if fed up. But when he opened them again, it was with wonder and star-filled awe, and Tsukiyama was only now able to see the slight opening of Sasaki’s mouth for curious amazement than the start of a downturned pout. He blinked again to make sure Tsukiyama was real. He was. Sasaki closed his eyes again then, for real this time, features settling into contentment.
“Maybe later,” he said, and this time Tsukiyama’s smile was genuine and exhilarated.
The first time Tsukiyama was let out of his cage was months after his initial capture. “Where are we going?” he asked Sasaki, to which the younger boy replied, with a secretive smile, “It’s a surprise.” Tsukiyama trusted the look of happiness on Sasaki’s face with all his heart and did not question him any more until the van stopped and its back doors opened to reveal the wide expanse of Cochlea. Tsukiyama shrunk backwards as his gaze snapped to Sasaki in betrayal.
“Calm down,” Sasaki assured. “We’re only here to meet someone.”
Sasaki’s someone turned out to be Hinami. Tsukiyama was part relieved and part overjoyed, offering her an awkward handshake his malfunctioning brain thought was a good idea before realizing that the better idea was to retract his hand and welcome the little flower into his embrace instead. She stepped back after a decent time, a polite smile highlighting her features. Tsukiyama couldn’t help but notice how much she’s grown, wondering where she spent the last three years doing all that growing, and who was by her when she did.
It seemed like the question of “where” had also been on Hinami’s mind as she asked Tsukiyama where he had disappeared to all these years. He evaded the question smoothly – or so he liked to think – by deflecting it back at her, to which she plainly replied, “Aogiri.”
Tsukiyama sputtered, having choked on air, and blinked rapidly at Hinami. “Aogiri?” he echoed, slightly dazed. Of everyone in Kaneki’s group, it was impossible for him to have predicted that Hinami would be the one joining the dark side, yet that was exactly what she was telling him.
“Is- Is that why you’re here?”
“Well,” Hinami said, shyly flashing a smile in Sasaki’s direction, “I guess.”
Tsukiyama turned to Sasaki for physical confirmation. He received a nod. “It’s true,” Sasaki said. “She’s not lying.”
“‘She’s not lying’ makes it seem like she’s only telling me half the truth.”
“I wouldn’t know even if she did.”
Tsukiyama’s gaze quickly snapped over to Hinami. “Why not?”
“If I told Big Brother everything, he would get in trouble if he gets caught.”
“But you’re already in trouble right now, Hinami-chan.” He turned back to Sasaki, an alarmed expression marring his features. “What does the CCG plan to do to her?”
“Nothing… yet.”
Tsukiyama gave Hinami a pointed look, and then a semi-accusatory one directed at Sasaki, even though he knew it wasn’t technically the boy’s fault. He had a thought in his head, a small and irrelevant notion that if it wasn’t for the gravity of what they were discussing, all his looking back and forth, demanding for answers, would appear rather comic. However, perhaps the real hilarity lies in how, even after Tsukiyama's persistent prying, neither caved and he left the visitation room feeling more frustrated than ever.
Sasaki, perhaps wisely, chose not to speak to him until they were back in Tsukiyama’s apartment, the ghoul investigator’s figure a mere shadow lingering in the doorway. He never told Sasaki, but sometimes Tsukiyama wondered if he was a dream all along. He was always so elusive, and there was always this thing curling around him, all tensed and coiled up, waiting to pounce at anyone who got too close. Tsukiyama used to think it was only a wall, and he knew everybody had a wall of some sort so it was okay, normal even, for Sasaki and Kaneki to be so guarded, but the more time he spent around the boy, the more he realized it was more than just a wall. It was the kind of structure that had no end and no beginning, so that even if Tsukiyama tirelessly dug up dirt or learnt how to fly, he still wouldn’t be able to reach Sasaki.
“Tsukiyama,” the boy said at last, breaking their contemplative, slightly awkward, silence.
“Yes?”
“I have a request. Would you accept?”
“Of course,” Tsukiyama agreed amiably, before he could even question if he should answer Sasaki so readily when he didn’t even know what the boy wanted.
“Do you remember,” he started, “that speech you gave me about being a dagger under my pillow?”
Tsukiyama hesitated. “I do?” he answered, like a question, not knowing where Sasaki was going with this.
“Well, I need that dagger now.”
“Need?”
“Yes,” Sasaki said, an arm suddenly outstretched – the same one he tasted, Tsukiyama noted faintly.
“What does that mean?”
Sasaki smiled, and Tsukiyama didn’t know if he was imagining things or if light was suddenly streaming in from the hallway outside his apartment, bathing Sasaki in a warm, sacred halo. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course,” Tsukiyama’s stupid mouth replied again, without thinking.
“Then take my hand.”
Tsukiyama did, and listened, his expression a dictionary definition of stunned, as Sasaki told him to attack the guards outside at the count of three, tone still jovial and lighthearted. “Ah,” he said, “just try not to kill them.”
“Why?” Tsukiyama asked, pulling Sasaki back when he tried letting go of Tsukiyama’s hand, his own palm ending up around Sasaki’s. "Not about sparing them, I mean, why-"
“Because monsters shouldn’t be determined by their RC factor, and I would like to enlighten both the CCG and Aogiri to this sentiment.”
Sasaki smiled. Tsukiyama thought there was a confidence to his smile – the usual kindness, but also confidence, like this was the correct answer and he’s known it all along. He agreed this was the right answer too, of course, but this smile brought back memories of another, black-haired boy, one who Tsukiyama would never imagine would be standing here, doing all the things he’s doing.
Perhaps that line of thought led to a strange contortion of Tsukiyama’s features – as his eyes focused on Sasaki, he realized that the boy was sending him a questioning look. “It seems like I’ve made the right choice,” Tsukiyama elaborated, trying not to cry but god it was so hard.
“What choice?” Sasaki asked, still confused.
Tsukiyama thought of the self-restraint, how hard it was to pull through; he thought of the pain, the suffering, the deep yet hollow ache in his chest as he waited and waited and waited to no avail. It was like a chasm had torn through his heart before immediately healing, leaving behind an unpleasant pain – a reminder of its previous existence. Tsukiyama thought of Sasaki and Kaneki, and the both of them together.
He turned to Sasaki and said, simply-
“You.”
It was only when they stood face to face with Eto, her wildly thrashing kagune making a mad rush towards them - causing Tsukiyama to take a step back - that he realized all the different reasons why Kaneki might've chosen him instead of Hinami, or Touka, or anyone else from Anteiku. Daggers were replaceable; if it broke, one could always procure another. If one was especially attached to a particular blade, one could always take the shattered pieces and forge a new one. Friends, however, were different. If they died in battle, one couldn't simply whip another one out of thin air. Tsukiyama smirked wryly, hand curling into a fist as he prepared to meet Eto head on, knowing that this attack was too strong for him and he should be ducking, should've ducked, should've-
Something pushed him out of the way, sent him through the air and crashing on the concrete. When the heaving pain paralyzing his body settled down, Tsukiyama managed to open his eyes just enough to catch a shade of black, crimson red eyes, white pupil-
"Kaneki-kun?" he cried, forgetting in his daze that his Kaneki-kun no longer existed. "Why did you-?"
"Idiot," Sasaki chided darkly. "I still have use of you." Don't die.
Tsukiyama blinked, mouth opening in shock. He was about to reply when Sasaki flitted away, drawing Eto's attention from Tsukiyama to himself.
"Tsukiyama-san! Are you alright?" He turned - judging by the dizziness and ringing in his ears, perhaps a bit too quickly - and caught sight of a group of ghouls running towards him. The girl, woman, in front - the one who called out to him - she had beautiful hair the color of amethyst. She didn't look too worried for him, but that's okay. The fact that she was even the slightest bit worried was sort of flattering, really.
"I'm- I'm fine."
"Oh," she said as she reached Tsukiyama and stopped running, inspecting him. "Are you sure?"
"Oui, mademoiselle."
Touka rolled her eyes. "If you say so."
"Why are all of you here?"
At that question, Touka glanced past Tsukiyama piercingly and fixed her gaze on the half-human, half-ghoul. "I don't know," she answered honestly.
Tsukiyama felt something beautiful blossom in his chest. He remembered that other fight and how hard Kaneki tried to sacrifice himself, and only himself. He remembered the devastating results of that battle. Suddenly, he realized that the way Sasaki called him dagger was just like how he called his friend an underling. They both meant more to Sasaki than he would admit.
"Tsukiyama, stop looking so perverted."
Tsukiyama schooled his expression into one of neutrality, not even noticing that Sasaki had appeared.
"Ah~, Sasaki-san! I can't help it. I'm overflowing with happiness at the thought of fighting alongside you again!!"
"Again?"
"When was the last time they fought together?"
"I think he mistook fighting against as fighting together."
"Of course. Typical Tsukiyama."
Sasaki stared at him with a fiery brazenness, like he might call Tsukiyama out on what he did before; how he almost killed himself because he was upset or got himself killed because he was distracted - he wasn't really sure which one it was either, but Sasaki had saved him, and that's all that mattered.
"Good," Sasaki said instead, dryly. "I'm happy too."
Tsukiyama swooned and agreed, in his head, that this was good. Really good.