Work Text:
The laundromat was nearly empty at this hour, just the hum of industrial washers and the occasional clunk of a dryer transitioning cycles. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in that particular shade of white that made the world feel suspended. A few plastic chairs lined the wall, their seats cracked from years of use. The air smelled like detergent and heat.
Kaneki pushed through the door, laundry bag heavy on his shoulder. He'd waited until midnight specifically to avoid people. The fewer witnesses to his slightly bloodstained clothes, the better. Hide had been asking too many questions lately, and Kaneki couldn't risk his roommate stumbling across evidence of what he'd become.
He claimed a washer off to the side, already sorting through his bag when movement caught his eye. Someone he was not expecting to see.
Touka.
She was three washers down, folding a shirt with sharp, irritated movements. She hadn't noticed him yet, too focused on her task, and Kaneki felt his pulse spike. Of all the laundromats in Tokyo, she had to be at this one?
He considered leaving. He could come back later, find somewhere else, pretend he'd never...
"Kaneki?"
Too late.
Touka was staring at him, one of her shirts still clutched in her hands. She looked surprised, then guarded, then something he couldn't quite read flickered across her face.
"Hi," he managed, uneasy and stilted.
"What are you doing here?" Her tone wasn't accusatory, just curious.
He gestured uselessly at his laundry bag. "Washing clothes."
"Clearly." She set down the shirt, folding her arms. "I meant why here. Why now."
Kaneki shifted his weight. "Same reason as you, I guess. Needed somewhere open late."
Touka's eyes narrowed slightly, and he knew she understood. The same reason: bloodstains and the need for discretion. She glanced at the washer he'd claimed, then back at him.
"Well," she said after a moment. "Don't let me stop you."
She turned back to her folding, but Kaneki could feel the tension in the air between them, sharp and heavy. It had been like that ever since their fight in the church with Tsukiyama. He loaded his clothes quickly, trying not to think about how aware he was of her presence just a few feet away.
The washer rumbled to life. Kaneki stood there awkwardly for a moment, then retreated to the plastic chairs. Touka was still folding, her dryer already finished, and he wondered if she'd leave soon. Part of him hoped she would. Part of him desperately hoped she wouldn't. He oddly didn't feel like being alone.
"You just going to sit there and stare?" Touka asked without looking up.
"I wasn't staring."
"You were." She shoved a folded shirt into her bag. "It's creepy."
Kaneki flushed. "Sorry."
Touka sighed, grabbing her laundry bag and moving toward the chairs. Instead of leaving like he'd half-expected, she dropped into the seat beside him, legs stretched out, head tilted back against the wall.
They sat in silence. The washers churned. Someone's dryer beeped in the distance, then stopped.
"Long night?" Touka asked eventually, eyes still closed.
"Yeah."
"Me too." She cracked one eye open, looking at him. "Yoshimura had me on cleanup duty. Someone got sloppy."
Kaneki winced. He knew what cleanup meant. "That sounds rough."
"It was." She closed her eye again. "But it's done now."
More silence. Kaneki watched the clothes tumble in the washer, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't sound stupid. Everything that came to mind felt inadequate.
"You hungry?" Touka asked suddenly.
Kaneki blinked. "What?"
She sat up, digging through her jacket pocket and pulling out a wrapped package (the kind from Anteiku, small and discreet). "I grabbed an extra. Figured I'd want it later, but..." She held it out. "You look like you need it more."
Kaneki stared at the package. "No, I can't possibly..."
"I said take it." Her voice was firm. "Don't be stupid."
He took it, their fingers brushing for just a second. The touch sent a jolt through him that he tried desperately to ignore. He unwrapped the package slowly, discreetly and the smell hitting him first (familiar and nauseating and necessary all at once). He was hungry, it had been weeks since he last ate, subsisting on coffee alone.
Touka watched him as he held his breath and took one large bite, looking light he would hurl, before swiftly stuffing the rest of the meat into his pocket before someone could notice. Kaneki felt exposed under her gaze.
"You still look like that," she said quietly.
"Like what?"
"Like you're committing a crime every time you eat." Her voice wasn't cruel, just matter-of-fact. "It's been months, Kaneki. You need to stop punishing yourself."
His throat tightened. "I'm not..."
"You are." She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "I can see it. Every single time. You act like eating makes you a monster."
"Maybe because it does," he said, the words coming out sharper than he intended.
Touka turned to look at him fully now, her expression fierce, clearly annoyed. "It doesn't. It makes you alive. There's a difference."
"Is there?" Kaneki met her eyes, and something in his chest ached. "How do you do it, Touka-chan? How do you just...accept it?"
She was quiet for a long moment. "I don't know anything different," she admitted. "I accept it is the way it is. That's the difference between us."
The noisy fluorescent lights illuminated the space and the washers hummed. Kaneki looked away first. Her blue eyes too intense for his liking.
"Hey." Touka's voice was softer now. She was trying to suppress her usual temper, she really was. "Look at me."
He shifted his gaze to her, reluctantly.
"You're still you," she said. "Whoever that was before you became this, you're still you. Okay? You're still the same idiot who couldn't tell a ghoul from a human if your life depended on it."
Despite himself, Kaneki felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "That's not exactly reassuring."
"It should be." She reached over, grabbing his wrist (not hard, just enough to ground him). "Because that idiot is still in there."
Her thumb brushed against his pulse point, awkward, like she wasn't quite sure what she was doing or why she was still holding on. She pulled back slightly, then seemed to catch herself, her grip tightening again as if letting go would be admitting something she wasn't ready to say. Kaneki felt his breath catch. She was close now, closer than she'd been a moment ago, and he couldn't tell which one of them had moved. Touka's expression flickered with uncertainty.
"Touka-chan," he said, and his voice came out rougher than he intended. He saw the shiver run through her, just barely.
Something shifted in her face: that guarded look falling away to reveal something vulnerable. "Can I..." She trailed off, then seemed to steel herself. "Can I try something?"
Kaneki's pulse jumped. "What?"
Instead of answering, she moved closer, her knee brushing his. Her hand slid from his wrist to his hand, fingers threading through his. Her other hand came up to his face, hesitant, like she was giving him time to pull away.
He didn't. He didn't want to.
She kissed him, or tried to. Her lips met his at a slightly wrong angle, too tentative at first, then too firm as she overcorrected. Her hand moved toward his dark hair but stopped halfway, hovering uncertainly before settling awkwardly at his shoulder instead. Kaneki felt the world narrow to just the feel of her lips on his, clumsy and unsure, the warmth of her so close. He didn't know what to do with his hands, where to put them, if he was supposed to move or stay still. His nose bumped hers and she made a small frustrated sound, adjusting, trying again. It was messy and stiff and neither of them seemed to know what they were doing, but something about that made it feel more real.
When she pulled back, they were both breathing harder, and Touka's face was flushed (not just from the kiss, but from embarrassment too).
"That was..." she started, then stopped, biting her lip.
"Yeah," Kaneki agreed, not sure what he was agreeing to but knowing he felt it too.
And she kissed him again before she could think better of it.
This time it was less careful, more urgent. Her fingers tightened at his shoulder, and Kaneki's hand finally found her waist, pulling her closer though the movement was jerky and unsure. The plastic chair creaked under their shifting weight, but neither of them cared. The angle was still slightly off, their teeth clicking together once before they adjusted, but it didn't matter. The laundromat was near empty except for the machines, and the windows were fogged with steam, and in this pocket of the world, they could pretend.
Pretend they were just two people. Pretend life was this simple.
Touka made a small sound against his mouth (frustration or pleasure, he couldn't tell) and Kaneki felt heat flood through him despite their continued awkwardness. His thoughts scattered, chased away by the feeling of her: her hand gripping his shoulder tighter, her body angling closer even as they fumbled to find a rhythm that worked, her lips moving against his with more confidence than before but still uncertain.
They kissed until someone who had wandered nearby cleared their throat.
Kaneki jerked back to find an old woman standing by the vending machine, very deliberately not looking at them. Touka pulled away with a breathless, her face flushed. She looked mortified.
The old woman got her drink and shuffled away. They were alone again, but the moment had shifted into something new, an awareness humming between them.
Touka stood, bursting with antsy energy when Kaneki's washer beeped. "Come on. I'll help you with the dryer," she said in a rushed tone, eager to have something to do, anything but wallow in what just happened.
They transferred his clothes in silence, the air between them charged with something not new but heightened. Every time their shoulders brushed, Kaneki felt it like static. When their hands tangled reaching for the same shirt, they both pulled back too quickly, mumbling apologies.
When the dryer was running, they sat back down, but this time there was careful space between them. Not as much as before, but enough that it felt deliberate. Touka sat with her arms crossed, staring at the spinning dryer like it held the secrets of the universe.
"So," she said finally, her voice tight.
"So," Kaneki echoed.
Silence stretched between them. Kaneki could feel his heart still racing, could still feel the ghost of her lips on his. He snuck a glance at her and found her cheeks were still flushed, her jaw tight like she was fighting with herself about something.
"We should probably talk about..." he started.
"We don't have to," Touka cut in quickly. Too quickly. Then, quieter, "Why, do you want to?"
"I don't know what I want." The honesty surprised him.
Touka finally looked at him, and the intensity in her eyes made his breath catch all over again. "Yeah. Me neither sometimes," she admitted.
The dryer hummed. The overhead lights buzzed. And Kaneki realized with startling clarity that he couldn't go back to pretending nothing had happened. Not when she was looking at him like that. Not when every nerve in his body was still humming with awareness of her.
"Maybe we should. Talk about it, I mean."
"Don't," she said, but her voice was softer now but firm. "Don't overthink it."
When the dryer finished, they folded his clothes together, and the tension was still there. Every time their eyes met, one of them would look away first.
Touka shoved at him a little too hard. "You're doing it wrong."
"I'm folding my shirt."
"Badly." She took the shirt from his hands huffily, but there was something in her voice, something that sounded nervous. Like she was trying to find their normal rhythm and couldn't quite manage it.
Kaneki took the shirt back, their fingers brushing, and he saw her jaw tighten. "Thanks."
"Whatever." She zipped up his laundry bag with more force than necessary, then stood abruptly. "Come on. It's late. I'm going the same direction." She was already walking toward the door, not looking back at him.
Kaneki grabbed his bag and followed, and when they stepped out into the night, Touka didn't reach for his hand. She walked beside him, close enough that their arms occasionally brushed, but the easy intimacy from inside was gone and replaced by something more volatile.
They walked in silence for a block before Touka finally spoke. "You're being weird."
"I'm being weird?" Kaneki shot back. "You won't even look at me."
"I'm looking at you right now."
"You know what I mean."
Touka stopped walking, turning to face him. Her expression was guarded, defensive, but underneath it he could see the same nerves he felt churning in his chest. "What do you want me to say, Kaneki?"
"I don't know." He shifted his bag. "But we can't just...pretend that didn't happen."
"Why not?" But her voice cracked slightly on the words. "It's easier."
"Easier for who?"
Touka looked away, jaw working like she was biting back words. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "For me. Okay? It's easier for me."
Something in Kaneki's chest twisted. He took a step closer, and she didn't back away. "Touka-chan..."
"It was a mistake," she said suddenly, the words sharp and defensive. "Back there. That was. It shouldn't have happened."
Kaneki felt something twist in his chest. "But I... but we..."
"I'm serious." She crossed her arms defensively, not looking at him. "We're both tired and it was late and I wasn't thinking straight. It didn't mean anything."
But her voice was too controlled, too careful. Like she was trying to convince herself as much as him. And Kaneki saw it, he saw the way she stubborn way she held her jaw, the tension in her shoulders, the slight tremor in her hands before she'd hidden them. She was lying. Or at least, trying to.
He could push. Could call her out on it. Could tell her he didn't believe her for a second.
But he also saw the fear underneath the defensiveness. The way she still wouldn't meet his eyes. The way she was already braced for him to argue, to make this harder than it needed to be.
So instead, he just nodded slowly. "Okay."
Touka's eyes snapped to his, something flickering across her face: surprise, maybe relief, maybe disappointment. "Okay?"
"If you say it was a mistake," Kaneki said quietly as he touched his chin, "then it was a mistake."
She stared at him for a long moment, and he could see her trying to figure out if he really meant it or if this was some kind of trap. "Just like that?"
"Just like that." He gave her a small, sad smile. "We should head home."
"Right." Touka's voice was flat. "Yeah, we should."
Kaneki started walking, and after a moment, he heard her footsteps behind him. They walked in silence, the distance between them so careful and measured. Not like before, when the space had been charged with possibility. This felt like retreat. Like walls going up.
But Kaneki knew what he'd felt in that laundromat. Knew the way she'd kissed him, desperate and real. Knew the way her hand had tightened in his shoulder, the small sounds she'd made, the way she'd looked at him after like she'd just done something terrifying and wonderful all at once.
She could call it a mistake all she wanted. Could try to shove it back in a box and pretend it hadn't meant anything.
But he knew better now. Knew she felt something, even if she wasn't ready to admit it. Even if admitting it scared her too much to face right now.
So he'd let her have this. Let her retreat behind her walls and pretend to regret it. Because pushing her would only make her run further, and he'd rather have her like this (guarded and defensive and lying about what she felt) than not have her at all.
"You didn't have to walk me back," Kaneki said after a few blocks, keeping his voice neutral.
"I told you I was going this way anyway," Touka muttered.
"Right."
More silence. The kind that felt heavier than words.
When they reached his building, Kaneki stopped at the entrance. "Thanks. For the food earlier. And for...everything."
Touka nodded stiffly, still not quite looking at him. "Whatever. Just, don't be stupid about laundry next time. That blood's not coming out easy if you don't soak it first."
"I'll remember that."
She turned to leave, then hesitated. For a second, Kaneki thought she might say something else. Might take it back. But instead she just shook her head slightly, more to herself than to him, and walked away.
Kaneki watched her go, his chest tight with things he couldn't say yet.
She'd kissed him. And then she'd called it a mistake because she was scared.
And he'd let her, because sometimes that was what caring about someone meant. Letting them protect themselves, even when it hurt. Even when you knew the truth.
He'd wait.
He could be patient.