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As the meat in his pan started sizzling, Jax found it a fitting sound to match the boiling of his blood in his veins.
They had asked for more glimpses of their humanity. For anything to remind them of who they used to be - possibly who they still were. Fleeting memories only seen in dreams, words and sounds and names on the tips of their tongues, important dates or pictures or anything.
Sure, why not give them memories of the limitations of their human bodies. That was one way to placate them, right?
Jax now understood his deep-seated fear of corn that still lingered even after he got trapped in this hell. What he wouldn’t give to still live in confusion once again.
The first time he went to indulge in a plate of spaghetti and his throat swelled up and his entire being burned was the most embarrassing and gutting experience he could recall. All Caine had to do was snap his fingers and reverse the reaction, but he was unreliable at the best of times. The experience was so bitterly nostalgic. He dared not chance the possibility that he’d continue to live through it considering the alternative.
Everything clicked into place right after; his bizarre knowledge of food ingredients he often kept to himself, his inclination to check the ingredients of everything he ate, the strange fear he felt when Bubble would serve unidentifiable or new dishes. Once Caine had snapped and the initial shock of the lack of sensation drained from him, he breathlessly asked “Is this enriched pasta?”
The shrug Caine gave sank in his stomach like a stone.
He had never wanted to feel less human than he had in that moment.
As time went on, it became a little easier to ignore the way that everyone else would dive into a delicious smelling meal even as he sat and stared at his lap.
It would sting when snacks were found during adventures, yes, but he could deal with the isolation he felt as he sat off to the side. Unwanted and unfed.
Nothing had labels here. Nothing was verifiable except for the barest of ingredients.
Meats. Veggies. Fruits.
The digital sensation of starving was often worse than that of bone-deep exhaustion and ire and self-pity. Hence, why he watched over his food. No, glared at it.
Everyone else had gotten off so easy. Ragatha had lactose intolerance, big whoop. Who didn’t. Zooble complained of joint pain. Gangle had lamented about the ways she couldn’t stretch a certain part of her ribbons without it feeling like it was going to tear.
But they could all sit around and share snacks and freely eat and not worry about their life being held in the balance by a mistaken bite or ignored ingredient.
He flipped his steak and propped his head up on a hand, resting his elbow on the counter next to the stove. His stomach turned in nauseous hunger. He just wanted to fucking eat. He knew if he settled for just random berries and salads from the fridge he’d be even more starving later, and much angrier at the situation.
They had to have pasta again, of course. He didn’t even give them the grace of him pretending to care about whatever conversation they were having, he just went straight to his room to wait out the emptying of the circus so he could cook in peace.
His ear twitched as the fridge opened.
“What’cha makin’?”
He turned around to see Pomni, propped up on a stool sitting at the kitchen’s island (with a palm tree centerpiece - they don’t think Caine quite understood the term). She held a bag of shredded cheddar and was dressed in her casual clothes. The eternal hat remained on her head, but she was gloveless and looked much more comfortable than usual in her t-shirt and yoga pants.
She hadn’t complained about anything since the update, be it food related or otherwise.
“It smells good.” She remarked as she cracked the bag open and grabbed a pinch of cheese.
It did smell good, yeah, he was a pretty good cook, but he wishes it was more by choice and less out of necessity. It also smelled like it was done, fucking finally. He exhaled sharply as he got up from his slouch.
“Food that won’t kill me,” He finally responded as he tilted the pan to ease it onto the plate.
He was too ravenous to care that he’d have company for the meal for the time being, as he sat across from Pomni and paid no heed to her presence as he devoured the steak.
So long to cook, so little time to eat.
Conversely, Pomni slowed her pace, plucking one single shred at a time as she watched him.
“So, can you eat cheese?”
The silence was finally broken as he chewed his last bite. He glanced up at her to meet her gaze for a second before looking to the side. He shrugged as he swallowed. “Not shredded.”
She seemed genuinely taken aback by this. “Huh?”
“The anti-caking agent.”
At the questioning look on her face, he explained further, “It’s usually corn-based. I can have blocks of it, but I’d have to shred it myself.”
“Oh, huh.” She looked down at the floor with her brows furrowed. “That’s dumb.”
“Tell me about it.” He rested his fork down on the plate and brought his hands up to lace his fingers together and rest his chin once again. He didn’t feel particularly inclined to retreat back to solitude for now.
Their gazes met again as Pomni’s head turned towards him. “...Can you eat cheetos?”
“Nope, that’s just corn-based.”
She pouted and turned back towards the ground. “So what do you like to eat?”
He had to admit the limited list amused him. “So I can’t eat shredded cheese or cheesy corn snacks and that’s where you give up on the list?”
“Well that’s what I like to eat. Aside from salmon, which I think you can have. Unless…”
“Nah, Salmon is usually fine. I usually just cook it in butter.”
“But what do you like to eat?”
“...I did like spaghetti.”
She looked up at him with a face that veered a little close to something he disliked, and he braced himself for yet another annoyingly well-meaning response.
”Wow, I’d die if I had that! I have no clue how you manage it.”
”Eat it anyway, you can probably take it.”
”Can’t you just eat around the bad parts? It’s not all harmful to you, right?”
“Did?”
Or it would be delayed just slightly. He would love an excuse to lash out, truthfully. Sure, he’ll humor her for now. “It’s supposed to be safe for me but there must be some added stuff in whatever we have here - I can’t have it anymore.”
She squinted her eyes slightly “...Supposed to be safe?”
Jax groaned a bit as he continued, “Yes, it’s supposed to just be flour, eggs, olive oil, and salt. I can have all of those things. It’s just whatever shit Caine conjures is…like, the shitty store-brand version, probably has cornmeal or something.”
Pomni opened her mouth and Jax took the opportunity to interject.
“I don’t want to make it. I don’t want to have to hand-craft every single thing I eat-I just want to eat something and not think so much about it. It’d take so long to make it. Pasta is so tedious.”
She still held the expression that could be read as slight anger, or concern, or pity, which Jax would hate most of all.
“...I was just going to ask if that’s all the ingredients.”
He blinked as he considered her question. He looked down in thought. “Yeah. Salt to taste, boil after until it’s done. It’s the shaping that’s tedious.”
She seemed to consider this very carefully. “Interesting.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Is it, though?”
“I just never thought about food like that, before.”
There it was. “Well, consider yourself lucky.” He rose from his chair and started back towards the hall of dorms. “It’s every damn day for me, Pompom.” He decided to abandon his plate for flair, but also to avoid any more piteous looks on her face. At least he managed to make something somewhat filling, even if he felt unsatisfied compared to the meal everyone else was served.
He craved so many things the rest of the night and could do nothing about them.
As he did every night, he entered the kitchen with his own pan. He couldn’t risk leaving it out during the day among other people who might decide it were suddenly theirs, lest he not scrub away a trace of some corn byproduct and make himself ill. Dinner was much easier to sit through when everyone was served beef and potatoes, especially considering his previous meal.
Granted, he still couldn’t eat it. But it wasn’t mocking him the same way a carb-heavy dinner might.
He was still thinking about how he could replicate the feeling of it somewhat without taking all night when he caught Pomni. She was covered in flour as she slowly ran a knife down the surface of the island they had just spent the previous night at. As he approached he could make out a yellow, thin dough that was getting sliced.
As with most things she did, there was a bit of unevenness to them. Strands of differing widths, the dough was clearly much thinner in some areas than it was in others.
She didn’t look up at him until he was right next to her and asked, “What’cha makin’?”
She jerked up and her eyes went wide as she left a jagged cut. She protested at him with annoyance, “Don’t do that when I have a knife!”
A smirk spread across his face at this. When Pomni was more bite than paranoia she was a little fun to be around, if just to hear the shit she’d say. “Relax, I’m just asking. I thought you were bad at cooking.”
She resumed her work, carefully starting the next cut. “I am. I was hoping you’d be okay doing that part.”
“And what makes you think I’d be okay cooking for you?”
“It’s a single serving, jackass. If you start boiling water, I’ll finish faster.”
“Hey, wait a minute, just because you’re telling me to do shit-”
Her head whipped back around to face him and her eyes narrowed. “It’s for you.”
The anger that had grown on his face fell as he recoiled slightly. “Huh?”
The knifed hand pointed at a bag on the countertop. “Flour.” It whipped back to the side. “Eggs.”
“Jesus, stop waving the knife around.”
A curt shake of her head. “No. Salt. Olive oil. Is that…is that edible for you?”
He looked around to see the toppled-over bag, the still-open bottle. The fridge was even left ajar. This woman was a kitchen disaster. But, still, “Y-yeah. That’s all safe.”
She nodded. “Cool, will you start some water, please? Ragatha banned me from the stove.”
He snorted a bit and went to grab a stainless steel pot as something awfully warm started blooming in his chest. It wasn’t reflux this time. “Sure.”