Tanaka had rules.
Don't eat his food. Over embellished with sticky notes and sharpie scrawls directly onto the packets: Do not eat -Tanaka.
But the others didn't really pay attention to that, each member might take maybe just one of his snacks but if all of them did then it left a noticeable dent in his supply. Tanaka would then remove any traces of his claim and let it become a free for all as to who could devour the remainder the fasted.
It was frustrating because it meant he couldn't eat.
Tanaka had gloves.
A little box, tucked away inside a stubborn drawer that only opened when you wiggled it just right. They were his and only his, nobody else was allowed to touch them. On the occasion his food remained untouched he would take it to his room, put on the gloves and eat. That is, if the food didn't require chopsticks to eat. He didn't couldn't eat anything that had been touched by his hands, or others. He didn't know how clean they were. It meant he had to go to great lengths to prepare his food, everything made from scratch.
"It'd be so much easier if you just bought potato chips you know."
But it wouldn't be because he couldn't put them near his mouth, he didn't know how they'd been prepared, didn't know if someone had touched them. He'd rather make it himself, no matter how convoluted it seemed to the rest.
Tanaka had rules. Don't eat his food.
But then he had rules.
Rule one: Nothing that's been touched by unclean hands.
Meats were a struggle, made him too nervous. He couldn't stand the idea of gristle or a fish bone, or skin making it's way into his mouth. Tanaka would spend so long meticulously picking apart meat with his (gloved) fingers, feeling through every last piece. He'd heard horror stories of people finding a chicken head or other part in their fast food that Tanaka grew painstakingly wary of picking out everything that was wrong.
Rule two: Nothing from an animal that isn't meat, eggs and milk included. Nothing that he hasn't seen prepared from the whole animal.
(He was too wary after Sato's Kentucky Fried Fingers and he wouldn't put it past the man to feed them human body parts for the fun of it)
One time Tanaka had mad the grievous attempt to eat something that had been prepared by someone else, he'd hovered over Gen like a hawk, watching every action over his shoulder, directing all the actions. The brief moment he'd chosen to give Gen some space, mushrooms had been added to the dish. When the unfamiliar taste assaulted his tongue, he had no choice but to spit it straight back out into his bowl, rendering it disgustingly inedible. The others raised their brows at him and Gen looked mainly indifferent, if not vaguely offended.
Rule three: No mushrooms, onions, peppers, tomatoes, beans, potatoes, carrots, corn, peas, turnips, broccoli, cucumbers, leeks, parsnips and radishes.
(Growing up Tanaka remembered almost solely relying on lettuce, cabbage, spinach and kale as his vegetable intake)
Rule four: No mush like textures; Porridge/Oatmeal, anything that had taken a trip through a food processor. No rice, which was one of the most difficult rules to take into consideration. No soups or stews.
It reminded him too much of what he'd been fed in confinement.
Tanaka liked hard boiled sweets. Too hot to be touched with bare hands, packaged by automatic wrapping machines, they were safe.
"You're so fussy," Takahashi rolled his eyes when Tanaka almost snarled upon catching him in the act of pillaging his personal snacks, "Get over it."
Rule five: Nothing from a plate or bowl, or made with/eaten with utensils that he hasn't himself cleaned out thoroughly.
One time pizza had been ordered, the smell and sight and the general implication of it's presence nearly made Tanaka throw up. He'd made a hasty retreat and excused himself from eating for the next two days.
"You can't just live off of cornichons," Gen tells him when he watches Tanaka pluck them straight from the jar.
(With chopsticks he'd spent a whole ten minutes scrubbing at beforehand)
"Watch me," He responded.
Sato watched the interaction passively, a light smile tuned his features so scantly, so restricted and limited. A smile that changed his face so drastically that Tanaka could already feel himself beginning to freeze up, could already feel his knee's shaking as Sato calmly made his way over, appearing as least threatening as possible but that just made it wholly worse because that's how Sato just was.
Without even looking at Tanaka, Sato brushed past him into the kitchen of the warehouse and began to rifle through the fridge as though he had no ulterior motives. Sato's grin stretched, his teeth showing as he moved to the cupboard and pulled out a plastic tub of a month old mushroom soup.
Gen watched lazily from the table and Tanaka watched horrified from the door as Sato hummed, making his way around the kitchen and pulling out a cup.
Tanaka couldn't remember who had made it but he knew with certainty that they used their bare hands to touch the ingredients, because none of the others wore gloves to prepare food.
Rule one.
As far as he was aware, there was no meat in it. Tanaka couldn't be sure, but rule two was followed. His throat had closed up as he watched Sato tip the congealed soup into the cup.
Rules three, four and five.
With every rule that Sato broke, Tanaka could feel the sheer terror inside of him climbing higher and higher on a vine that was about to snap.
Tanaka felt like he was going to cry, felt like he couldn't breathe, felt like he was going to die because he knew what was happening, God, he knew exactly where this was going and he wanted to run away. But Sato's eyes pinned him in place, kept him exactly where he was as though he'd driven nails through Tanaka's feet and into the floor.
"Drink it Tanaka."
Gen looked concerned watching the display carefully
Sato was pushing the rim of the glass against Tanaka's lip and he could smell it. It smelled rotten and wrong, he could see the congealed lumps. Nobody would drink this, not even someone who could eat what he couldn't. It was rotten and cold and thick with clumps. Tanaka's eyes trained on the cup that was pressing insistently and coldly at his mouth.
He was going to be sick.
He was going to vomit if Sato didn't take it away right now, but Tanaka couldn't even open his mouth to warn them in fear that Sato would upturn the glass into his mouth and force him to ingest the glue like liquid. Gen found the concern to speak up on Tanaka's behalf, in the least confrontational tone he could manage towards Sato.
"Easy, he looks like he's gonna throw up. His face is turning green."
But it was as if Sato wasn't even listening, didn't even twitch in acknowledgment. It was like he hadn't even heard but Tanaka knew he had. His heart was racing, seconds away from stopping all together. The sheer panic was overwhelming, he couldn't think, couldn't rationalize anything.
He was going to be sick.
"Drink it," Sato ordered, grinning even more as Tanaka grew more visibly distressed, "Or you're going back to the lab."
Tanaka very audibly whimpered.
He was going to cry, he was going to vomit, get that thing away from him, please. God, please just get it away from him.
He was going to throw up, but nothing would come out because he hasn't eaten in two days because all of the foods are wrong.
"Drink it," Sato demanded firmly, his smile slipping into a frown.
Tanaka did.
ARFID/SED (Avoidant-Restrictive Food Intake Disorder / Selective Eating Disorder) -Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder is defined as an eating or feeding disturbance that includes avoiding foods of a particular taste, texture or colour. It differs from the major eating disorders like Anorexia Nervosa and Bulimia Nervosa in that it's not associated with behaviours related to weight control or self-concept strongly influenced by body weight or shape. It's classified as disturbances in feeding and eating related to a lack of interest in, or appetite for food, and refusal of foods based on sensory factors (so think taste, smell, the texture of it when you put it in your mouth - things like that).
-SiCanFly