When it comes to their son, Kaneki stops assuming things and simply asks the boy what he truly wishes to say. So Kaneki tucks in his son, pats the boy's head and spares a fleeting kiss to his forehead before Kaneki gently drops the question.
"Okay, what is it?" his son gives Kaneki a huffy look. He's learned that from Hide.
"Can you tell papa that I say good'ight?"
Kaneki chuckles. "You could tell him that yourself."
The young boy shakes his head profusely. "No way! I'm a big boy now! It's embarrassing to say goodnight to your parents!"
Kaneki rolls his eyes. Yeah, that's dramatic tendency there? Their son's learned that from him. "So does that mean there's no goodnight kiss for me as well, my good sir?" Kaneki teases.
His son's eyes widen. The child quickly babbles incoherently before he hides his face under the blanket. Kaneki grins; his joy is so bright he might as well be blinded by it.
"Night, love," Kaneki whispers gently. He's near the door when he hears the soft 'g'night' from his son. Kaneki closes the door and heads towards his and Hide’s bedroom.
Inside, he's greeted by Hide's crooked grin and the usual mischief in his eyes. Beautiful is always the first word that comes to mind whenever Kaneki looks at his husband.
Kaneki walks towards the bed and tenderly brushes his fingers against the picture frame; slipped neatly inside is a decade-old photo of Hide. The worth is immeasurable to Kaneki. He stares at the photo for a long while.
"You know," Kaneki says, his voice is like a distant hum, "I couldn't save you when the ghouls were-- I just want you to know, Hide, in my books--... I've saved you in every book I've written. I didn't fail you. I got to you before anything could happen.”
Kaneki kneels and studies the photo of his husband. In the picture, Hide’s precious smile is immortalized.
"Every single time, Hide, I swear. You're alive. In all of my books. I saved you. I just want you to know that. I saved you every time.”
“Yes, you can. You're ready and your band members-”
“Oh my god, Hide. My English is rusty.”
“Your English is good, you dramatic panda.” Hide doesn't bother to hear the rest of his friend’s unfounded predicament when he pushes Ikuma towards the stage, where the rest of Ikuma’s members are waiting for their main vocal/guitarist.
The concert is not too grand. The amphitheater is small and it's probably enough to house nearly two hundred people but Ikuma takes what he can get. The earnings will be used to provide a place to stay for homeless ghoul children.
Berlin is a little bit cold now. Winter is just at the tip of the horizon and autumn is slowly fading like an old record. Hide takes his time to glance down at his phone. Marude’s message is curt and precise: ‘Meetings start at three. Don't be late’
Hide grins. Years later, and Marude still hates being the spokesman, preferring to let Hide sway people and advocate for peace in his own eloquent way.
He can stop thinking about it for a moment. For now, Hide has a friend to root for.
The music starts, Ikuma’s voice echoes in the amphitheater, loud and steadfast. People are yelling, calling out his name and when the ghoul begins to strum the strings of his guitar, the melody kicks in until the loudness soars in the sky like fireworks.
Hide smiles and enjoys the atmosphere. From where he’s standing, Hide has the best view. And then, even now, he wonders what Kaneki is doing; somewhere in Tokyo with his family surrounded by those that have fought at his side. Once upon a time, such a thing would make Hide wonder of his unworthiness in Kaneki’s eyes.
Now, Hide is far away, in all places, traveling the world, broadening his sight and suddenly it's bright and ethereal and freedom tastes so sweet on his tongue, like crushed strawberry dripping from his chin. The stones in his chest have gradually turned to mist and now there's only the lightness of a plume.
And Ikuma-- where Hide goes, Ikuma goes.
Eight songs later, Ikuma takes a break, passing the next round to his other member as he skips off from the stage and saunters towards Hide.
“You did amazi--” Hide stops abruptly when Ikuma leaps towards him, grabs his hips and hauls Hide up, easily carrying the human and spinning him around. Hide yelps and shrieks before he laughs; his arms around Ikuma’s neck.
“They love my songs!” Ikuma states brightly. The pink on his cheeks is palpable. He finally puts Hide down and takes a few steps back, inhaling and exhaling; unrestrained and light.
Behind the softness of his mask, Hide's smile widens. “Yes yes, we're all glad. The hero of the hour.”
And oh wow, Hide is bombarded by the metaphorical evidence that points to his growing affection for this dorky ghoul; swooping in and stealing his heart, one broken piece at a time. Hide realizes he's not doing anything at all to stop himself from falling in love with Ikuma like a complete fool he is.
“Not going back up there?” Hide asks.
“Later,” Ikuma says. He spares a glance at the stage, at his fans, at his band members and finally, he turns around to look at Hide. “I did well up there, right?”
“Yep, absolutely.”
“Sooo, I deserve a kiss, right?”
Hide chokes. Ikuma raises a brow lazily. The human sputters and stares at the ghoul, losing his words for the very first time.
“Ikuma, you can't just-” Hide flails his arms around comically.
“Juuuusst?” Ikuma takes the moment to tease him, wearing the familiar grin that Hide comes to love. “Just what?”
Well, just-- many things. Hide bites his lower lip. His next question is said so quietly. “Are you sure it's me you-- y'know?”
Ikuma blinks. “Yeah. Completely sure.” He leans in and cups Hide's cheeks and Hide can feel the familiar heat from Ikuma. “Nagachika Hideyoshi, your problem is that you do not know how truly loved you are. You're good enough. You've done enough. You no longer have to carry love like it's a burden on your shoulders. I'm in love with you, Nagachika Hideyoshi, and that's the truth.”
Hide opens his mouth, closes it, and finally, he settles down with a crooked grin. Hide tucks his mask off and rolls it in his hand. He's ready to take a leap of faith. “Better be ready because you can't take those words back.”
Whatever Ikuma wishes to say die in his throat when Hide grapples his front shirt and quickly covers his mouth. Ikuma yelps into the kiss but is quick to calm down and gently, so very gently, returns the kiss. It's sloppy and messy and they're really not doing it right so Hide laughs into the kiss, trying to salvage what he can. Ikuma’s muffled laughter is soft until both of them break away and tangle in each other's arms. The laughter stays.
“That was awful!” Hide chortles.
“You shouldn't have laughed. It's your fault,” Ikuma says cheerily. A little bit too happy. It dawns to Hide that he really needs more good and bright things in his life and now evidently, Ikuma is a mix of both.
For all the things he is with and without, Hide is okay with it. It leads him here, after all.
Akira is there and Hide is watching them from afar as she puts a gentle hand on Amon’s shoulder, kind and patient. She wears a small smile and says nothing else. Amon's shoulders continue to shake. He's still crying.
They're sitting on an old bench, facing against him.
Hide doesn't know if it's his place to open the door; to trek along the small isolated garden and take a place next to Amon. Hide doesn't know if it's his place to comfort the older man.
But he still watches the pair. Hide can see his reflection staring back at him on the glass door. He looks tired and haggard. Just like everyone else.
There are footsteps and then Kaneki is there, standing at his side. Hide does not turn around to acknowledge his friend but he unconsciously lets his fingers touch his bandana. He wonders if Kaneki notices it.
“Aren't you going out there?” Kaneki asks. Hide still doesn't look at him.
“Akira is there.”
“Akira is not you,” is all Kaneki says. There's a pat on his shoulder, affectionate and final. When Hide turns around, Kaneki is already leaving. It's odd how easily Kaneki leaves him behind lately. Maybe it’s always been like that all along.
Hide sighs. He looks up once more to where Akira and Amon are huddling close to one another. Slowly Akira stands up, murmurs something to Amon before she quietly takes her leave. She blinks when she sees Hide observing them from behind the glass door.
Akira smiles and it's like staring at a flower.
Hide steps back and lets Akira pushes the door open.
“Akira-”
“Your turn.” she grins. Akira leans up and kisses Hide's forehead. “Try to cheer him up. Even a little bit, okay?”
“Yeah.” Hide swallows. “Yeah, okay.”
Akira leaves. Hide walks towards the other man. Outside, the world is still. Bright and fragile like fragments of glass. So many lights peeking from the clouds and it's like the sky is flooded with an urn of feathers.
Once he's near Amon, Hide stands awkwardly next to him. He clears his throat and Hide hears Amon chuckling softly.
“Just sit down, Nagachika,” Amon says. His voice hoarse. The blond complies. Hide wants to know what's happened but only if Amon gives him that privilege.
“So, uh,” Hide starts pitifully. Amon manages a small grin.
“Nagachika Hideyoshi? Speechless? The world is truly ending.” No heart in his voice.
“Hey! I'm trying to be a gentleman here. Show some support,” Hide remarks, almost childishly. He hears a soft hum from Amon.
And then finally, the other spares a glance at Hide. The blond carefully studies Amon's red eyes, the track of tears on his cheeks and the way Amon's knuckles shake weakly. As if he's holding a heated metal between his fingers.
“What happened?” Hide questions.
There's a gentle silence between them. Hide waits, his back against the wooden bench, listening to the hitched soft sobs from the man beside him.
“I killed my father,” Amon mutters, “I killed him. My father,” he says again. More to himself than to inform Hide of the fact. Amon's eyes are aflame, weak.
There's determination but there's also grief. A touch of anguish in the way Amon tries so hard to carry his person. A war he fights by himself.
Amon is a little bit like Kaneki. Just a bit.
“Okay,” Hide offers. He taps Amon's knuckle, then decides better and slots his hand around Amon’s, entwining their fingers together. Hide's thumb is rubbing the sore spot on Amon's palm. They stay like that for a moment. Until Amon eventually lets out a small laugh.
“What?”
“You're hopeless, Nagachika.”
“I'm trying,” he says again.
“I can see that.” Amon smiles at him. The sorrow lessens. “Thank you.”
“How about a hug?” Hide wiggles his brows playfully. Of course, it's just a silly suggestion. He's not expecting for Amon to accept it anyway.
Except.
Amon is already drawing closer, one arm curling around Hide's back and then he’s hugging Hide; resting his face on the crook of the blond’s neck. Amon inhales once, twice, before he slumps down against Hide's much smaller frame.
The other’s weight is on his chest and Hide's holding onto Amon tenderly, no heaviness in his arms. Not even when Hide returns the embrace. There's a silly smile on his scarred face.
Amon’s warmth reminds Hide of something foreign; a dusky evening overhead the horizon. A little bit like the foam of stars that are league away from the entire universe.
Hide holds on tightly. He scrunches his face against Amon's neck and sobs.
No one has held him like this in years.
“Nagachika, you were supposed to be comforting me. Not the other way around.” He can hear the teasing in Amon's light tone.
“Shut up,” Hide says, sobs, laughs. He latches on a little bit tighter.
This, Hide thinks, is one of the most ridiculous things to ever happen to him. But then again, this is Amon Koutarou and Hide can bawl, complain, cry and joke and Amon is only going to raise a brow at Hide. And then he’ll smile a little bit like a soft-hearted idiot he is before Amon reaches out to Hide and never lets him go.
It's only Amon Koutarou but it's also might as well be everything.
HCS of Ikuma teaching Hide how to play guitar belong to @hidewari and @gifti3
-----
Ikuma’s home is crisp and cozy with a trace of honeyed almond oil in the air. For a moment Hide wonders if Ikuma chooses the scent for his incense because he knows it's Hide’s favorite. Ikuma has a habit of prioritizing Hide's needs above his. It's endearing and it's not something Hide is used to.
“And this-” Ikuma pushes open a door littered with posters of song lyrics, “-is my studio. It's small and a little bit snug but you might step on my old iPods so just watch your steps,” Ikuma ends his sentence with a wink. He ushers the blond inside and closes the door behind them.
Hide takes in the wooden flooring, the multi-colored wallpapers and the mountains of boxes at the corner of the room. Vinyl and Walkmans are strewn about on the unused chairs whilst the small sofa is used to mound guitars. Probably the ones Ikuma barely uses.
The room is a mess but every bit of it screams Momochi Ikuma. Hide adores it.
“This where my muse and I work together. We don't always get along well but whenever we do, we create a music so moving it makes even the utmost resilient soul weep. Like my stepdad,” Ikuma puts a dramatic tone in his voice.
Hide chuckles.
For all the simplicity in their situation, Hide feels as if he might burst into particles of stardust. Hide is not ashamed to say he's an affectionate soul by default. And yet not many are willing to embrace him, to put their hands on his shoulders or to run fingers through his hair.
With Ikuma, it feels like his touches are incendiary red, burning and so warmth on his skin.
But it's not right. It's not right because Kaneki is out there, probably suffering and in pain and here he is, starving for a little drop of kindness from Ikuma.
“Hey,” a voice speaks softly. Hide feels a finger under his chin, lifting his face up to meet a gentle gaze from the ghoul. “What's with the sour look? We're here to have fun, remember?” Ikuma pokes at Hide’s nose once before he releases his hold and walks towards an old record player. He pushes the stylus down on the record and soon a song echoes in the small room.
“Steve Miller Band,” Hide says, “The Joker.”
“Yeah - some people call me the space cowboy some call me the gangster of love.”
“Please stop singing. You’re embarrassing.” Despite himself, Hide can’t contain the raw bliss on his face.
“If you’re too embarrassed to try something, you’re never going to enjoy life,” Ikuma offers, impish.
“Dork,” is all the blond can give as he grins dimly at the other. Ikuma returns it in kind. “You're here to give me a guitar lesson. And lessons are rarely fun!”
“You have me as your mentor, Hide. I am both dashing and talented. You can't ask for a better teacher than me.”
“Yeah. Right,” the blond muffles a smile. “Good looks don't count when it comes to teaching.”
Ikuma’s grin widens. “So you do think I have a good look.”
Hide’s ears turn red. “No.”
“Denial denial, Hide. I assure you I can be more than just good looks.”
It's impossible to conceal the creeping blush and Hide is glad Ikuma drops the matter there, deciding instead to begin his lesson.
“Okay, come on. Stop flirting with your teacher-”
“I did not! Ikuma!”
“-because our class begins now.”
Ikuma takes a small guitar from one of his shelves and hands it to the blond. Its surface is colored with musical notes. This one specific guitar must have been Ikuma’s favorite. It looks worn. Almost old. As if it's storing dozens of fond memories.
“How many guitars do you even have?”
Ikuma shrugs. “Enough to make me happy. Now, come on. Try to hold it properly.”
They sit on the stools next to the small portable keyboards. Legs bump close to one another. Ikuma’s eyes on him are sharp and unwavering.
“You're holding it wrong.”
“How can someone even hold the guitar wrong? It's a basic thing.”
“Ah, the ever infamous question.”
“No, really. All I need to do is… put my hand here and--” The guitar falls off from his laps. Hide blinks.
Ikuma throws him a flippant look. “See? Not that simple.”
“Let me try again.”
Hide lifts the guitar up, dragging it closer to his chest. His posture is a bit awkward. He can feel the headstock and tuning keys protruding his hips and it doesn't take long for Hide to glare at the annoying object.
By now, Ikuma is laughing at him.
“Ikuma,” the blond warns without any venom in his tone.
“I'm sorry. Sorry!” Ikuma scoots near Hide and in seconds, Hide finds himself wedged between the old guitar in his laps and Ikuma’s chest to his back, standing so close Hide can almost smell the hint of frangipani from him.
The ghoul’s arms are around his elbows instantly, properly straightening his back to accommodate the guitar.
“Like this,” Ikuma whispers in his ear. Hide’s breath quickens. “Don't slouch the guitar in towards you, balance it properly on your thighs and bring your strumming arm tightly around your guitar. That way, you'll less likely to get tired.”
“But I can't see my fingers. How am I supposed to know which notes I'm hitting then?”
“You don't need to see to know they're there, Hide,” Ikuma’s voice is so very patient, so kind and soothing as if he's humming an old lullaby. Hide doesn't think he deserves any of it.
“You can feel the strings just fine. Here,” Ikuma takes his right hand in his and lowers it down to the strings until Hide can feel them under his fingers. “Make sure your fingers are as close to the fretboard as possible.”
“Oh-kay. Done.”
“Now put your thumb and forefinger around the neck and then strum the strings.”
“Anyone can do that, you know?”
“Says the guy who lost his grip on the guitar just now.”
Ikuma removes his arms, casually putting them on Hide’s hips instead, his chin on the human's shoulder as he waits for the other to begin.
Hide bites his lower lip. He knows the notes just fine, but it's handling the guitar that seems to give him trouble so when the boy starts, he already has a song in his mind and his fingers sway slowly against the strings, creating an obscure tempo before it gets smoother and smoother.
It's not good enough but for every string he plucks, a smile on Ikuma’s face seems to widen with sincere joy until Ikuma finally chuckles with a melodious stir in his tenor.
The ghoul tightens his hold around Hide’s lean waist.
“That's wonderfully done.”
“Might become a maestro one day. Who knows, right?”
Ikuma grins, ruffling the golden locks. “Don't get your hopes up. You can't even hit the notes right yet. But other than that, you're a work of art,” Ikuma flicks his forehead tenderly.
“Nah, I just have an amazing teacher with a dashing look.”
Hide stops.
Ikuma stares at him.
His mouth betrays him again, it seems. Hide can't just drop the guitar to tuck his face away from the other. So he clears his throat and pretends to tune the guitar, hoping for the ghoul to act as if nothing's happened.
Ikuma does not. He smirks, cranes his face closer to the blond and gleefully points out the cause of Hide’s embarrassment. “I'm a looker, eh? So you were flirting with me before.”
“I don't want to talk about this anymore,” Hide raises the guitar up to his face and tries to appear as small as possible, concealing his face from his friend. What is wrong with him? It's just Ikuma.
The ghoul just laughs. He carefully pushes the guitar down and leans forward to look at Hide in the eyes. His smile never falters.
“To be fair, Hide. The first time I saw you, I thought you were really cute. Why did you think the handsome lone guitarist serenaded you the first time we met?”
Hide arches a brow at the other. Okay so maybe Ikuma wants to see him all red and pink with a blush. Maybe it’s working just fine but Hide can be stubborn. So he sighs dramatically even though his heart is light as a feather. “Oh, really? And here I thought you were a hobo in desperate need of money.”
“Rude.”
Hide thinks he could have spent the day doing so many things; like chasing Kaneki or waiting for him to come home. But he's glad he's not doing any of that. He likes it here, at Ikuma’s side and receiving everything the ghoul is willing to give him.
Even if it's a small quota of kiss to the forehead or of them sitting on the sofa together, feet touching one another while the music from 1982 playing in the background.
And when Ikuma puts his beanie on him and softly thuds their foreheads together, Hide's chest feels unbearably full.
