Tokyo Ghoul: You're a ghoul!? What am I supposed to do now???

Sunday morning hit like a sledgehammer. My stomach cramped, twisting in ways that had nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with the festival food sitting like poison in my system. Candy apples. Yakitori. That stupid spicy sauce contest.

I barely made it to the bathroom before everything came back up.

"Idiot," I whispered to my reflection. Pale skin, dark circles, hands shaking against the sink. "You absolute idiot."

My phone showed 8:47 AM. Anteiku opened at 9.

The manager answered on the second ring. "Touka-chan?"

"I'm sorry." My voice came out rough. "I can't come in today. I'm sick."

"From the festival?" His tone held that knowing concern that made me wonder sometimes what he suspected. "Too much rich food?"

"Something like that."

"Rest. Yomo-kun can handle the Sunday shift." A pause. "Should I send him to check on you?"

"I'm fine—"

"He'll bring soup."

The line went dead. I groaned, knowing there was no point arguing. When Manager decided something, it happened.

I dragged myself back to bed, curling into a ball. My body felt wrong—weak in that specific way that meant I'd pushed too far pretending to be human. Playing normal. Eating their food. Laughing with—

My phone buzzed. Sota: Hey, missed you at the shop today. You okay?

I stared at the message, remembering fireworks and pinkies touching and how easy it had been to forget what I was. Too easy.

The knock came two hours later. I'd managed to shower and change, though standing took effort.

"It's open," I called.

Yomo entered carrying a covered container. Not soup. We both knew what would actually help, and the smell hit immediately—iron and meat and necessity.

"You look terrible," he said simply, setting the container on my table.

"Thanks. Really boosting my confidence here."

He didn't smile. Yomo rarely smiled. "The manager told me you were at the festival yesterday. With humans."

"Humans are everywhere. Hard to avoid them."

"You weren't avoiding them. You were eating their food. Playing their games." He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "With the art student who comes every day."

I looked away. "It's not—"

"Touka." His voice gentled slightly. "I'm not scolding you. But this path... where do you think it leads?"

"I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?" He gestured at my shaking hands. "Your body is rejecting their food because you keep forcing it. And for what? So you can pretend to be something you're not?"

"I'm not pretending—"

"No? Then what happens when he finds out what you are? What you eat?" He moved toward the window, checking the locks out of habit. "You think he'll still want to share candy apples when he knows those hands have—"

"Stop." The word came out sharper than intended. "Just... stop."

Yomo studied me for a long moment. "Eat. Get your strength back. And think about what you're risking. Not just for yourself."

He left without another word. The container sat on my table, accusation and salvation wrapped in plastic.

I ate because I had to. Quick, mechanical, trying not to think about yesterday's festival food mixing with today's necessity. When finished, I could feel strength returning, that inhuman vitality flooding back.

My phone had three more messages from Sota.

Hope you're feeling better

Manager said you called in sick. Festival food revenge?

Let me know if you need anything

Each message made my chest tighter. Need anything? I needed to not be a monster pretending to share his normal life.

I'm fine. I typed back. See you around.

Short. Cold. Nothing like our usual exchanges about vegetables and art. Three dots appeared, like he was typing, then disappeared. Good. Better to cut this off now before—

Before what? Before I got more attached? Too late for that.

Monday came too soon. I felt fine physically—the advantages of ghoul regeneration—but emotionally wrung out. Yoriko pounced the moment I reached my desk.

"Okay, spill. What happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"Sota texted me through the coffee shop's Instagram." She pulled out her phone. "Asked if you were okay, said you seemed off in your messages. What did you do?"

"Nothing. I was sick yesterday."

"Uh-huh. And that made you forget how to text like a normal person?" She showed me the screenshot of his message—polite, concerned, clearly confused by my sudden coldness. "He thinks he did something wrong at the festival."

"He didn't—"

"Then why are you being weird? Saturday was perfect! You two were adorable with the fireworks and the hand-touching—"

"Yoriko." I grabbed my textbooks, shoving them into my bag. "Just leave it, okay? It's better this way."

"Better for who?" She followed me into the hallway. "Because from where I'm standing, you're both miserable."

"I'm not miserable."

"You're literally speed-walking away from your best friend rather than talk about your feelings."

I stopped. "What do you want me to say? That I like him? Fine, I like him. Happy? Doesn't change anything."

"Why not?"

Because I'm a ghoul. Because I eat people. Because Yomo's right and this only ends one way.

"It's complicated," I said instead.

"You keep saying that." Yoriko's voice softened. "Touka, whatever it is—family stuff, personal things—don't you think he'd understand? He seems like the understanding type."

I thought about Sota's careful way of observing without judging, how he'd never pushed when I'd said things were complicated before. Maybe he would try to understand.

Then I imagined his face when he realized what "complicated" really meant.

"Just... tell him I'm sorry, okay? If he comes to the shop." I started walking again. "I need to get to class."

"Touka—"

"Please, Yoriko. Just let it go."

She didn't follow this time. I made it through morning classes on autopilot, took notes I wouldn't remember, answered questions I immediately forgot. At lunch, I hid in the library rather than face more of Yoriko's questions.

My phone stayed silent. No vegetable updates. No casual check-ins. Just the growing space where easy conversation used to be.

This was what I wanted, I reminded myself. Distance. Safety. Protection for both of us.

So why did it hurt so much?

The walk to Anteiku after school felt heavier than usual. Would he be there? Would he avoid the shop now? Part of me hoped for both, the coward's wish for a choice made by circumstance rather than will.

I tied on my apron with shaking hands, Yomo's words echoing. Where do you think this path leads?

Nowhere good. But knowing that didn't stop me from glancing at the door every time the bell chimed, hoping and dreading in equal measure.

3:15 came and went.

The corner table stayed empty.

Better this way, I told myself, and almost believed it.