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He sat awkwardly at the end of a table big enough to fill the room, in a room larger than any dwelling he’d ever see let alone been in in his entire life. The noise in the room was deafening, as the table is lined end to end with people taking their shares of food dished out lavishly in front of them, chatting about the day, about work, about the mundane weather just outside the open window, about anything and everything. Akutagawa had never heard so many people talking all at once; he silently wished they would all shut up.
Two empty seats separated him from everyone else. Some executive who had to leave for one reason or another, the other for his mentor, currently leaned over and locked in conversation with the Boss at the head of the table. He had never been afraid of people, back in the slums, but it wasn’t fear that settled in the pit of stomach as he sat surrounded by people, by noise, by scents of things he couldn’t tell if they were supposed to be good or not -
Discomfort, that’s what it was. What a useless feeling…
He looked down at his plate. He had no idea what was on it, just that he had taken a bite and it was nothing like anything he’d had before Dazai settled himself into his life. It wasn’t terrible. It wasn’t even bad. Like the noise, and the people, and sitting at a table as if it were a normal thing to do - having meals with people at a table, rather than a dirty floor - it was just too much.
Savory and spice, something sweet in the undertones and a kick of of another deeper, richer, flavor that was far too much for a tongue that had only ever tasted trash. Even sitting there, thin still and hungry, he merely stared at his plate and attempted to drown out the undulating vibration of conversation.
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
He looked up, finding Dazai standing there, head tilted. The question should have an obvious answer. How many days had he gone wishing the pangs in his stomach would find their cessation with food graciously filling the depths of his ravenous belly? And here he was sitting with his throat clenched tight because somehow, this food was just too much for a starved boy.
“Hey. I asked you a question. Aren’t you going to eat?”
The corner of his lip twitched, and he contemplated a moment taking a handful of whatever it was they’d served him and shoving it in his mouth just to prove a point - what point, he didn’t know. Stubbornness, perhaps? - but something told him choking himself in front of this man and his peers was the last thing he wanted to do, and trying to stomach anything they’d tried feeding him was out of the question at this point.
“I’m not hungry.” How was that for stubborn.
The subtle glint in Dazai’s eyes lets Akutagawa know that the other could tell he was lying straight through that stubbornness. He always could; nothing got past him.
But instead of a retaliation of some sort, Dazai merely looks at him, shrugs, and turns to the Boss.
“We’ve got some stuff to finish up. You don’t mind, do you?”
Puzzled, he looked between Dazai and the Boss, already dismissing them with a gloved hand. Without another word, Dazai turned towards the door of the dining hall, and the silent command for Akutagawa to follow.
The lost dog he was, he did.
Silence settled between them, one that was infinitely more pleasurable than the blanket of sound from the dining hall. He didn’t question where Dazai was leading him as they left Port H.Q., his desire for some silence overriding his mild curiosity. Occasionally, though, the silence would break at the sound of his stomach growling, a beast in its own right. If Dazai noticed, he said nothing, and Akutagawa found himself focusing less and less on his hunger and the lingering taste of too much in his mouth, in favor of that semi-silence and the buzz of the city around them. His hands settled into his pockets, eyes cast forward, and slowly the taste in his mouth began to wane.
Eventually, they came to a market, several blocks away. Akutagawa had never been; no assignments had ever been given in this part of the city, and Dazai had never brought him here. He remained face forward as Dazai led him past stalls colorful and bursting with goods, though his eyes moved and took everything in - fresh produce, hanging meats, confectioneries of wild proportion. A cacophony of not only sound, but sight and scent, though out in the open as opposed to confined within the space of a dining hall, he found that he could breathe and take it in without desiring to take his place farthest from the commotion around him.
Was that why Dazai brought him out here? Had he seen it?
Akutagawa didn’t ask, as Dazai slowed their pace to a gradual stop in front of one of the stalls.
Laid out in front of them were fruits of all sorts - some Akutagawa recognized, others he was uncertain of. Vibrant greens and reds - something that was pink and spiked and hardly resembled anything a person should or want to eat - pieces of all sizes and shapes. The assortment was so colorful, gleaming up like jewels from their beds, ready to be plucked by those ambitious enough to seek them. Not a single one was pitted, blackened by rot; their scent was sweet where putrid should have been. As he reached out a tentative hand to trace his fingers over one of the apples, he found them firm instead of softened by age.
He’d never known fruits so fresh before.
He withdrew his hand, and looked to Dazai, who stared at him curiously.
“Take what you want,” he said simply, giving Akutagawa a shrug before moving on to another stall, browsing whatever fare was there. There was a ringing in his ears as Dazai left him to his own devices, and he turned back to the fruits, egged on by the owner to make his choices.
Anything he wanted…
Once more, his hand reached for one of the apples, stopping short just before his fingers could brush over it again. Too unfamiliar for his tastes. What would he say to Dazai should he make his choice and find he couldn’t eat that, too? Wasted effort. The apples were bypassed, as were the others, too showy and colorful to make him eased with trying them. But then, something caught his eye.
Nondescript, blackish-purple and brown, shriveled little bulbs. They were set farther away from the other fruits, were wrinkled in on themselves like an elder’s skin. He pointed.
“What are those?”
“Eh? Dried figs. Go on and try one.”
He was reaching before having gotten his permission, fingers glad to touch something imperfect, something that squished beneath the pressure of his grasp - something familiar and ugly. The hesitation was minute as he brought the fruit to his lips, a slight halt before pressing it past and into his mouth and under the curious pressure of his teeth.
Squish, squish, a burst of sweet, the crunch of seeds, and down his throat it went.
It wasn’t rotted, despite the pliable softness of its flesh, and yet as he chewed he found it was more palatable than what he’d been served barely an hour ago. Not flavorless… but simple. Easy to take in. The texture was enough to feel like something he knew and deserved to eat but the taste -
Sweetness like that was a foreign language on his tongue and couldn’t help but want to learn it.
“You like them, kid?”
His eyes cut to the stall owner, an old man like a wrinkled fig himself. His smile was kind, if not amused. Akutagawa’s brow scrunched up, and he pointed again to the figs.
“I want more of those.”
The old man laughed, but complied. He procured a brown bag, and loaded a scoop-full of figs into them, eyeing Akutagawa as he did.
“Say when, kid.”
Akutagawa didn’t speak, only watched the fountain of the figs flow into the bag, their muddied brown somehow a more succulent temptation than any number of the selection of bright fruits beside them. The man didn’t stop until the bag was brimmed full, nearly bursting. Without thinking, one hand went to reach for the bag, the other into his coat - payment was a thing, he remembered.
With a jolt, he jumped, as another hand clamped down on his arm as he was rummaging his pocket for money. Dazai had returned, seemingly out of a void, and peered at his bag of figs with a tilted head.
“I’ve got it.”
Akutagawa didn’t argue, his hand already bringing his bag of figs to his body, held close like a treasure he’d just discovered. He watched as Dazai paid for his figs, and another full bag. Without another word, Dazai began their trek back to H.Q.
Following, he popped another fig into his mouth, the taste of something fresh for once not so harsh against a palate used to rot.