Chapter Text
You cannot hunger for what you do not know.
Tobi Otogiri dug his fingers beneath the grooves of the familiar handhold, the pads of his fingers dragging against the coarse surface of the drywall. Baku, surprisingly, said nothing. Maybe it was because Tobi himself did not want to speak, because it was the nature of Zingai to follow the will of their masters, but he relished the small piece of tranquility the world had offered to him. Nimbly and swiftly, the boy practically crawled up the wall, reaching the ledge of the roof within half a minute.
He shrugs Baku’s strap off his shoulder, throwing the duffel bag up onto the parapet of the roof, scaring away a flock of poor pigeons. Baku opens its zipper and lets out a grumbling, low and unnatural yawn, sounding nothing like any animal or creature that exists on this planet. Though, Tobi himself had never heard all of the creatures on earth yawn before, so he could not judge. The boy hefted himself onto the roof, scooting away further from the ledge than he usually would. The gate on the roof rattled softly as Tobi leaned on it, ringing like a soft wind chime.
It seemed like Baku noticed it as well, “Finally bein’ careful now, huh?” Baku opened its mouth wider, stretching its long, twisting tongue in a clearly dramatic yawn, “Guess ‘ya don’t want anyone thinkin’ another person’s gonna throw themselves off the roof again, hah!”
“... It has already been long enough.” Tobi finally says as he unwraps his butter roll.
“Not long enough for ‘ost fellows, and ‘ya know that too.” Baku grumbles back in a reply.
It did not make sense to Tobi Otogiri, but at the same time, a dull pounding sensation at the back of his mind said that it would. There was a horrible contradiction between what his clear consciousness dictated, and what the murky, unreliable subconsciousness did. Most would lose their minds at the dichotomy, but Tobi could not bring himself to care that much.
He understood why others would be wary about another student atop the roof. He understood why others would be worried about Tobi’s want to climb on top of the roof in the first place. He understood the tension, the way others would stop the conversation when it came to the empty desks in the class, the way the principal moved the rack of keys into his personal office. He understood the grief, the lingering sadness and the melancholy that clung to those three empty desks like an incessant disease.
But Tobi Otogiri did not. He moved past it. Stagnation bred a sinking feeling that settles onto one’s stomach, stagnation brings more sorrow and more stagnation with it.
Stagnation brings hunger.
Tobi took a bite out of his butter roll, the rich and soft bread spreading its taste over his tongue. But that was it, the taste was limited to its texture, the normal, ordinary, almost bland taste of the butter that was painstakingly worked into the bread. His pace slows, his chews almost rolling, a scowl digs deep into his face. There was something… Missing. Something fundamental, but his tongue could not seem to find it, nor could his mind discern the missing piece. Desperately, Tobi scarfs it down, chasing the end of the taste, the single hint of something that brought him life .
“Finally find the butter roll ‘ore delicious than the others?” Baku laughs, not noticing or purposely ignoring his ire, “Hah! Tol’ja this Baku knows ‘ore than ‘ya let on, ‘ya brat!”
“No… It’s just…” Tobi falters, crumpling the bread roll wrapper and stuffing it into his pockets, “There’s something… Missing.”
“Hrnn, did the chef forget somethin’?”
“I don’t think so…” Tobi couldn’t find the words to say, not even to Baku. He leans further back against the safety gate, making sure to stay out of sight from anybody happening to look up at the roof. Though, he doubts anyone would want to do that willingly. Idly, Tobi wonders if his taste has changed, was this what growing up meant? Strangely, he felt the urge to talk to Baku, “I think… My taste has changed.”
Baku seemed to find it amusing, “Woahaha! Lil’ ol’ Tobi has turned into a rich boy, he can’t live off good ol’ butter rolls any’ore! What sorta butter roll did’ja secretly eat that ‘ade ‘ya change so much, huh?” The bag flailed around slightly, which made Tobi decide to smush Baku back into place, inciting more indignant squawks of protest.
Tobi Otogiri decidedly ignores Baku’s fruitless attempts at wriggling out of his grasp, instead mulling over whatever had happened. Clearly, seeking advice from Baku had turned out to be for naught, and he did not really feel like asking Ryuuko. It was not like she knew what was going on within Tobi’s head, nor what his tastes were. Only Tobi himself knew, and it was really a fool’s endeavour to place trust in a bag’s tastes anyways.
Eat to live. There was no other point in eating. Taste doesn’t matter. All you need is the life in it.
You cannot hunger for what you do not know.
You will always hunger for what you do.
~
The Asakawa River became muddier than before, but that might’ve just been Tobi’s imagination. The water level had receded since then, and it was back to the shallow, knee-high water it was named after. The embankment still retained signs of damage, but it was mostly covered by crawling vines and undergrowth. Tobi hopped onto the railing of the bridge, balancing atop it as the wind rushed past his body fast enough to make him teeter.
“If ‘ya don’t fall eventually, I’ll eat ‘y foot.”
“You don’t have a foot, Baku.” Tobi mumbles back.
“Exactly! So there’s nothin’ for ‘e to lose!” Baku seems to shiver in happiness, pleased by his ‘smart’ bet, “How ‘bout I eat yer’ foot instead?”
“... That’s not even a bet anymore.”
It bugged him. Tobi Otogiri, who was not bothered by the dichotomy of being stuck between understanding and irritation, was bothered by a strange-tasting butter roll. There was nothing strange-tasting to it, but it lacked something, something that Tobi does not know, and has always tasted before. The thought of food seemed to have stirred hunger within Tobi, and he hopped off the railing, turning in the direction of the ghetto.
“Hnn?” Baku stirs lacklusterly, “Where are ‘ya goin’, Tobi?”
“I’m hungry. I’ll stop by somewhere and get something…”
“Well… I don’t think there’s anythin’ in the Asakawa ghetto… Besides, didn’t they say to stay away from it?” Despite its incessant complaints, Baku did not wriggle or flail about like it always did if Tobi did something outrageous.
“I have half an hour before curfew hits, anyways. It couldn’t hurt…” Tobi climbs down from the bridge, hitting the pavement that runs along the river. The ghetto wasn’t anything bad, not less dangerous than the open streets, and the people in the facility had the tendency to overexaggerate things anyways. However, Tobi wasn’t a kid, he could handle most things thrown his way.
And dealing with Zingai was not some small feat.
The lights in the ghetto were dim, probably originating from paraffin lamps instead of proper diodes. As Tobi walked through the alleys, shadows loomed from the windows, mulling about in their daily lives. Some strange rabbit Zingai scampered out of the way, chased away by Baku playfully stretching its tongue out to them. Baku’s been at this ever since Haizaki explained the entire Zingai situation properly, and the common harmless ones.
A lone street vendor sold steamed buns and Tobi found himself scrounging for loose change, purchasing one to eat on the way back. He split the soft bun, releasing a small cloud of steam. The heat of the bun dug its way through Tobi’s fingers, making them ache terribly with every second he continued to hold the bun. The vendor seemed to notice his ire, pitying the small boy and handing him a fork. Tobi, at a loss, could only accept it begrudgingly, unsure at how to use such a bizarre utensil.
The hot bun was still an issue, though, so Tobi Otogiri scarfed it down.
Steamed buns were special in a way that the buns were slightly sweet, pairing wonderfully well with the saltiness of the braised meat filling. Usually, cheaper buns would be dry, almost in a way that it stuck to one’s teeth, but this one had adequate brine in the meat, and it was not made up of the cheaper, processed meat cakes. The pork was loose, minced well and mixed with carrots that gave it a nice crunch. No doubt the sign of a good, well-made steamed bun.
“How is’it?” Baku drawled out, no doubt full of contempt, “Got ‘ya snack fix already?”
“... Yeah.” Tobi held one half of the steamed bun left.
Tobi did not have a shadow of a doubt that Baku felt everything too. The way the mild sweetness of the bun promised more, before deteriorating to dust. The lingering knowledge of having eaten steamed buns before coming back to curse Tobi in all its glory, as he knew with a pounding heart that this taste was barely touching the tip of the iceberg, that there was always more to the food he had eaten, regardless of quality. That the meat had a certain tanginess, a certain liveliness that could not be quantified nor described, that a certain freshness was out of reach, and the thing he held in his hands was nothing but sawdust in comparison. Steamed buns were fresh, tantalizing and flavourful, but Tobi tasted none of that.
He knew there was more. He knew there was something missing.
But what?
Sometimes, Tobi Otogiri wondered.
He wondered about the world, he wondered about what was in it, he wondered about Baku, he wondered about the Zingai, he wondered where Seki Otogiri had disappeared to.
Then his wondering would cease as hands covered his eyes, and a gentle voice whispers next to his ear– “You’d know when the time comes.”
But he wondered then– why did his stomach churn with an unknown hunger, screaming to be satiated by an unknown taste?
“Tobi…” Baku almost groans out loud, but why? Why did Baku speak? Why was Baku here? Baku was Baku. No, that is not right. Why is Baku hungry?
Why is Tobi Otogiri hungry?
Tobi has never been taught how to use cutlery before. People were amazed when they knew that, mostly the people at the facility. They looked at him with a certain expression and he recognised what it was. Pity. Pity that Tobi truly was the orphan that he claimed to be, that his only older brother had disappeared, that he might’ve casted Tobi aside because he was a child, a burden. Pity that the most basic of manners and social norms were never taught to him, that his brother was negligent like that.
What did they know? Maybe he did not think it was necessary for Tobi to learn how to use cutlery, maybe he assumed Tobi already knew. What did they know about Seki Otogiri?
A fork to pin down, a knife to cut, a spoon to shovel out, and a mouth to eat. It was as simple as that.
He wolfed down the other half of his steamed bun. He clawed for more, he hungered for more. There was more to this taste, more to this meat trail, more to what life is, and more for his fangs to chew on. Blood, bone, sinew, skin, meat. There had to be more.
He was hungry. It was hungry. Hunger drove people mad, it drove animals mad.
Life on the meat trail. Life on the ground. His own body being too clumsy, too mad and too rife with hunger to catch life, to attain the one thing he lacks. He needed claws, he needed nimbleness, he needed swiftness. Baku was there for him.
Tobi Otogiri only realised what the neon orange stained upon his hands and face was when the ibex rabbit let out a last dying squeal, before losing its life, pinned beneath the plastic fork the vendor had given him. Heart pounding, palms sweating, Tobi could only release his hold on the fork as Baku leaned in, no doubt attracted by the tantalizing smell.
“No!” Tobi flung his hands out desperately, his vision quaking as he saw Baku still abruptly. The boy staggers backwards away from the corpse of the Zingai, making sure Baku couldn’t reach it.
“But whyyy?” Baku whined childishly, but Tobi could hear the rasp in its voice, “You’ve gotten yer’ fill already, it wouldn’t hurt to let poor ‘ol Baku to have it, yeah?”
My fill? Wrong, wrong, wrong, when has anything ever been mine?
“Tobi.” Said boy wrenches his head to glance at Baku, now stretched out enough to be right beside him, “You didn’t know what you were doing. I was hungry, you were hungry. Easy as that. You don’t have to think about anything else.”
That’s right. He didn’t have to learn how to use a fork for a reason, he didn’t need to pin down the troublesome, nimble life. He had Baku. He had his own fork.
Tobi Otogiri felt hands cover his eyes once more, and he could almost hear that very same gentle voice that whispered right into his ears. The childish mumblings that the Otogiri siblings once shared, nonsensical bubbles of life translated into sound. Tobi ignored the crunching, squelching of flesh and bone and curled into himself. He felt like a helpless, lone child and some unknown part of him suggested that maybe, he really was still like that.
This is the taste of life, he could almost picture Seki saying, don’t blink now, don’t lose focus.
You’ll feel bloated after.