Authors Note: Hey everyone! It's been a VERY long wait and I sincerely apologize. During the long pause I've gotten sick and had to have emergency surgery. Finally, I've found the time to type. I'm so glad to be back with you guys! Enjoy and please ignore any typos/mistakes if any!

April 22nd - 19 Years Old

Kaneki is an old creaky staircase when he wakes up.

Someone has scrubbed him clean. His skin is like satin. The raven-haired boy's eyelashes are soft, his hair is smooth, brushed out of its tangles; it gleams in the artificial light, a inky river lapping the pale shore of his skin. His joints ache and are exploding supernovae; his eyes burn from an insatiable exhaustion.

That's when Kaneki finds that his body is naked under a heavy, satin sheet.

He's never felt so pristine.

And he's too tired to be bothered by it.

His sleepy eyes take inventory of the space he's in, but there's not much to consider. He's lying in what seems to be a king-sized bed, everything soft like he were lying on a cloud. There are 4 walls. 1 door. A small table beside him. A glass of water on the table. Expensive decor surrounded him, a crystal and heavily accented chandelier above him. Everything is beautiful.

Like Touka.

That's when his mind is jogged with a flood of memories; Touka, beaten and bruised, him being carried away, pain pain pain pain so intense-

He chokes on the realization and sits up, hand sprawled reaching for the glass of water, but he can't quite reach it.


That's when his mind finally registered the cold feeling of metal around one wrist.

He were handcuffed to the bed.

And that's when the door opens.

Kaneki pulls the sheet up as high as it will go.

"How are you feeling?"

It's him.

Kaneki's heart drops into his stomach, muscles clenching, every hurt and aching bone getting an electrifying shock of fear. This man...he abducted him.

Something possesses the teenage male to steal a glance at his captor.

He was a tall, attractive, young man. He was cloaked from head-to-toe in European attire; a formal suit with contrasting colors and an eccentric geometric pattern sport his frame, while sleek shoes were adorned on his feet. The man's brightly lavender hair was well-kept with a characteristic long fringe neatly swept towards the left.

He looked like a model.

His thoughts were cut short, however, by a paralyzing sense of belligerence and consternation. This monster had hurt Touka.

"Who are you?"

The man grabs a stark-white chair Kaneki hadn't noticed was sitting in the corner. Pushes it forward. Sits down beside the bed. "Do you feel dizzy? Disoriented?"

His voice is smooth and holds an accent; the boy can't tell if it's made up or not.

"Where's Touka?" Kaneki bubbled, blanket dropping, eyes angry and demanding. He's shaking.

The man smiles and it's a drop-dead gorgeous one at that. "My, my, can't we get to introductions first?"

"What did you do to her? Where is she?"

He crosses his legs and stares at Kaneki. His eyes are intense. Kaneki swallows.

"Kaneki Ken, right? Très bien! C'est moi, Tsukiyama Shuu!"

Kaneki blinks.

How does he feel? He doesn't know.

Did he have any dreams? He doesn't think so.

Does he know where he is? No.

Does he think he's safe? No.

Does he remember what happened? Yes.

How old was he? 19.

Kaneki's thoughts were interrupted by the man clapping, a large grin on his face. He stood up.

"Seems like you don't want to talk, eh? That's alright! We have however long it takes...until the meeting."

Kaneki bites his tongue.

What meeting?

Tsukiyama stands up, brushing himself off and fixing his hair before turning to the door.

Kaneki interjects. "My body. My skin. I'm so . . . clean."

The purple-haired man turns, still beaming with his model-like perfection of a countenance.

It's unsettling.

"Oh." Tsukiyama bites his thumb in false thought. "Right. Well, you were covered in blood and filth when you came in, and you had some..wounds, might I say. We didn't want to risk infection or death. We had to do a superficial detox."

Kaneki breathed. At least he wasn't in trouble health-wise.

The man opens the door and turns before closing it all the way behind him, milky-white face seen between the sliver of the doorframe and the door.

"And I wouldn't be able to smell you as well, wouldn't I?"

April 24th - 19 Years Old

Kaneki's new world is etched in gunmetal, sealed in silver, drowning in the scents of stone and steel.

He's been moved from the elegant room to a hellhole.

The air is icy, the ground concrete; the lights and switches flicker, electronic and electric, dull. It's busy here, busy with bodies, busy with halls stuffed full of whispers and shouts, pounding feet and thoughtful footsteps. If he listens closely he can hear the sounds of brains working and foreheads pinching and fingers tap tapping at chins and lips and furrowed brows. Ideas are carried in pockets, thoughts propped up on the tips of every tongue; eyes are narrowed in concentration, in careful planning he should want to know about.

But nothing is working and all of the boy's parts are broken.

Three days have collapsed at the side of the road, abandoned, already forgotten. Three days Kaneki's been here and in three days he's taken up residence on a bed of eggshells, wondering when something is going to break, when he'll be the first to break it, wondering when everything is going to fall apart.

He needs to get out.

He needs to find Touka.