Mourning Doves | Tokyo Ghoul

20 | D e c e p t i o n

Weeks passed after the last interrogation with Watanabe Riku, which always left her physically, mentally, and emotionally drained. As a sort of therapy, she had been consulting to Yoshimura at Anteiku every so often, as well as taking frequent trips to VICE to talk it out with the bartender she had befriended there. If any problems arose, she would immediately run to Anteiku and demand a meeting with Yoshimura, who always took her in gratefully into his office to talk. She couldn't remember the last time she could talk to someone so freely with her problems, with such great advice in return as well; furthermore, it soothed her quite a bit knowing that she didn't have to shoulder all of the weight on her own anymore, and for the first time since Takashi had been taken to Cochlea, she could breathe without any aches or constrictions tightening her lungs.

Weeks turned into months, and she finally began to get the hang of eating human food without wanting to vomit every few bites. It was a huge milestone, especially since she continued taking notes on which tastes appealed most to humans by comparing them to how they tasted on her own alien tongue. Dirty socks and salty, crusty grime equated to something like tempura to humans, and over-seasoned, thick globs of muck were something the Japanese called "curry." Paying careful attention to Ichijou's occasional cooking lessons gained her the skill to become a mediocre cook, and soon she began readying meals for him almost every night when he came back home from work. She took the liberty to go out and purchase some cook books as well, practicing at home with terrible-tasting results, but seeming to be quite delicious to someone with a human tongue. Slowly, her skill as a cook steadily improved, and soon, even Ichijou was praising her for the delicious meals she would concoct just from simple ingredients from the nearby Tsukiji Market.

Grocery shopping became a regular chore, as well as doing laundry, cleaning, dusting, and organizing the apartment. They both took on the traditional gender roles, with Ichijou working and bringing home the rent money while Etsuko stayed back and tended to the apartment, preparing things and keeping things in order as a way to ease her mind; it was a good pastime, since taking care of and looking after Ichijou was something she greatly enjoyed doing. She was glad that something other than a killing instinct resided within her unconscious.

As time went on, her kills as Mad Temptress slowly diminished, going from three murders a month to two, from two to one, and then from once a month to one every two months. Yoshimura himself had suggested the pace, and she trusted his judgment fully; so far, the CCG had not bashed at her for being anymore suspicious than she had been the first few weeks, which was always good on her part. Soon, all of the flurries of her as the prime suspect died down to the point where she was just another name on the list, and that in itself was something to celebrate.

It was winter, over a year since the couple had first met, and the snow outside in Tokyo was subtle and soft, as though puffs of cotton were drifting down from the heavens. She was standing outside on the terrace, sipping a mug of steaming coffee as she stared off into the bustling city, hearing the cars rumble and the trains rattle on their steel tracks in the distance.

It had been a tough year, full of unsuspected turns of events and one-eighty flips and backbends; however, the storm seemed to have settled, with a few whisks of wind every now and then, and she could breathe easier knowing that she didn't have the damn CCG - also known as the incompetent, good for nothing brute Watanabe Riku - breathing down her back anymore.

She sighed, puffing out a cloud of steam from her slightly parted lips as she tipped her mug back again, taking a hearty gulp of her hot coffee as her eyes remained trained upon the scene before her. Tokyo. Even more impressively, Chiyoda - the First Ward out of all places - has grown onto her as her new home.

The feeling of two long arms snaking across her waist, warm to the touch and soft as though they were caressing the fragile body a newborn fawn, abruptly severed her thoughts. She felt warm lips kiss the tip of her chilled ear, making their way down her jawline and across her shoulder.