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When was the first time he had a little bite, mostly because Raon wouldn't stop crying?
Cale remembered the taste all too well. A bit like rubber, the sweetness—if there was any—faded and washed when he saw the tears in his child's gaze.
The sogginess wasn't something he liked, but he wasn't a trash to the extent that he would make a face at something a child was trying to feed him so desperately.
So really, it was hardly about the taste.
Cale had always been fond of eating sweets, and he couldn't deny a child's pleading gaze either.
But the taste reminded him.
Meals were never so common, so easily achieved. Whether it was before or after the apocalypse, a peaceful dinner was a luxury with your loved ones. Especially with your loved ones, were they still alive.
Tap
So it wasn't the sogginess he disliked per se, but the buzz that rang in his ears briefly, the twist of caramel and apple sauce morphing into an odd jumble of colors, a bit like mud, mostly unpleasant.
"Thank you."
Pat, pat
But Cale still took a bite.
Because that was what he was supposed to do. It was a luxury, to hear the child's laugh now. Nausea lingered and his throat constricted as he ate, but Cale instead recorded the sight of the giggling dragon, who still had tears in the corners of his eyes.
Fwish
The redhead wiped the same with his hand that wasn't bloodied.
"Hehe."
He recorded it all, from the brief surprise to the fact that the child didn't flinch anymore, when approached suddenly.
It was a luxury, this.
It was a privilege.
So even if he ended up throwing it all up later after midnight, it wasn't something the child should've realised or concerned himself with.
The taste wasn't a problem, after all.
Memory was.