Work Text:
The scritching of a pencil drew him gradually up from sleep. Normally, Toriko would have rolled back over and gone back to his dreams. The twinging of his instincts, however, was harder to ignore. A bishokuya who didn't listen to his instincts was one who did not live to eat his meals.
A quick glance around, though, showed little except for Komatsu (and Toriko's senses had long established the chef and any noises he generated as being "safe" and "harmless" and "occasionally annoying"); there was no scent of wild animals in the air. The night was clear, the stars brilliant in the cold velvet black of the night.
He took a quick stock of himself. Of course, there was the hunger -- there was always the hunger, the agitation of cells needing and wanting to evolve, the yearning to become stronger, faster, more efficient, the fierce drive to just live but he and the other three emperors had always experienced life with that emptiness, so it wasn't anything new.
Komatsu smelled healthy too; there was no iron tang of blood, no salty trace of tears, though there was something else-- Toriko couldn't smell emotions, not quite, but strong feelings did leave almost a shadow scent.
Tonight, there was something much like bitterness lingering at the edges of Komatsu.
It was enough to make Toriko's nose twitch. He sat up, rubbing the last of the sleep away from his eyes.
"Hey, what's with the novel writing?" he asked as he stretched. It was rare for Komatsu to be awake this late; their rough and tumble adventures tended to end just after dinner and Komatsu's ear rattling snores filled the camp as soon as his head touched his bedroll.
(Perhaps it was the silence that woke him, not the pencil sounds ... though that raised a new question: when had Komatsu's noises become normal to him that any change raised an alarm?)
"Ah! Toriko-san, sorry to disturb you!" his partner immediately stopped writing, giving him a hesitant smile.
"No problem, though you probably should get some sleep. We have a long trek tomorrow; those cream conefish won't catch themselves." Toriko yawned. "What's got you up anyway?"
"Well, I was thinking about something, and it kept me awake. I can stop, if it's bothering you." The chef folded the paper up and tucked it into his shirt pocket.
Normally, that would have been the end of it. There really was a long day ahead through some challenging territory (Level forty and above animals! Ground that could explode at even the slightest hint of a footstep! Cream conefish, whose teeth were as sharp as any Melk knife and whose scales could shave off arms and legs in a single pass by ... Toriko felt his mouth water at the very thought of the life and limb threatening possibilities.)
Yet ... there was something in how Komatsu's hands were trembling, just so, the way he stared at the ground, body posture subdued and stilled, that halted any further thought of cream conefish -- or any other prey.
Subdued and still weren't words he usually associated with his chef and partner. Loud and scream-y, yes. Overacting and hand wav-y, definitely. But quiet, pensive and melancholic...
"Hey," Toriko's instincts prickled even more. "You okay?"
"Oh! Of course I'm fine, Toriko-san!" Komatsu rushed to assure him. The way he was waving his hands made Toriko's shoulders relax slightly. "I was just rewriting my will."
"Your will?!" Toriko rubbed the back of his neck, considering. "It's been quite awhile since I've seen you do that."
"Yeah and there's lots of stuff I wanted to include now." Komatsu tapped the pencil against his mouth.
"Okay, not that being prepared to die and having enough resolution to face death isn't great and all ... but why do you have to do this now? Did you get scared again or something?"
Toriko scratched his chin, trying to recall what could have triggered Komatsu's need to tackle end-of-life documents during ass o' clock at night. "We're in a really safe place right now; nothing's really tried to eat you in the past .. eeeeeh ... two days? And those flesh eating slugs didn't even come close, not really and you didn't scream TOO much, so ... what is it?"
Komatsu shuddered. "Don't remind me about the slugs! But no, I wasn't scared, not more than usual, and I'm not scared ... well, not TOO scared, about tomorrow."
"So if you weren't scared for your life, and it's not the adventure ahead, then what's making you want to write your will?"
"Oh, it was the corn onions we found today."
"Corn ... onions?" Toriko raised an eyebrow. "Corn onions made you want to write your will? They don't even have a capture level of 1!"
"I know," Komatsu nodded. "But they were so delicious! And that made me think of eggs."
"Eggs?" Toriko raised his other eyebrow. "Okay, that's just weird. What do eggs have anything to do with your will?"
"Toriko-san, it's NOT weird! It's just thinking in terms of ingredients!" Komatsu protested. "And you're the one that asked! I was thinking about eggs, and how those corn onions would go well with chicken tiger eggs."
The awkward stillness had returned to Komatsu's body; his shoulders were slumped, face blank, and his hands lay quiescent in his lap. Only his eyes showed any expression; they looked dark and faraway
"Komatsu?" Strange, how seeing his partner quiet had the opposite effect on Toriko. His muscles bunched instinctively, though there wasn't even the slightest whiff of anything to fight.
"Yes?" Komatsu tilted his head, clearly puzzled.
"You were talking about the corn onions, then the eggs, and now you've gotten even more weird."
And I don't like it, his thoughts finished.
"Oh! Well, yeah, the chicken tiger eggs made me think of Yocchi-san and his wife, about what we leave behind, and well ... who we leave behind. And then I thought about you."
"What the hell?! That's quite a leap, isn't it? How does that follow from a load of crappy onions to eggs to ... look, no one is leaving anyone behind. Komatsu, it's not like we're going anywhere to die tomorrow! It's like I said in Vegetable Sky -- we're going adventuring to really live!"
Toriko felt his stomach roil and clench; something within him was tensing up, balking, as if ready to dig in its heels and fight.
From the startled look on Komatsu's face, though, his emotions were showing too plainly. Toriko took a deep breath, schooling his thoughts once again. "Didn't I tell you that I am not going to let anything happen to you on our adventures?"
"I know, I know!" Komatsu put up both hands as Toriko frowned. "I don't think I'm gonna die tomorrow, and probably not on the next adventure. I hope."
"You're NOT," Toriko really hadn't meant to growl. He could also feel, just slightly, his fighting spirit starting to leak out. Komatsu's eyes grew wide in his face.
The feeling in his gut was anger, Toriko realized, with a bit of hurt mixed in. Didn't Komatsu trust him after all this time ...?
"And I believe in you, Toriko-san. It's not that!" Komatsu said firmly.
As he spoke, he also threw himself forward, hugging the bishokuya around the waist fiercely. "I really really do believe in you, more than anything! And that's why I'm rewriting my will!"
It was very strange, Toriko reflected, how that tiny grip around his middle felt stronger than any other grip, be it from metal chain or machine, human or animal, in all the world.
"It's because I believe in you, that you're the best bishokuya ever, that we can make it through anything. Yeah, I'm scared sometimes, specially when there's stuff like flesh eating slugs -- but that's not why I'm rewriting my will. It isn't a one time thing. It's a long term project -- and I hope it's a really, REALLY long term project."
"What do you mean? If you're not preparing to die ... why are you writing your will?"
"I wanted to make sure I write down my recipes in my will so that when the time comes, it won't be like Yocchi-san and his wife!" Komatsu's voice was muffled against his stomach, but Toriko could hear and feel, in vibrations against his skin and otherwise, each word quite easily.
"It's like you said to Yocchi-san, it's the food that's most important to the bishokuya, right? So I'm writing down all my recipes in my will as well, so that when I'm gone, someone's gonna be there to cook the food for you -- whether it's corn onions or chicken tiger eggs, or century soup. I'm doing it for Coco-san, Sunny-san, and Zebra-san too. All of you. So even when you guys get old, it'll be there for you ... the food that makes you all so great!"
There was a wetness against his shirt now, soaking in as Komatsu's shoulders shook. And again, it was happening in a manner completely unlike the chef -- a quiet sort of breaking, measured in the uneven puffs of breath and the clenching of small fists.
"Ah ... ah, I'm s-so s-s-s-sorry Toriko-san. Maybe you're right, I am weird! I got this upset ... all because of the corn onions!" Komatsu tried to laugh but it came out choked and scrambled instead. "But I was just thinking about you, and I didn't want you to ever be without that one thing that is so important to you."
Toriko wasn't feeling all that able to speak clearly himself. His voice was a still little rough, when he was finally able to find the words. "But I still don't understand. You'll be there, with us. There's no need to write everything down in your will now; you can just cook it for us!"
Komatsu scratched the back of his neck, as if suddenly embarrassed. "But even if it's many, many adventures from now, I'm going to get old."
Even in the half light of the banked fire, Komatsu's words seemed an impossibility; his round face as young as ever, his eyes ever as bright. Toriko shook his head.
"Stop being ridiculous and go to bed. We'll get old together, and you'll have plenty of time to write down that stuff then."
"But Toriko-san ...how old did Acacia-sama get anyway, with his gourmet cells?"
"I ... well ..." Toriko stopped, thinking. "Over a hundred or so years. Huh, it may be hundreds, even. Hell, even my master's a very old geezer."
Komatsu shrugged. "But I don't have gourmet cells. So ... yeah."
One small hand sneaked upwards, curling into Toriko's suddenly slack fingers. Toriko took a moment to stare at Komatsu's small digits. The skin was warm and slightly rough; they were craftsman's hands, though not particularly strong. Some would even say they were weak compared to the iron strength of most men in the gourmet age.
But Komatsu's hands were strong enough to hold onto him during any adventure. Their grip was solid and sure enough through any challenge, cooking or otherwise.
To think that one day, the hands would be wrinkled, that they would let go and leave ...
"But we're talking about years and years of adventures ahead of us, right?" Komatsu finally said as he shyly took his hand back. "I don't want to forget even one single mega-exciting moment. Or even the quiet times, like this."
Energy was beginning to return to Komatsu's expression; his eyes were regaining their sparkle again.
"We're gonna find so many more recipes! So many more ingredients! A lifetime worth awaits for me, and I don't want to leave it until it's too late. That's why I wanted to write it now, and keep on adding more until I can't anymore. Then when I'm gone, your new chef can help you get even more food and not have to start from scratch. Actually, it kinda makes me happy, knowing that my recipes will be there for you."
"A ... new ... chef?" The words didn't even want to come out of his mouth. However, Komatsu did not seem to notice.
"Yep!" Komatsu nodded decisively, wiping his eyes off with his sleeves. As with most of the chef's mercurial moods, his sadness seemed to have left him completely, leaving in its wake the normal cheerfulness and spirit that filled his steps and his actions.
"Thank you so much, Toriko-san! You totally cheered me up! Ah ... Toriko-san? Are you okay? Why do you look ready to fi-- ... oh crap, something's gonna eat us? WAAAH!"
It was only then, with Komatsu running in panicked circles around the camp, that Toriko realized he had again clenched both of his fists. His fighting aura, too, had began to materialize, and it was only with difficulty that he was able to reign it in, loosen his shoulders, and relax his stance.
"Ah, it was nothing. It's ... gone now," he said to Komatsu as the chef scrambled to a stop, and blew out a huge breath.
"Thank goodness! That's just like you, Toriko-san, getting rid of the danger before it gets to us!" he said enthusiastically before yawning dramatically. "Uggh, I'm tired. Cream conefish tomorrow, right? Can't wait. Already got some ideas on how to prepare it ... to ... help ... you ... grow." Yawns punctuated his last words.
And true to form (and perhaps as a physical testament to his already professed faith in the bishokuya's ability to keep him safe), Komatsu was asleep the minute he snuggled into his bedroll. His snores filled the campsite once more, and normalcy invaded the air again.
Toriko stared at his hands, flexing them. They were his most formidable weapons.
But there was nothing to fight tonight. No monsters to defeat. No reason to raise his knife or fork. Good food awaited tomorrow, in the days ahead, and probably in the rough and tumble years to come.
But tonight, watching over the sleeping form of his partner, Toriko wondered if he'd ever truly get enough time before Komatsu's will was finally finished ... and about how strange it was to feel so empty ... and full, at the same time.
End