[He knew it was Hide's natural instinct when things got tough. Once upon a time, it had helped—it had worked wonders, enough to provide Kaneki some semblance of normalcy to cling to when everything else seemed so difficult. When he was quiet and forlorn over some difficulty at home, the recent (at the time) passing of his mother or the increasing neglect of his aunt, Hide would pick up on it, pry what information he needed, and then veer directly into subterfuge: carefully-wrought distraction, enough to monopolize Kaneki's thoughts so that everything else faded in all the hours he got away.
It had worked. It had worked well enough, at least, making the hours he could get at school, after school, out at town all seem like they were islands of refuge, lifelines thrown when he felt like he was drifting away. He remembers. He still appreciates it, still thinking that he owes Hide so much—too much—for what he still believes to be saving his life all those years ago.
But it didn't seem to work here. Not when the separation had been something of his own design, his own decision, something he genuinely thought would be for the best. He knew it would've been at odds with Hide, so he hadn't said anything before disappearing. For the best, for the best. It was a mantra to keep the guilt (and the feeling oddly akin to homesickness, one he couldn't define) from biting at him too hard. It only half-helped.
The reason it doesn't feel right is that the level of normalcy and casualness that Hide aims for now is something that no longer feels right to Kaneki. The thought of life as it was, his apartment, going to university, chatting in coffee shops with Hide—it all seemed so far-away, like the memories of another person or perhaps in a different life. That he had showed up, clad in CCG gear, trying to appeal to those age-old memories... it had been too much then, still too much now.
He tries. That he sent a (truthful) reply at all was evidence enough of that. But it still felt odd, wrong, that Hide be so acutely aware of the truth of what he was and be so perfectly fine with it. It wasn't something that normal people were just fine with. The number of tips sent into the CCG daily was evidence enough of that.
They were friends, and they had been friends for so long, but he thinks that only goes to a point. It should, shouldn't it? Would he feel the same if he knew how close he had come to devouring him after defeating Nishiki? Would he feel the same if he knew what Kaneki had done, in the tunnel under the city—
He shoves the memory away just as readily as bile rises in his throat.
He is grateful for the change in subject.]
We've seen so little of them, we can't know for sure. I feel as though there was something in the way that it was handled that seemed practiced, though. I definitely think there are other groups like ours... I'm just not sure how they are handled or managed—if they are at all. They are certainly using a hands-off approach for us.
no subject
It had worked. It had worked well enough, at least, making the hours he could get at school, after school, out at town all seem like they were islands of refuge, lifelines thrown when he felt like he was drifting away. He remembers. He still appreciates it, still thinking that he owes Hide so much—too much—for what he still believes to be saving his life all those years ago.
But it didn't seem to work here. Not when the separation had been something of his own design, his own decision, something he genuinely thought would be for the best. He knew it would've been at odds with Hide, so he hadn't said anything before disappearing. For the best, for the best. It was a mantra to keep the guilt (and the feeling oddly akin to homesickness, one he couldn't define) from biting at him too hard. It only half-helped.
The reason it doesn't feel right is that the level of normalcy and casualness that Hide aims for now is something that no longer feels right to Kaneki. The thought of life as it was, his apartment, going to university, chatting in coffee shops with Hide—it all seemed so far-away, like the memories of another person or perhaps in a different life. That he had showed up, clad in CCG gear, trying to appeal to those age-old memories... it had been too much then, still too much now.
He tries. That he sent a (truthful) reply at all was evidence enough of that. But it still felt odd, wrong, that Hide be so acutely aware of the truth of what he was and be so perfectly fine with it. It wasn't something that normal people were just fine with. The number of tips sent into the CCG daily was evidence enough of that.
They were friends, and they had been friends for so long, but he thinks that only goes to a point. It should, shouldn't it? Would he feel the same if he knew how close he had come to devouring him after defeating Nishiki? Would he feel the same if he knew what Kaneki had done, in the tunnel under the city—
He shoves the memory away just as readily as bile rises in his throat.
He is grateful for the change in subject.]
We've seen so little of them, we can't know for sure.
I feel as though there was something in the way that it was handled that seemed practiced, though. I definitely think there are other groups like ours... I'm just not sure how they are handled or managed—if they are at all.
They are certainly using a hands-off approach for us.