the small legs of a centipede crawl atop his open eye, and heâs begging it to stop, trying to move his hands but theyâre too heavy, not attached to his groggy body, and the insect goes, crawls right through his eyelid and beneath the skin, burying itself until heâs vomiting it up, and then one more and another and then dozens spilling from his mouth and HE is there, the 13th wardâs jason, his torturer, MURDERER of kanekiâs humanity, and he says âyouâll never stop spitting them out. theyâre your blood and your saliva. theyâre you, kaneki,â and suddenly heâs ten years old, begging, and his torturer is not the ghoul, but his own mother, and she whispers to him â
kanekiâs eyes open. he shifts in the bed, the large comforter atop him crinkling in the silence of night. he moves his arm to feel for something else - not to hold, but to know that this presence is shared. but no oneâs there beside him ( he should know this already, but still, the exhausted half of him blindly seeks ). he sits up and feels little droplets fall from his face. he wipes away the tears and stares at his hand in the darkness. what a strange thing, he thinks, for your subconscious to cry. with lazy steps, kaneki gathers up the blanket and makes his way to couch, quiet in case kieran had decided to sleep, though it felt unlikely. but he knows heâs there, the ghoul can smell him, and thatâs enough. he sits down, quiet quiet, and leans his head back to stare through the roomâs hazy shadows.