For When Your Heart is Broken

5: The Other Side of the Moon

【❦】

Thursday of the following week:

Tsukiyama had fled quite far.
He was going to a select location in Europe, to a small French speaking country called Belgium. Though lacking in size, it happened to be a hot spot for tourism, so he probably wouldn't have an issue with laying low.

Despite the destruction of his lineage's connections, along with the influence they held on human society was over...
That didn't mean he was piss poor in the Ghoul world.

He was still very well attended to, with many people indebted to him and his purposes. He also had one hell of a following. Perhaps not for the same reasons Kaneki had...

Honestly, Tsukiyama had the keys to the world handed to him.
But 'with great privilege comes great responsibility,' as his father, Tsukiyama Mirumo, always preached. Wonder where Papa is... he wouldn't say...
He was terribly stressed.

Hesitation invaded his brain and forced upon him a severe amount of indecisiveness. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't eat.
He didn't want to leave.
But he had to leave.

Currently, he was in front of a mirror of a hotel room in the outskirts of Mongolia. He didn't know too much of the Mongolian dialect of Chinese, so he didn't plan on staying long.
Tsukiyama was combing his hair. How long had it been since he had done anything with his hair?
Should he cut it?
It was past his chin on his right side.

He took a glance at it from both angles, tucking some of it beneath another section to form a little part in order to break the uniformity of his appearance. He looked too careless without something being done with that side, it was intolerable.
Tsukiyama wasn't a coiffure by any means, but he didn't have a problem dealing with his own hair.
He had developed a much more discreet wardrobe since he'd gone through the hell in his mind.
Bold contrast didn't stick with him like it used to...
He wore a grey and silver pinstriped vest over a white shirt, a black tie and a pair of thin framed glasses along with black trousers and dress shoes.

Blinking slowly, he took in his appearance.
He was passable in his own standards.
To anyone else he probably looked like royalty.

His recessive genes were excellently preserved and absolutely natural.
He was flawless. Stunning.
He was sad. Heartbroken.

"Vous, tu, on, vous... trois, trois, treize, mérçi, pas mal... pas mal?..." he repeated some common nonsensical babble to work out the accent in his voice. "Pas mal? Moi? Tch... non..." he scoffed at himself.
("Not bad? Me? No.")

"Ah, c'est trés mal... j'ai trés mal... j'ai ne bien pas..."
("It's very bad... I'm very bad... I'm not good...")
"Be cool, Tsukiyama..." he told himself. "Calmato..."

Splashing water on his face, he attempted to bring his focus back to his current priorities.
Run. Run away. Running.
He knew that wouldn't fix his own problems, but this wasn't about him.
Kaneki needs to be happy. I need to let him be happy.
Adjusting his clothing, he took a final look at himself. Jet lag grabbed ahold of his attention, making him well aware of how impossibly tired he was. "Fuck," huffed the Koukaku Ghoul, clenching his eyes shut tightly.
He was also hungry, having put all of his thought into his travel.
"Fuck, fuck..." leaning on the bathroom counter, he ducked his head down and blinked several times.