SEVEN (Final)

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((A/N: Here it is. The seventh and final chapter. Enjoy, I guess.))

With a black-nailed hand, Kaneki pushed my hair from my eyes. “Are you sure you want this?” He asked, concern etched solemnly onto his delicate features. He looked like a porcelain doll, pale and fragile. I pulled him atop my body, staring into the dangerously deep storms in his eyes.

“Yes.”

I needn't tell him again. Reality faded in a whirlwind of kisses. We shared touches in regions previously unexplored. Sparks flew as tongues danced and pressure was applied to all the soft spots that managed to drive me insane. He moved his pleasurable assault of my lips to my neck, edging slowly to my shoulder. I gasped as a sharp bolt of pain shot down my arm. It didn't feel good anymore

Kaneki pushed away from me, a look of horror in his grey eyes. There was blood on his lips. My blood.

Kaneki P.O.V

I bit her. I had lost control. I bit her. I didn't know what to do. I bit her! My Touka-chan was wounded by my hand. No. I didn't have the right to call her mine. She deserved much better. Much better than me.

I turned away, too ashamed to even cry. “It's alright,” she said. It's not alright. “It's already healed.” She insisted. Don't lie. I had wounded her heart. Words couldn't fix that. They could only hide it until the pressure becomes too much to bear and the stitches tear, wreaking havoc upon the emotions of the broken person in which the heart resides.

If there's one thing Yamori's torture had taught me, it's that pain and insecurity never truly go away. We just get better and better at ignoring it until one day we've pushed so much of ourselves away, w forget who we really were. Then the floodgates burst open and  the only way you can seem to stop the tears is to cut away at the skin and shed blood instead. We ghouls may heal fast, but once the heart is hurt, we're bleeding out from the inside.

I couldn't bear to look at Touka. I had broken her and we both knew it. Her blood still stung bitter on my lips and it was my fault. My heart was heavy with regret. I fear that no one can lift that burden. Not even her.

“I love you, Touka Kirishima.”

I ran.

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