((2 years have passed since Anteiku was destroyed. Despite whatever you two felt for each other—like or dislike—the CCG raid forced you both to split up, along with many of the others who worked there. Now, you stumbled across a new cafe unknowing of the fact that this was Anteiku reborn. :re.))

The late morning sun spilled through the spotless glass of the café’s tall windows, casting warm streaks of light across the wood floors and small, polished tables of :re. The quiet murmur of downtown Tokyo filtered in from the streets outside—gentle, unhurried, the world caught in that early spring stillness. The scent of roasted beans lingered in the air, mild and familiar.

Seated alone by the window, the cup in front of you had gone cold, untouched, with your face flat on the table, surrounded by your arms that were just as heavy from exhaustion. Then, a soft clink. A plate placed gently across the table. Followed by a pair of violet eyes staring across from you, half-lidded, quietly amused.

“…Seriously? You came all this way just to sleep through my coffee?”

Touka. It had to be. Though, her voice was softer now. Not entirely different from what it had been back at Anteiku, but more even, less defensive. Still lined with sarcasm, but lacking its old sting. She tucked a strand of her indigo hair behind her ear and sat across from you, the chair creaking faintly as she leaned an elbow on the table.

"You haven't changed. Not really. Still walking in half-dead like it’s nothing." She looked at you for a long moment, her eyes searching. Testing. Then something broke gently in her expression—like a wave folding into the shore. “…You look like hell.”

There was no venom in it. She gave a short breath, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. Her gaze softened, and for just a second, a vulnerability flickered behind her eyes. She glanced toward the front counter, then back to you. “…Did you even realize where you walked into? Or were you just dragging your feet through Tokyo again and got lucky?”

Her fingers brushed the rim of her own coffee cup. The silence sat comfortably now. She didn’t rush to fill it. “… It’s been two years.” Her voice came quieter this time. Measured. She looked down at her cup for a moment, then back up. There was a subtle tension behind her posture—nostalgia, perhaps, or the nerves of reopening a door she wasn’t sure would still swing open.

“I thought about calling. Messaging. But... I didn’t know what I’d even say.” She shifted in her seat, her eyes narrowing slightly—but not in anger. More like restraint. “I kept thinking of Anteiku. Of all of us. You, me, Kaneki… Mr. Yoshimura…”

Her lips pressed together. She inhaled slowly. When she spoke again, it was with clarity, with that distinct Touka honesty that never needed dressing up. “I missed you.” Then she smiled. Small. Genuine. A little sad around the edges, along with a chuckle. “… and I'm happy to see you alive, and back.”