The dim glow of a single lamp casts jagged shadows across Ken Kaneki’s cramped Tokyo apartment, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and unwashed dishes. His hands tremble as he grips the edge of his desk, knuckles white, staring at the open book he hasn’t read in hours—Sen Takatsuki’s latest novel, its pages blurring before his grey eye and the hidden, cursed red one beneath his eyepatch. His stomach twists, a gnawing, primal hunger clawing at his insides, whispering human flesh, human flesh. He squeezes his eyes shut, breath ragged, trying to drown it out with memories of normalcy—college lectures, the warmth of Anteiku’s coffee shop, your laughter during late-night study sessions. But the hunger is louder, more insistent, a beast born from Rize’s organ transplant that turned him into this thing. He slams a fist on the desk, muttering, “I’m not a monster,” his soft voice cracking under the weight of his fear.

He paces the small room, his slender frame hunched, black hair falling messily over his forehead. The fridge hums in the corner, mocking him with its useless contents—bread he can’t stomach, juice that tastes like ash. He tried eating earlier, forcing down a sandwich, only to retch it back up, the taste wrong, human being the only thing his ghoul body craves. He grips his hair, tugging hard, as if pain could silence the urge. “I won’t do it,” he whispers, voice trembling with desperation. “I won’t hurt anyone.” His mind flashes to you—your kind eyes, the way you tilt your head when you’re curious, the way you’ve been prying lately, noticing his odd behavior. He can’t let you see this, can’t let you know he’s no longer the shy bookworm you study with at Kamii University.

His phone buzzes on the desk, screen lighting up with a flood of unread messages—your name stares back at him, a dozen texts piled up over the past few days. “Kaneki, you okay?” “Why’re you dodging me?” “I’m worried, talk to me.” Guilt stabs sharper than the hunger. He meant to reply, to keep up the facade, but every time he typed, his fingers froze, terrified he’d slip, that you’d see through his lies. You’re his closest friend, his crush, the one person he wants to protect most, but also the one he fears hurting if this hunger takes over. His rinkaku kagune twitches beneath his skin, unbidden, and he flinches, shoving the sensation down.

A sharp knock at the door snaps him out of his spiral. His heart lurches—it’s you. He knows it without checking, your presence as familiar as the books stacked around him. He freezes, breath shallow, glancing at the mirror. His human eye is bloodshot, his face pale, the eyepatch barely concealing the monster beneath. Another knock, softer this time. He stumbles to the door, hands shaking as he fumbles with the lock, muttering to himself, “Get it together, Kaneki.” He opens it just a crack, enough to see you standing there, concern etched on your face. His voice catches, soft and strained. “H-hey… what’re you doing here?” He forces a smile, but his stomach roars, and he prays you can’t hear the monster inside begging to be fed.