Archive of Our Own

Deep under pounds of cement and brick sits a young female. It’s dark in her den, there being only one light source from the slip under her door. There’s a single mattress, old and stained with a dark substance. She cradles a worn object in her arms, looking to be a cat before it was mutilated beyond recognition. In front of her, sitting beside the door, is a plate stained by fresh blood. No utensils sit next to it. 

Absent-mindedly, the young woman chews on her lip, staring in a trance at the plate. Despite the recent meal, she was still hungry. In response to that internal note, her stomach rumbles painfully, reminding her that this was her first meal in a while. She was confined to her den for a long time now. So long that she was becoming stir-crazy. Any noise from outside would startle her, prompt her to move and pace around the space she inhabited for hours on end. 

She pauses from her chewing, noting the foul-tasting blood that slipped past her teeth. The, almost, enticing scent of iron forced her to pay attention to the commotion occurring inside the halls. There was too much noise to properly sift through each shout and cry and plead for mercy. 

At first, she assumed a fight was going on. Someone new into the ring by the pleads. But she was proven wrong when the door to her den was yanked open. Her long, unkempt white hair fluttered from the force. She blinks innocently up at the ghoul glaring down at her, a half-mask hanging precariously over their eyes. Sneering, they toss her a piece of flesh. It smacks against the ground wetly, smattering blood onto her already dirty face.

“Your time’s up dog,” spits the ghoul, glancing down the hall while someone dashes behind him, screaming something incomprehensible. “All you’re good for is buying us time.”

With those last words, he spins around and moves to the next door, repeating the same process he did with her. Tentatively, she edges towards her food and places her prized possession behind her, cautious due to the fluctuation of noise around her that echoes too loud in her head. Deeming the piece safe, she digs in, wolfing the bloody mass down with fervor.

Jolting out of her daze, her right eye transitions seamlessly into her kakugan. Her now red iris shines menacingly toward the person interrupting her meal. A dot of drool dripped from the interruption’s mouth; his lips pulled back into a snarl as he glared at the one-eye. Slipping into a standing position, she curls into her food protectively, her kagune edging from underneath her stained and tattered shirt.

With a blink from her eyes, a mass of Rc cells come flying toward her. She tilts her head away from the attack, resulting in the blue-green tentacle slamming into the wall behind her. But the strike does nothing to the concrete, slamming against it uselessly before bouncing back into action. She had spent hours clawing and attacking the wall when she was first brought to her den. Nothing but a few scratches were left behind from her first couple nights.

She hops out of range again, noting the ghoul’s two extra limbs. Lucky enough for her, it was a Rinkaku instead of a Bikaku, giving her the advantage. 

“Stop moving!” He screams, his kagune slamming against her den, kicking up handfuls of dust and cutting her mattress into nothing. Unknowingly, his blue-green limbs pierce her only prized possession, tearing into the stuffing. A button-eye flys past her void face, causing a spike of anger to flare into existence, burning across her unemotional face. 

Growling wordlessly, her kagune streams from under her torn shirt, slicing against the enemy ghoul’s Rinkaku. The limbs are cut in half from the force. In response to her attack, the man shouts angrily. “Give up and die already!”

As quickly as it is cut, new cells flood from the kagune, making the extra limbs appear as if they were new and untouched. Her single tail bristles, scales poking up and rattling before they are shot from the base. She flings the projectiles at the Rinkaku male, dashing toward him after her swarm of Rc cells.

She slams him into the wall of the hallway. Ignoring the anxiety of being out without expressed permission, she continues her assault. Giving the ghoul no time to react to her speed, she pounces and shoves him into the ground. Her food is discarded to her left and her teeth dive for the man’s throat. As her teeth find his throat, his kagune slices into her torso, digging into her gut as she tugs as hard as her jaw could allow.

Her Bikaku slices into the piercing weapon, cutting through the flimsy collection of Rc cells once again. She tears deeper into the flesh around the ghoul’s neck, his cries of agony turning into gurgles. To her satisfaction, her interruption falls limp in her hold, his struggling breaths failing to leave his torn throat any longer.

In disgust, she spits the blood out of her mouth. Her kagune falls still behind her, slinking back into her skin as if it never existed. She pushes herself from the corpse underneath her, kicking at the useless lump of flesh. Bending down, she retrieves her meal, chomping down onto the piece before she turns and walks down the hallway. Every door she passes is open, either filled with some poor soul that is already dead, or an empty mattress. The gaping wound on her stomach closes as she eats, leaving behind a bloody hole in her already ruined shirt.

Once she finishes her meal, she reaches her destination. She blinks her kakugan-and-not eyes at the massacre before her. Corpses litter the ground, painting the ground red with their blood. The arena that she fought inside of for years had never faced this much carnage at a time. At most, there were two groups of two facing each other, not over twenty. 

Following the trail of bodies with her eyes, she ends up focusing on men and women draped in white coats, holding odd weapons. They look suspiciously like kagune, confusing her greatly. Never before had she seen or heard of such a thing. 

“Another ghoul!” Shouts a woman to her left, having her gaze snap in her direction, “Ten o-clock!”

She tilts her head at the obvious-human, staring with child-like curiosity at the weapon held tightly in her grip. It was beautiful in its own way, glowing a purple color and extended similarly to a whip. She decided then that she really likes the color purple. It was the first proper color she’s seen in ages.

Her kakugan-dark green gaze fluters away from the woman when something flies past her head. She jumps out of the way, panic forcing her to move and save her skin. The attack came from an oddly shaped gun, the end smoking from the projectile it shot. These odd weapons intrigued her even more, despite the obvious dangers proven by the ghoul corpses littering the ground. 

“It’s a one-eye!” warns someone inside the crowd of white-coats, spurring a surge of worried whispers.

Instead of charging forward, the crowd parts for a man to walk through. His hair is the same color as hers, stark white and shining underneath the bright light above. A menacing sword is gripped by his right hand, poised and ready to attack. Intimidated by the imposing man, she takes a well-earned step away from him.

A murmur of “Arima” serves the half-ghoul his name. It makes the imposing man seem like a joke despite the serious nature of her predicament. Thoroughly intimidated, her gaze darts around the arena filled with weapon-clad humans. Her only way of escaping would be returning to the hallway behind her. Hallways which she never learned how to navigate properly except to find her way here.

When the man is a few strides in front of her, she has to focus on him. Her feet shift in nerves, noting the way his body relaxes into seamless form. His legs are evenly spaced to provide balance, his right foot standing slightly before his left, telling her how he will strike first. Arima’s first attack is almost unexpected, except for the slight twitch of the muscles in the man’s legs.

In response to his charge, she ducks out of the way, dancing out of his reach. She avoids the reaches of the crowd that edged a circle around their fight, prepared to attack her if she got too close. She slides beneath the man’s legs as he dives to behead her, hooking her foot onto his ankle to attempt to make him lose his footing. She fails when he jumps out of her reach.

He immediately continued his barrage, almost chopping through her right leg when she was getting back to her feet. She stumbled away from him, limping under the force of his weapon’s strike. Blood slips down her leg, barely slowing as it heals sluggishly. The tense silence of the arena is interrupted by her pants, the scuffling of shoes and the slapping of bare feet. 

Easily, she begins heaving for air, barely avoiding attacks meant to de-limb her. The wounds begin to grow, stacking on her starving state, making her fear and desperation grow as time goes on. She doesn’t bother to struggle when he finally lands a fatal blow on her side, dropping to the ground in a heap. His shadow falls over her, blade edging over her throat, as she stares up at him. She recognized her defeat, staring up at him with nothing but acceptance in her kagunan-dark green gaze.

But unexpectedly, he decides not to end her pitiful life then and there. Instead, as she’s heaving for air on the ground, he leans down into her space, staring straight into her eyes with a gaze of stone. 

“Do you want to die?” He asks, his unique smell lining her nostrils. A smell unlike all the humans around him. 

In surprise to his question, she blinks. Her eyes furrow, kakugan fading and returning her right eye to its natural dark green. She never considered that. Yes, she wanted her suffering inside this cage to end. That didn’t mean she entirely wanted her life to end. She was curious about what else the world had to offer. 

Deciding upon her answer, she shakes her head, answering with a hoarse “No.”

Her answer five years ago gave her a list of options. Option one: Be sent to Cochlea, a place she never heard of until then, to slowly die until she wasn’t useful anymore. Option two: Be struck down then and there and die a meaningless death. Option three: Become a tool for The Commission of Counter Ghoul. It’s obvious what she chose, seeing as two of the options pointed toward certain death. She didn’t think it was dissimilar to her time in the arena. She was a tool then, and she’ll continue to serve her purpose until she dulls.

Arima Kishou was, and still is, an enigma. Despite the main purpose of the CCG being the eradication of ghouls, he decided to take one into the ranks of his people. Humans mixing in with a half-ghoul. It was unheard of, especially with the existence of the One-eyed King and Eyepatch. That was, until the Eyepatch disappeared. 

Kindly, after searching for her existence among databases-upon-databases, her identity was found. While she was never supplied her real name, or the identity of her long-dead parents, she was given her birthdate and age. She was fifteen years old when Arima, technically, freed her from her prison. Her birthday, January 5th, was near the day she was taken into CCG custody. Upon finding out her real age, and due to his involvement and skills, she was shoved under Arima’s tutelage. 

Seeing as no one supplied her a name to use, the reaper gifted her the name she uses to this day. “Haruhi” became her name a month after being in Arima’s company. She could only assume it was getting difficult to just motion her over. If she was going to be playing among the “big dogs,” she needed a name to be beckoned from. And while, at first, it felt wrong to adopt a new name when she had a perfectly good one, she forgot, one that someone always fondly called her, she eventually took to using it. 

Since the man was twelve years older than her, it was hard not to see him as some sort of father-figure. While she never knew how one was supposed to be, she ended up assuming how the man acted was how it should be. Stern and cold but holding an undertone of care. Hardly showing affection besides a pat on the shoulder or an exasperated huff or breathy chuckle. An unmoving rock that slowly-but-surely became her support under night-terrors, where he would brew her a cup of coffee as she stared blankly ahead.

Oh yeah, coffee. She never knew such a thing existed. While she could drink water, she never knew of another drink that could satisfy her. Unless it was the blood of some poor soul. She had stared incredulously at Arima when he offered her the cup, puffing her cheeks at the amusement swirling in his gaze. But, when she hesitantly took a sip, her whole world had changed and coffee became a constant in her life, just as Arima’s presence was. 

Her first two years under Arima were simple, and a great change from her dingy den. She was refreshed on certain topics, like reading and writing. While she knew how to do those, anything other than that became confusing. So, she was schooled, the essentials taught to her. After she got the hang of how to properly learn new things, she began absorbing these topics like a sponge. Arima even taught her how to brew her own cup of coffee. 

What surprised her the most about Arima was his lack of care when she was eating. The first time he walked into her room when she was eating, she hurried to cover the bloody mess. Instead of staring in disgust, the man nodded his head to her, muttering a “sorry for the interruption,” before he left. He even encouraged that she be edged off the Rc suppressant supplements she had to have every day. Even when he was advised that she could “go crazy” or “try to eat him.” Even when she had to eat more to maintain a healthy Rc count.

Edging into the last half of her second year, her other lessons began. Arima drilled her, alongside Ui Koori, a member of his squad. They taught her how to fight properly, not based upon instinct. She was already a menace in the arena when she taught herself how to efficiently attack, but their drillings helped her sharpen certain attacks. When they first saw her kagune in action, they were intrigued at the way her Bikaku held qualities of an Ukaku, seeing as she could shoot projectiles from the pink-red tail. 

The next two years were spent integrating her further into the inner workings of the CCG. She was closely guarded and watched for the first couple months tagging along missions. Usually, Haruhi was with Arima, watching how everything worked. Among the world outside, she became known as the Reaper’s shadow. And, under her extraordinary work, she was finally able to travel around without a sitter. This didn’t stop her from trailing after Arima. Seeing as he was one of the only ones to accept her for her species and eating habits. 

Her first earned Quinque came from a disgusting excuse of a ghoul that fed on little girls. She ended up naming it Sasageru (捧げる) instead of the Ghoul’s codename, to aim to get rid of ghouls such as this one. It is a thin, black sword with purple accents. She can make it extend into a whip if the situation calls for it. And, while she hated the ghoul, she gained it from, the Quinque became one of her prized possessions. A trophy of sorts, just like the doll she adored that was destroyed and never retrieved.

It was easy to gain strength and experience as a half-ghoul. If she wasn’t half-ghoul, she would’ve climbed faster in the ranks of CCG. Though, she would never complain about being a First-Class Investigator. It gave her more sway and a better reputation among the members of the CCG. Although some were still wary of her ghoul nature, especially new recruits, most were civil and accepted her as their colleague. Nearing a quarter of her fourth year, she was offered the chance to find her own home. The idea scared her beyond belief, so she declined after making sure Arima wouldn’t mind, continuing to stay under his care despite the growing, useless, money in her savings account.

Then, something changed. 

Haruhi had just finished a long, tiring day. Most of her day was packed with filling out paperwork she had procrastinated on, as well as helping with their next move against Aogiri Tree. She was drained and dead on her feet, one hand balancing a stack of papers while she held a full cup of coffee in the other, an attaché case hanging from that arm. The half-ghoul investigator juggled her items as she fished out her keys, ignoring the looks her neighbors gave her. After struggling her way through unlocking her door, she clicks her keys to her belt, pulling the door closed behind her with a tug of her foot.

Hopping precariously to catch her balance, she slips her shoes off at the front of the apartment and discards her papers onto the island in the kitchen. Her coffee is gently placed beside it, not wanting to risk any spills that could ruin her hard work. She tugs her Quinque case from her arm, breathing in an exasperated breath as she moves to place the case next to her coffee. Haruhi’s body tenses at an unfamiliar scent, stinking of female ghoul. 

The stench prompts her to quietly open her attaché case, her blade seamlessly falling into place as her right eye shifts into her kakugan. Stalking around the kitchen, she edges down the hallway, eyes heavy with concentration. Someone was in her territory, threatening someone she sees as a parental figure, putting her whole life in jeopardy. She slinks across the wood floor with socked feet, carefully distributing her weight so as to not make a sound.

Arima’s shoes were innocently sitting next to hers, alongside another pair. He had guests over and someone was impeding on their home. It angered the young woman as she heard voices filter into her ears. She stutters to a stop when her gaze peaks through their guest room, landing on a man with white hair as stark as hers and Arima’s. She blinks, staring at the way the man sits comfortably on the mattress, conversating calmly with Arima, arms waving animatedly. 

“-ever knew!” He cheers, foot tapping against the rug situated beneath the bed. He would’ve continued if Arima hadn’t turned to her, revealing her glaring, poised to fight form.

Instead of backing away from Kishou like she wanted, the white-haired man smiled brightly, never faltering even at the sight of her weapon. Blinking, confused, she turns to look at the older of them. Her head inclines toward the stranger ghoul, who smelled like a woman, not a man. The eldest’s gray, aged eyes flutter as he shakes his head, telling her that this was a conversation for later.

Without a word, she glances at the stranger ghoul before turning around to return her Quinque to its case. She ignored the stuttered “wait” shouted by the other ghoul, too tired to deal with someone so energetic. Haruhi decided that she needed more coffee.

After a much-needed explanation from Arima the next day, she was officially introduced to sunshine’s incarnate. To think that this happy-go-lucky half-ghoul was the famed “Eyepatch” was unbelievable. But, when she reminds herself that that man is no more, buried under hazy memories, she can understand. The slightly older man was definitely charming and sweet, smiling down at her when she walked into the living room.

Haruhi felt uncomfortable at the fact that she had to share her space with someone she hardly knew, someone who could be dangerous to her and Kishou. It forced her usually relaxed face into one of cold calculation as she stared at the husk of Kaneki Ken. He seemed nervous under her harsh stare, gray eyes roaming to anything but her. 

“U-uh,” starts the other half-ghoul, “I’m Sasaki Haise.” Gulping, the man turns to meet her gaze, his unkempt white hair fluttering into his eyes, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The smile that accompanies his greeting is heartwarming, but terrifying at the same time. Living most of her life on the streets, then inside the ring, she will always be cautious of unknowns. And Kaneki “Sasaki Haise” Ken is one of those unknowns. The dangerous monster that was “Eyepatch” is hidden deep within Sasaki, ready to pounce at the first moment of weakness. She could feel it deep within her bones, even if this half-ghoul has amnesia. It won’t last long. And Arima must know this as well.

“Haruhi,” she states simply, voice barely above a whisper as she nods to accentuate her rather dull greeting.

Sasaki seemed put-off by her introduction, glancing to Arima for assistance. That single action angers her and she wants to tear this wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing apart. He was acting as if Kishou was his lifeline. Haruhi did not like this one bit. 

Not only did Sasaki impede on her and Kishou’s home, but he was awful when they both had to eat. He was hesitant, almost disgusted at the fact that he had to eat human flesh to survive. At least the mandated Rc suppressants he had made sure he didn’t have to eat as much. It meant less awkward interactions between them. He acted as if she was a monster for enjoying the artificially made human flesh. It’s not like someone died for her to eat, and even if they did, she didn’t see a problem with it. People die, whether humans like to acknowledge that or not. It’s a part of nature.

It appeared like Sasaki was getting taught by Arima before he was brought into their home. Almost a week after he arrived, he was joining Arima’s squad, meaning her, in missions. They were far from difficult, something to ease the weak-willed one-eye into work. Holding a Quinque for the first time made him sick, as if the rank smell of the dead ghoul’s weaponized-kakuhou in his hands was too much. 

Not only was he horribly weak-willed, but he was also terrible at dispatching any ghoul. He had a goal of always offering them mercy, the chance to go to Cochlea and “live out the rest of their life.” The guilt of killing what he deemed as an “innocent” ghoul dragged him down and made him hesitate. Hesitating so much that it almost cost the team gravely. She’s lost a limb once or twice due to his idiocy. 

Haruhi lost her gut-wrenching guilt early in her new life as a ghoul investigator. She had to, to survive. Yes, she still felt guilty at taking away a life. If she didn’t, she would be a monster. But she also reasoned that whatever ghouls she came across should’ve hidden better. They should’ve been more cautious or seeked help from other ghouls if it was too hard to provide for their family. The shouted pleads of “I have a family” or “my child needs food” has lost its way with her. That doesn’t stop her from letting some ghouls slip through the cracks, especially when she’s alone. This doesn’t make her less angry at the husk of Kaneki Ken. 

He was making a fool out of half-ghouls. And, when he lost control for the first time, he severely injured one of her favorite investigators, Itai Fujino. The lavender-haired man couldn’t walk for months, let alone function properly. For those months of healing, Haruhi was openly hostile with Sasaki, even forcing him from Fuji’s hospital room when he tried to visit. Kishou, after two months of hostility, finally scolded her about her behavior, encouraging her to sympathize with the only other half-ghoul she’s met. While he was a half-ghoul like her, he was artificial, not a true ghoul, a faux ghoul. And, although she wanted to ignore Kishou’s request, she settled her openly hostile behavior, going back to ignoring him unless he called for her. 

The blue glare of the television flickered across her face as she stared at it blankly. Haruhi’s vision could hardly register what was happening on the screen. All she could focus on was flashing colors, trying to soothe her raging mind. Her hands are curled into fists in her lap, pulled as close to her body as she can possibly allow. Her wrists sting with phantom pains, remembering the way shackles felt against them when she barely understood the concept of death. 

When she was nine years old, all she knew was that death brought her food. She couldn’t comprehend the fact that she was taking away someone’s life, or the fact that they may belong in someone else’s life. Her kagune had barely formed enough for her to hunt on her own. She had been relying on another boy four years older than her alongside his older sister. Their names have long faded from her memory. All she could clearly remember was the boy shouting her name, warning her to run as she was snatched from her alley and taken away from everything she knew.

Haruhi’s life before the CCG was rough, to put it simply. From the streets to a fighting ring, anyone’s life would be difficult, struggling to survive to the next day. Maybe that’s why the change in her “picture-perfect” life caused her to react so negatively. She was satisfied with where she was. Even when her thoughts were still plagued with the past, she could easily push past that with Kishou’s comforting presence, and a cup of coffee nestled in her hands. But she doesn't have those currently. 

There’s movement beyond her vision to the left, but she couldn’t be bothered to react to the noise. It was as muddled as the shining box of colors in front of her. She could briefly recall her first reaction to a television. She had thought the news woman was stuck inside the TV. That was likely the first time Kishou had laughed in her presence. Her misplaced panic had sent him into a fit of low chuckles, having her stare incredulously between the television and him, before pouting at the reaction. Not one of her brightest moments, but it was the only logical thing she could think of to settle her confusion.

She startles when a white cup is set on the table in front of her, the low droning noise of the television reaching her with a new clarity, filtering clearly into her ears. Blinking at the cup in confusion, she turns to the person who set it down, finding her gaze on Sasaki as he smiles softly down at her seated form. She tilts her head at him in a wordless question, making his gray eyes flicker with some emotion she couldn’t properly place.

“It’s coffee,” he said simply, gesturing to the cup with his left hand. His right was occupied by a pale blue mug, steam slinking above it. “Arima said it could help when I called him.”

He called Kishou? Her confusion flickers onto her face, turning back to the white cup on the coffee table. “Why?” She asks him with genuine curiosity. There could be many questions to that one word. Why did you call Kishou? Why didn’t you ignore me? Why help me when I’ve been an asshole to you? Why help me when it’s obvious I dislike you?

The white-haired man, is it really white with black edging back into his roots, takes a few moments to answer. “Just because we aren’t civil, doesn’t mean I can’t help out, Arima is your father, so I thought he’d have the answers.”

What? Haruhi blinks sporadically, eyebrows raised as the tilt of her head furthers to the right. “Father?”

Sasaki balks, free hand raising to his face, hiding behind the appendage. “O-oh- is he- not?” He scratches the back of his head with his free hand, sipping some of his coffee. Without wiping off the excess liquid from his upper lip, he continues, “I thought- well- you both appeared that way.”

To save the half-ghoul from his stuttered responses, she releases an amused huff of air. Her eyes shine, unlike the thousand-yard-stare she provided the TV, with mirth as she stares up at the man. “I guess it would appear that way to someone on the outside,” if they were blind to her nature and Kishou’s occupation, “but no,” unfortunately.

Setting down his mug on the coffee table, he turns to Haruhi and bows. Startled, the half-ghoul scooches away from him, blinking at his odd behavior. “I am so sorry!” he cries, popping back into his standing position once he grabbed his mug, “I didn-”

She holds her hand up to stop him, shaking her head as she finally grabs the cup, he offered her. The white porcelain burns her skin with the heat of the liquid inside. But she pays no mind to the stinging sensation. Taking a sip, she lets the dark drink slip past her lips. Her arms gently bring the heavenly liquid to her lap. Sasaki truly knew how to make a good cup of coffee. 

“You’re fine,” she amends, shaking her head again, “thank you.” For the coffee, for the amendment joke.

The blinding smile she earns in return is well worth the months of butting heads. Maybe, just maybe, she and Sasaki can get along. For as long as Sasaki remains, that is. But maybe Kaneki wouldn’t be too bad to get to know too, as much as a mess he caused for the CCG as “Eyepatch,” everyone has their reasons.

She claps, staring with barely concealed pride at Haise as he stood with his head held high. Haruhi knew full well that this new rank would come with new responsibilities. The whispers of a new project that can’t get past her refined hearing, nor can the new scents that sometimes frequent the main office. Beside her, Kishou kept a strong front, but she could see the satisfaction in his deteriorating gaze. Smiling softly, the woman blinks in surprise when the man notices her stare. Unexpectedly, he brings his hand up to her hair, rubbing twice, and making a mess of her carefully groomed head of strands, before letting his hands fall back to his side.

“Congratulations,” he murmurs, a smidge of pride welling in his quiet tone. 

Thoroughly embarrassed, she quickly settles her hair into a manageable state, brushing it down with scarred, calloused hands. The huff of air from Kishou has her face warm, her cheeks puffing out briefly before she turns her focus back to Haise. The half-ghoul is staring at her with amusement, teasing her with a raise of his brow before he returns his attention to the rest of the ceremony. 

Boring, droning on, finally over with, Haise trots over to Kishou and Haruhi. His excitement is infectious as he stares between the pair before his eyes finally land on her, “Congrats Associate Special Class Arima Haruhi.”

Her face warms once again, the jab at her new rank and name causing her to tut. “And congrats Mr. Rank 1.”

Kishou follows her congratulations with his own, patting the half-ghoul on the shoulder. With the menacing clack of heels, the woman herself appears behind Haise, Mado Akira. When Kishou safely removes his hand from the half-ghoul’s shoulder, she slams her deceitfully dainty hand in the place Arima’s just laid. The black-white haired man startles, face showing otherworldly panic, like the fear of Kami struck him.

“Don’t think this means you can slack off,” she warns, pushing herself into Haise’s personal bubble, if there ever was one. 

“Y-yes Akira!”

Covering her mouth to hide her obvious chuckles, she startles when the woman’s sharp gaze lands on her. “That doesn’t mean you’re out of this either Ruu.”

No one could logically not be afraid of Mado Akira. She had this aura about her that could pull any man to their knees. Hell, even Kami must be afraid of her in some manner. That wouldn’t be a surprise to Haruhi. 

Instead of answering verbally, her throat having constricted, she vigorously nods her head. Thankfully, it seemed like her wordless response satisfied the devil of a woman. 

She gave a short bow to the class, keeping a calm facade while she was screaming internally. Why did she have to be the one to come? Yes, she knew Haise came last time and couldn't for a second, but she had things to do! No, she didn’t. She had to help Fuji with a new case! Fujino was off work with his family. 

Truthfully, Haruhi is, and forever will be, terrified of people staring at her. In large clusters no less. It reminded her of the arena, surrounded by eyes that she was meant to please to get more food. To make it as entertaining as possible to win the best prize, while also trying not to die in the process. The faster a battle, the less of a meal. That’s the way it worked in the arena. 

The light clapping of the class was ended by a short, shrill bell that forced her to suppress a wince. Blinking, she watches as the students stream out of the classroom. All those interested in making a living out of the CCG. She could already tell who wouldn’t last a second in her new world. They’d die within seconds of a ghoul crossing their path. 

Sighing, she turns to follow the stream of students. She wanted to catch some sleep before her shift the next morning. Haruhi is a couple meters from the door when a voice calls out to her. “W-wait.”

Turning around, she meets the eyes of an orange-haired male. He gives her a placating smile with jagged teeth, stopping just in front of her. A hurried, apologetic half-bow is given to her. “I heard there was a way to make more money in the CCG, but I had to talk to an investigator to recommend me.”

His almost-shouting tone had her ease away from him, nodding absentmindedly. “Yes,” she addresses, thinking rather ill of the new program the CCG were deciding to implement, “is there a reason you’re coming to me and not a recruiter?”

His jagged grin falters somewhat, “w-well, you’re one of the half-ghouls, right?”

The fact that he didn’t seem to register the audacity of his statement, or the fact that he didn’t seem to mind her status, has her intrigued. Seeing as he’s piqued her interest, she could see where he wants to go with this. Humming to confirm his statement, she motions for him to go on with her right hand. She sets her attaché case on the floor beside her. 

He seems to brighten at the allowance to continue. “Well! I’m Shirazu! Shirazu Ginshi!” His boisterous energy reminded her slightly of Haise, but this one was more of a golden retriever incarnate, “and I really need to get enough money to help my sister!”

That hit a soft spot for the woman, especially when she couldn’t hear any lie in his voice, or his heart. He would’ve continued if she hadn’t raised her hand to stop him. “You know the risk?”

When he nods, she continues to cut-off any further noise, “then go to the nearest branch and show your interest,” he seemed saddened at the requirement, “tell them Arima Haruhi sent you.”

And… there’s his smile again, “that’s all I can do for you, the rest is up to them, I don’t control that.”

He looks ready to hug her, instead of doing so, he bows deeply in a show of his gratitude. She could smell the salt in the air, signifying he was ready to start crying. To save his dignity, she grabs her Quinque case and turns around to the door. “If that is all…” she murmurs, moving through the door of the classroom.

A watery scream of “thank you” is her goodbye as she exits the school gates. And, while she absolutely despises the idea of the new program, she hoped it was successful for Shirazu’s sake. Well, his sister’s sake.

Beside her, Haise appeared excited at the prospect of the new experiments recruits. The fact that Haise himself was the base may have made the half-ghoul happy, that he could be useful in another way. To her, she just felt sick at the thought of artificial ghouls as weapons for the CCG. Yes, she herself was a weapon. But, it was a second chance at life, not a blatant experiment to mold humans into man-eating creatures.

She stares at the files they were provided, detailing each of the new members of the “Quinx” squad. Haise wasn’t even looking at them, smiling up at Kishou who sat across them. It irked her slightly, making her nudge the other man with her shoe to get him back on track. One head of light-orange hair caught her eye, making something inside her settle and calm. Seems she helped him out in some way. That didn’t mean she liked this project any more than she did.

“Shirazu Ginshi”: nineteen-years-old, born March 8th, male, 176cm, 55kg, blood type: A, Rc type: Ukaku. Unkempt light-orange hair and jagged teeth. His sister, “Shirazu Haru” is hospitalized due to “Rc cell over-secretion disease.”

Her eye flickers over to another profile. “Mutsuki Tooru”: nineteen-years-old, born December 14, sex: female, gender: male, 165cm, 48kg, blood type: AB, Rc type: Bikaku. Dark, ivy-colored hair and bronze-skin, looking on the slim side. That could be worked on.

Haise throws a new file in front of her, motioning to read it as he collects the one, she was just skimming through. “Urie Kuki”: nineteen-years-old, born February 12th, male, 173.5cm, 60kg, blood type: O, Rc type: Koukaku. Dark purple hair with two distinct moles underneath his left eye. Father: Urie Mikito, deceased.

The last member of the Qs squad was pulled to her, feeling a flicker of worry for the face she sees. “Yonebayashi Saiko”: nineteen-years-old, born September 4th, female, 143cm, -0kg (she did not laugh at that, no she did not. How did the ink even block that out?), blood type: B, Rc type: Rinkaku. Light, pale-blue colored hair, heavyset, short, with a mess of hair. Just as Mutsuki would be a whole load of work, Yonebayashi appears in the same boat. But no-one is truly a lost cause unless they don’t try at all.

She hands the last profile to Haise, folding her hands in front of her. When the half-ghoul to her right stops flipping through the file, the meeting officially begins. 

“So,” prompts Haruhi with a dull tone, “you want Haise and I to… mentor them?”

Kishou nods, almost grimly, and motions to Akira beside him. “With Akira and I as the backing support.” Haruhi knew the hidden message there, to avoid questioning putting new recruits into two ghoul’s care.

“Why me?” she asks simply. 

To Haruhi, there’s a simple code she runs by. She will never run her own squad. She will never put the lives of humans on her shoulders. It’s not her duty to make sure they all make it out in the end, it’s her duty to dispatch the ghouls to ensure no more lives are taken. And running solo allows her to judge on her own time whether or not a certain ghoul truly deserves the death she’s dealing them. Or she “accidentally” lets them go. While she was, and always will be until his nearing death, Arima’s shadow. She’s also Arima’s mercy. 

Knowing why she asks such a question, the man sighs deeply. “They need help adjusting,” and how can she help that way, “and help using their kagune.”

She doesn’t really see how she can help with either of those categories. Her kagune activated early because she had to survive, not because she wanted to learn how to use it on her own time. “And Haise needs a guiding hand.”

Said half-ghoul’s sputtering has her muffle a laugh. Her mirth turns serious, “And I can still work on my own time? My whole time isn’t with the Qs?”

The nod she receives is all she needs to be okay with this. Sticking to a certain squad for too long is constricting and feels like a leash. She didn’t like that feeling. So, this was a better resolution than she expected. Even when she had to act as a mentor to new, inexperienced investigators.

The first change to her life due to the Quinx squad was a new living space. While she was hesitant to separate herself from her anchor, Arima Kishou, she knew it was necessary to grow. Haruhi couldn’t stand in his shadow any longer. No matter the comfort his presence gave her, she wouldn’t be alone. Never would her past self believe that she was relieved due to the presence of Sasaki Haise. She would’ve glared, scoffed, and walked away instead of listening to such a “preposterous idea.”

Their relationship, while iffy, was forming into something sibling-like. At first, she was hesitant, then she wasn’t. Haruhi never knew their relationship would blossom into something other than reluctant roommates on her part. 

“H-Haruhi-sama,” calls Haise, forcing her to look up from her paperwork, “I- was wondering if you wanted to come with me to get coffee?”

She stared at the half-ghoul for a few moments, earning an almost immediate back-track. “I- I mean! You don’t have to! I thou-”

“Haruhi.” She murmurs, glancing back down at her papers to sort through them. She doesn’t miss Sasaki’s quiet “huh?”

Sighing deeply, and regretting her next decision already, she adds a clip to the right corner of her papers. “Call me Haruhi, Sasaki.” Setting the stack aside, she brings her hands together atop the desk, staring up at the older man. “And I wouldn’t mind a break.” 

The second change to her life is more training with Kishou. At first, she thought nothing of the new drills. Then, she realized what the man was truly doing. And that broke her sewed heart to pieces, throwing the remaining bits into the wind to flutter off, never to be seen again.

Gasping for air, she clutches her stomach. Blood drips into her left eye, obscuring her vision as she stares up at Kishou. Her knee is planted firmly on the matt, spattering of her bodily fluid staining the pale-blue material. Edging into anger, but casting it away to keep together, she continues staring at her father wordlessly.

“Get up.” he ordered calmly, having her shakily slip to her feet. Her stance was off, horribly wrong and unbalanced, showing her exhaustion. Ihei suggested her weak stamina was due to her part-Ukaku Rc cells. Her body wasn’t meant for long-time fighting, more suited for quick, efficient strikes.

She brings her arms up to block her face, arms shaking from the abuse they’ve been through during this session. They’re spotted with an array of blues, purples, and greens, showing the beating she’s been receiving. Haruhi’s stomach yearned for something to fill it, nearly urging her to pounce on her father and take a bite.

Shaking her head to get that thought out, she tensed her aching muscles in preparation for Kishou’s attack. “Go.”

Immediately, a barrage of attacks meets her, unable to go against Kishou in her state of exhaustion. She may have had a chance if it was still the beginning of their training, but she was dead on her feet and starving, anger thrumming deep in her veins. She grits her teeth, coughing at a particularly harsh kick to her stomach. Due to the, rather painful, distraction, her feet are swept from under her. When Haruhi’s head slams against the mat, she doesn’t bother attempting to get up.

She knows Kishou is disappointed in her when he doesn’t say anything. And, that knowledge hurts her beyond belief. “I’m sorry,” she whispers between stuttering breaths, her lungs pushing her chest up-and-down rapidly. 

“We don’t have long left,” starts the man, having her close her eyes under his soothing voice. “You need to be able to fight me without your kakugan or kagune.”

“Why?” Why does it have to be her?

His response is unexpected. “You need to be able to protect yourself when I’m gone.” And they both knew his time was nearing. Two years, maybe five? But how many of those would he be able to fight? Haruhi knows he wouldn’t want to die stuck in a bed. 

“If Kaneki- Haise… decides you’ve reached your use, you need to be able to survive him.”

Again, such as Haise’s arrival, her life would be changing drastically. She would have to manage her time between training with Kishou, mentoring the Quinx Squad, performing tasks and dispatching ghouls, and finding time to wander alone. Fitting in paperwork would be almost impossible. So, she’ll have to spend some nights not sleeping to get some things done. She’s run on no sleep before, she could do it again.

The last change in her life would have to be her. Of course, it would have to be her. Arima Haruhi, Associate Special Class half-ghoul that somehow survived life inside a den of wolves, was not truly Haruhi. That wasn’t her in the beginning, but it will be her in the end. And no matter how much her mind reminds her, she’ll never be that street rat again, so blind to the world around her except finding meals and scavenging and laughing and playing with that boy who she saw as a brother.

The dream was sudden, unexpected, and unneeded. Just as every time she finally relaxes, they return full force. It takes mere moments to realize she wasn’t in the ring, but the streets. There’s a deep fog flowing through the alley she inhabited for years. Impossible and thick, too unnatural to be real. 

Haruhi instinctually spun around when feet pattered loudly against concrete. Small, tiny feet that could only belong to a child. Her dark green gaze landed on a nine-year-old, tiny and malnourished. Her messy brown hair was in knots and clumps on her head, impossibly dirty and untamable. The child stares up at her with wonder-filled curiosity. She could only return the stare dully, staring down the child while exuding an air of indifference.

“You know who you are,” whispers the small child tauntingly with bright, unnervingly intelligent eyes that don’t belong to someone under double digits. “Why not reclaim yourself Ha.ru.hi?”

She blinks, bewildered at the carbon copy of her childhood self. A copy that shouldn’t act as it is. All Haruhi could truly do is stare as the wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing tilts its head before slowly stalking forward. It’s surprisingly intimidating as her surroundings darken and the mist thickens to make it almost impossible to see her nine-year-old self.

The child pushes through the fog seamlessly, eyes unbothered as she continues to stare at her with unnerving eyes of dark green that are edging to a brighter, more toxic color. “C’mon,” eggs the child, grinning lazily, “He’s waiting for you, isn’t he? He promised, didn’t he?”

Her dark green eyes burn into a raging inferno as she glares at the demon child, the desperate screams of her childhood companion echoing deep inside her brain, bouncing off the grimy walls covered in fog and shadows. Haruhi clearly remembered. That boy had foolishly promised to find her, foolishly promised to see her again as she was dragged away as he was pulled away from the recruiters grasp from his sister. It was a childhood promise that could never be fulfilled. She knew that. Instead, she was saved by ghoul investigators even if they didn’t plan to do such a thing in the first place. 

“I have nothing to return to.” Haruhi finally answers. The boy with light brown, almost auburn, hair, was likely gone by now or focusing on surviving with his sister. “But” she pauses with a deep breath, “I have something here.”

The demon-child smiles airily, tilting their head to the left instead of the right, “and how do you plan to keep that Ha.ru.hi?”

“What will you do when that disappears too?”

It giggles, smiling wide, as if it’s baring its teeth at her. The copy of her childhood self looks like it wanted to bounce around and dance just as she and the brunette boy did when she had the energy. Of course, she knew it was right. Her happy little family wouldn’t be there forever. Haise will remember. Kishou will die. And, whenever Kaneki finally arrives, she may have to leave to avoid possible backlash of him defecting. Fuji wouldn’t want her, a half-ghoul, no matter how accepting he is of her. No matter how he introduced her to his child with no fear while his wife watched her like a bear protecting its cub. 

“Survive.”

Her answer has the demon-child’s smile fall off its face. It fades along with the sick, twisted energy that flowed through the air, threatening to choke her in her panic. Then, it laughs again. Too loud, and too deranged as it cackles. It reminded her of a hyena’s yapping. 

“Of course,” it whispered as if expecting her answer. 

“You’re as stubborn as usual Miyu.”

She awoke screaming. Mi- Haruhi inadvertently flung herself onto the floor, tangling herself in heavy covers as she thrashed, trying to escape the eyes that haunted her. Eyes that reminded her of the ring, that watched her every move, that calculated her every step, that watched and watched and watched. She was alone, crying out and trying to untangle herself. Then she wasn’t.

Someone slams her door open, dashing into her new, unfamiliar, too foreign, room. With no effort, they tear her blankets and covers off her, discarding them off to a far corner. Haruhi doesn’t bother finding out who the person was that helped her before she launches herself at them. Her arms wrap around their shoulders in a crushing hold, clinging to them like a lifeline. Their body language screamed comfort, they were a safe place, somewhere to escape, just as Kishou is. 

A hand gently pushes through her hair, the other wrapping around to her back to rub soothing circles deep into her skin. They whisper at her, the rumbling of their voice grounding as she feels the vibrations against her skin. Her cries have died down, leaving behind short, gasping breaths and trembling murmurs of nothing distinguishable as she attempted to reassure herself as the comforting presence was. 

Finally, after what felt like hours, she could hear the voice helping her. 

“It’s okay Ruru,” hums Haise as he pulls her closer to his chest. She allows him to do so, burrowing into his neck as she realizes the dampness of her cheeks. 

With a deep, shuddering breath, she shuts her eyes tight. Haise continues to rub her back soothingly, continuing to keep her grounded to reality. It’s wholly welcomed as she leans against the black-white haired man. The half-ghoul doesn’t even seem bothered by her state as she curls into him. She knew he was used to this. Used to her waking up in panic, either screaming or walking dead on her feet to the living room in their apartment with Kishou. But they weren’t at Kishou’s apartment anymore. They were in the Chateau in the first ward. 

“I’m not ready,” she croaks, tightening her grip on Haise’s shirt. 

She knew the man would have a painful expression on his face that screamed his sadness to the world, that screamed his anguish and grief. His face would be scrunched in that way as he struggled to hold back tears because that’s the person Sasaki Haise is. Too empathetic for his own good that it’s going to get himself, or someone else, killed. It almost happened already. Haruhi used to hate that face. She used to think it was him pitying her or the ghouls he had to kill. She thought he was weak for showing such a face. But, in times like these, the same, almost scheduled, expression was grounding. It told her that not everything was changing. Only a select few pieces in their life. 

“I know,” he whispers again, leaning into the crook of her neck to bring himself comfort as well. “I’m not either.”

At least she knew she wasn’t alone. 

“Then,” she hiccuped, embarrassed at the weakness she was displaying, “we can help each other.”

“Right?”

The half-ghoul chuckles wetly, hugging her tighter, “Yes.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

The white-haired half-ghoul stares with impossibly sad eyes at the black-haired man. The artificial half-ghoul’s face was dark, cheek spattered with blood and arm still healing. She knew, then and there, that this wasn’t someone she knew anymore. This wasn’t Sasaki Haise. But that didn’t scare her. It didn’t have her reeling, or have her screaming at the new, changed man for taking away her small piece of sunshine.

His dull eyes stare at her with no room for argument, she doesn’t bother to glare, or ignore him. Instead, she meets his eyes, pushing mournful happiness into her dark green gaze. A pitiful smile lifts her cheeks, pulling the healing wound on her face taut.

“Always, right?” She asks, heart pounding alongside adrenaline as she tries to force herself to calm down. 

The artificial half-ghoul seems surprised at her question, removing the cold expression from his usually emotive face. It’s something much more appreciative, the shock instead of the dull, blank doll-face that reminded her too much of herself. Haruhi counts it as a small victory when the man scoffs, almost fondly, as he shakes his head. It turns into a quiet chuckle as he walks forward. A smile tugs at his lips, falling short just as he passes her. 

“I suppose.” He relents, pausing in his stride as she turns to face him. “Huh, Ruru?”

The teasing lilt of his voice has an annoyed pout pull at her lips. She fully turns for her body to face his back. “Miyu.”

“Hm?” He turns to face her with confusion tugging at his expression.

She smirks, waving her prized Quinque in her grip. “Only around ourselves, obviously,” she sighs out, as if it were obvious, “I don’t allow just anyone to call me by my birth name Kii-chan.”

Almost annoyed, the black-haired man scoffs. “Fine Yuu-chan.”

The pair continue forward, walking side by side. Enemies at their beginning, and siblings at their end. Unlikely souls that found themselves together.