Just a story I rattled off while suffering from Waiting-for-next-chapter syndrome. First piece I've posted here, but I have read almost all of the fanfiction under Toriko and damn does the fan base feels tiny! This one's dedicated to two authors- (I'm sad I haven't talked to you guys!) Dreaming of Everything and latenightiridescence.
Drop me a review, readers, if you want to say anything!
P.S. My personal opinion is that Toriko is not a one-dimensional character. Komatsu has a humanising effect on Toriko's personality, so I think it's natural that he has developed a level of emotional awareness, working in sync with his obsession over food. I like to regard it as one of the forces continuously driving him to greater heights. Below, I've tried to explore Toriko's state of mind a little, as it feels slightly glossed over in the manga (doesn't mean it's not there!)- there are rumours that Shima-san isn't very comfortable scripting emotional, introspective content.
P.P.S. It feels a little on the fluffy side. Please don't vomit on me through your screens. =) Oh, and ignore my micro-vent in the middle of the story- I had to release some steam. Sorry!
"Toriko-san?" Komatsu's voice piped up in the gloom, sounding small in the shadows of the candle-lit room.
"Mhmm?" The blue-haired Bishokuya's eyes opened, realising his right leg was getting numb from being propped up as he dozed. Lazily letting his lower body succumb to gravity, Toriko shifted his posture on the futon, succeeding in only further entangling himself in twisted sheets. As he gave up trying to find the ends of the blanket, in the weary state that he currently was, the man became aware of Komatsu, staring intently at him, sitting upright. Turning his head, Toriko's eyes met his partner's. "What's the matter, Komatsu?"
The comparatively miniscule chef seemed to be startled, an involuntary, stunned look crossing his face, as if he had just been woken from a reverie. The moment that emotion disappeared, Komatsu broke eye contact with Toriko, staring down into his lap, calloused hands fidgeting. A sense of doubt seemed to emanate in waves from his body language; Toriko could almost smell it. Suddenly, Komatsu lifted up his head, a glint in his eyes, a crinkle appearing on his forehead. He forced himself to look Toriko in the eye, mouth opening as he seemed ready to finally let loose some worry gnawing at his mind.
Promptly, the chef's resolve faltered, uncharacteristic of his usual passionate, steely attitude once his sights were set. Komatsu's mouth clenched and he reflexively shut his eyes. Out of the blue, tears of frustration squeezed themselves from his lids.
Even Toriko, who was used to the teary outbursts of his combo, was taken aback. For once unsure of what was going through Komatsu's normally simplistic mind, the Bishokuya shifted from his futon, moving closer to the silently crying chef (another strangely concerning difference). Toriko stretched out his arms, moving to comfort him, but something made him re-consider. Instead of hurling himself into the man's embrace, as was typical, his partner made no move- he didn't even seem to acknowledge the smaller distance between himself and Toriko. Genuinely a little worried now, the Bishokuya sat up, exhaustion slowly lifting from his body with each passing second. "Tell me what's wrong, Komatsu." When that didn't elicit much of a response, he tried again, with more intention this time. "Trust me like ya always have. I get worried too, y'know." Toriko paused for a moment. "Komatsu, talk to me."
The chef's sobs seemed to subside, teary eyes opening to stare apprehensively at the Bishokuya's earnest expression. He finally spoke. "Th…there's just so much at…at stake. I haven't b-bothered to say anything about it until now because I was scared…so scared that it wouldn't w-work out, and then everything would go to p-pieces. I…I was always secretly hopeful, but it's o-only been through the last f-few days of training with you, with F-Food Honor, that I've felt this…this desperation, this want for some…some form of reassurance. I just…" As if the plug had been pulled on a bathtub full of water, the suppressed thoughts of Komatsu poured out, glugging in a cascade, broken off at the end by an abrupt hiccup. Komatsu's expression became downcast once more, a guilty look in his eyes and a slight red tinge creeping into his cheeks.
Toriko, meanwhile, was feeling terribly confused, having just witnessed a side of Komatsu that he was completely unaware of. Sensing the chef's distress but unable to decipher his out-of-context statements, the Bishokuya was left speechless, the two partners lapsing into an awkward silence that was interjected with periodic hiccups. Much to the blue-haired man's relief, Komatsu decided to elaborate a little.
"Toriko-san, why do we know so little about each other's personal lives?"
Toriko was taken aback, not sure where in both the human and Gourmet worlds that question had come from. However, he quickly recovered from his surprise, having detected Komatsu's genuine tone whilst posing the problem. Besides, at least it was something he could answer.
"Well, I never felt that y' were interested in that sorta stuff, Komatsu. Ya didn't ask about it, so I did the same. Growin' up with Coco and Sani, I've kinda gotten used t' people likin' their privacy, and I respect that." He thought for a moment, before continuing. "I mean there's not much t' talk about with my life anyway. Ya heard some of it when Terry was born, remember? We were born as an experiment, me an' the others were just borin' ol' test subjects 'til Ichiryuu decided t' adopt the four of us." At that moment, Toriko realised, with somewhat of a shock (was there an end to them tonight?!), that Komatsu was listening intently, absorbing the information with as much eagerness as he would identify the unique characteristics of ingredients they came across. "Seriously, Komatsu? Ya wanted t' hear about that? Our past and all that crap?" An incredulous look was plastered across the Bishokuya's face.
"Toriko-san, it isn't crap! It was part of the reason why I was so overwhelmed about being in a partnership with you! I thought we'd learn more about each other, not just regarding our skills and new ingredients and new places to explore, but about our different lives as well! Aren't combo partners meant to be connected on a level that isn't simply professional?" Gone was the previous cloud of sadness clinging like a malaise over Komatsu, for in his impassioned statement he had revealed some of the desires that had been held back, at a clear detriment to his emotional stability. Even Toriko could see this, and a part of him marvelled at how the chef could still progress on par with him throughout the Food Honor training whilst carrying such a mountain of doubt and worry.
The Bishokuya sighed, unable to help a smile from tugging at the corners of his lips. 'I've underestimated Komatsu once again,' he thought. 'If only he knew,' growled the demon's voice inside of his head, but he pushed the spirit away, directing a clear message of "piss of" towards it. "I'm sorry, Komatsu. I just didn't think that y' thought of our partnership as anythin' more than 'professional', as y' put it, either! I mean ya have y' own restaurant, y' must be getting really busy from all the hype that's been surroundin' ya the last few months? I thought if I jus' stuck t' training, and kept outta y' hair, we would be more effective when we went to retrieve Ichiryuu's ingredients."
Komatsu's jaw dropped. "WHaaaaaa? How could you think that you were ever getting in my way? It's always the opposite when we go into the wild- I mean who's the one tripping over, trying to keep up and getting themselves stuck in awful situations? I know I cry a lot, but I just can't help it when I get scared! I don't like being on the receiving end of surprises, which is one of the reasons I love cooking so much, I guess? I mean at least when it's involving food I'm always the one discovering the surprises. Hehe." The chef lifted a finger to scratch at his cheek, feeling a little sheepish at that admission.
Toriko chuckled heartily, eyes softening as he gazed at the small figure sitting in front of him. "Ya shouldn't worry about what others think, 'specially when it comes t' somethin' as innocent and genuine as cryin'. I've told ya before, cryin' is just a release of the amount of emotion needed for ya t' feel better. It's good for ya and it's natural, so why be ashamed of it?" He paused. "Kinda like what eatin' is for me, now that I think about it." The Bishokuya shifted a hand under his chin, as he thought about the strange connection.
By now, the candles were burning lower, the time of day no doubt getting close to midnight. The chitter-chatter of wild beasts could be heard in the surrounding forest, ever-present like some eerie background music to the deep blackness of the night. Komatsu shivered, realising his body had grown cold due to exposure. Before he had a chance to climb back into his covers, however, Toriko had a muscular arm curled almost possessively around his waist, bringing him closer to the Bishokuya's torso. As the chef turned his head around, he felt himself instantly growing warmer, the heat of Toriko's churning metabolism radiating steady warmth in the close vicinity around him.
Komatsu squirmed a little, trying to free himself from Toriko's clutches. "Toriko-saaaan," he whined. Halting as he realised his efforts were futile, the chef glared at his combo partner. Then, a flicker of self-conscious doubt re-emerged in his eyes. Seeming to carefully consider his next words, Komatsu spoke again. His voice sounded deathly quiet. "You shouldn't do stuff like this, Toriko-san." The chef paused, eyes now fixed on a speck of dust floating against the surface of the timber floor. "It keeps getting my hopes up." The last few words were even harder to hear than the first phrase, but Toriko knew he had discerned them clearly. Even so, he still couldn't and in some respects, wouldn't, believe what had just issued from his partner's mouth. The Bishokuya's mind suddenly felt as if it was in a state of intense turmoil. With those few utterances, he felt a little dizzy. 'He couldn't possibly mean…' Toriko thought.
At the same time, Komatsu's thoughts were veering off on quite a radically different tangent. 'Damn it, damn it, damn it!' the chef was repeating in his head, as if that mantra would protect him from what was ahead. 'Why did I have to go and spill my beans? Everything was going so well too! I'm so greedy, so damn greedy…damn it, damn it, damn it!' His eyes were closed tightly, heart thumping out its lopsided rhythm at a frantic, break-neck pace. 'Thank god Zebra isn't here,' thought Komatsu, imagining in his mind the massive Bishokuya leaning down towards him, threatening scowl set in place, roaring "WHAT'S UP WITH YOUR GODDAMN COCKY PULSE?"
Suddenly, Komatsu became aware of Toriko's arm unravelling with a forced subtlety from around his midsection. The chef's heart plummeted, an overripe apple falling to the earth, and his repeated thoughts of 'damn it, damn it, damn it' modulated to 'don't cry, don't cry, don't cry'. To the chef, it was apparent that it was all over, all his neediness paving a direct course to destruction. He was trying not to think about the future, although such worries were already proliferating in number, foretelling no more adventures and a life of solitude, coupled with purposeless cooking.
But this world was not so unkind as to dash his hopes against the jagged cliffs of reality; emotional sensitivity was not lost, dreams were not just hopeless ambition and abortive sorrow, people were not so ego-centric as to lose their ability to connect, to empathise, to love.
Toriko had not in fact consciously withdrawn his arm. His body had acted of its own accord, reacting to the Bishokuya's conflicted state of mind, self-defence a more plausible explanation for the retraction of his limbs than the idea that he had utilised the gesture to send some sort of subliminal message. He knew that the pressure was on him, and for some reason it felt to him like the Gourmet World all over again. Toriko didn't know where to stop, the ideas and memories whirling around in his head like some grotesque form of a kaleidoscope, thoroughly off-putting to his attempt at calming himself down and thinking even remotely logically. 'How is someone meant t' respond t' a statement like that?' he thought. 'Komatsu said it, and I'd be foolin' myself if I thought I heard wrong.' At this point, Toriko was sorely wishing he had Coco's gift for divination, for it would have helped infinitely in reacting to this situation which the Bishokuya found simultaneously blatant and complicated.
Finally, the blue-haired man gathered the courage (a quality he usually had a never-ending supply of) to speak. The suspense was over for Komatsu, who was almost cowering in his emotionally exposed state.
"Did ya really mean what I think ya meant? Komatsu? Don't leave me hangin' on this. Please." Toriko couldn't remember the last time he had used that last word in a conversation with anyone- but his current irrepressible need for an answer pulled the plea from his lips, almost without his consent. That fact, which Komatsu must have sensed, made the chef open his eyes gingerly, though his hands remained clenched.
"Y-Yes." Komatsu's head drooped, not daring to raise his eyes even an inch. He didn't want to see the concrete response. The pain of it would be too much, he was thinking.
But it was never going to go as Komatsu thought, for despite his incredible Food Luck and prodigal cooking skills, he would never be able to read others' minds, even if he tried. Toriko, in that moment, felt like something had exploded inside him, not like the excruciating stab of the Nitro Cherry, but more like a sudden burst of flavour, reminiscent of the Rainbow Fruit jelly, smothering his palate with a microcosm of different tastes.
'Everything makes sense now!' Toriko thought, an intense joy bubbling over in his blood. He even knew why Komatsu was looking so darn depressed, though the sight almost brought a choked laugh to his lips. 'How can he think that? Be more confident about yourself, Komatsu!' When the Bishokuya looked up, he realised that the chef was staring at him, absolute disbelief on his face.
He had voiced the last thought, accidentally.
"Toriko-san? I…I never…" Komatsu spluttered, unable to put his emotions into words any more.
"Thought that the entire time, I was thinkin' the same thing?" Toriko finished for him. "I'm not as good at holding back as ya, have t' say. Ya never really said anythin' when I kept hintin' t' ya, so I eventually gave up. That did hurt a little y'know."
Having the unexpected turn of events affirmed for him in words, a radiant smile broke across Komatsu's face like a ray of pure sunshine. The chef almost leapt onto Toriko, hugging him with fervour such that it seemed like his life depended on the gesture. Tears of joy (this time) streamed down Komatsu's face, dripping into the material of Toriko's singlet as he burrowed himself into the solid pressure of his now real partner's prominently sculpted chest. "I...I'm so sowwy, Torigo-zan, all those times I juz thought y-you were saying dat stuff to ch-cheer me up. I n-never thought dat you l-liked me. I ztill don' really know why you do." He sniffled, looking up into Toriko's eyes.
"You're amazin'." The Bishokuya shook his head, bicep flexing as he ruffled the chef's hair. "Komatsu, even after all y've managed t' do, y' still don't know why I want ya so badly? Hell, why all four of us fight over ya whenever we come together?"
Komatsu seemed awe-struck. "How? Whaat? They do? Coco and Sani and Zebra-san? I know they've mentioned partnering up with me, but…in that way too? Really?"
Toriko could not help himself laughing at Komatsu's ignorance. "Geez, Komatsu, are ya blind or somethin'? Y' inability t' see how beautiful ya are is pretty damn cute." He laughed again, seeing his partner's mouth twist into a pout.
"Toriko-san, I am not cute." He had his arms crossed over his chest, staring indignantly up at the blue-haired man from his comfortable position, nestled in the safety of his torso. The Bishokuya simply smiled, moving one of his hands to dismantle Komatsu's pose, threading his fingers through the chef's tiny, but strong digits.
"Yes ya are, Komatsu," Toriko said in a hushed tone. "Ya don't know how cute y' looked a few nights ago when y' told me we'd learn Food Honor together, beat Assistant Master Shuu and get the Bubble Fruit. Ya had that look in y' eyes, feisty an' all, and ya don't know how much I wanted t' come over and take ya in my arms."
That admission pushed Komatsu into a stunned silence. "But…Toriko-san, I remember that. You just kept staring at the ceiling; I thought you'd fallen asleep with your eyes open! I was holding back as well, seeing as you looked at peace. I thought if I kept talking I would've disturbed you, so I went back to sleep. I-In truth, I felt a little s-sad…and disappointed."
Abruptly, Komatsu felt Toriko shift. The next moment, as the chef's eyes opened after a blink, he found himself face to face with the Bishokuya, staring deep into the man's semi-glazed irises. It took a second more for Komatsu to realise that his lips were locked with Toriko's, his partner's tongue already nudging at him for entrance. In surprise, Komatsu's mouth opened, as if to say something exclamatory, but the word was cut off by the entrance of a powerful muscle, eagerly tasting its surroundings. Recovering from the shock of Toriko's sudden act of affection, the chef tentatively darted out his tongue, feeling a tingle of energy run through his body as he found the Bishokuya.
Toriko tasted like nothing he had ever eaten before. The residual imprints of a thousand different ingredients assaulted his senses- meats, delicate sweets, alcohol, and smokiness from his partner's cigar branch. He could even feel the presence of all the special components they had found together, each one like a little neon sign blazing in his mind, evoking sweet memories. As their tongues twisted, dancing around each other in a ritualistic cycle, there seemed no end to the abundance of flavours. Toriko's taste was a veritable history map, charting things he had eaten, especially delicious foods accentuated like small markers, a little more tangible and present in the overall stream. To Komatsu, the resemblance to the single drop of Century Soup he had tasted was uncanny.
Of course, with Toriko's similarly advanced sense of taste, the Bishokuya was enthralled by the chef's flavour, no less bountiful in terms of variety than his own, though he did not know that. It was almost an act of sharing memories, for Toriko could sense the presence of exotic ingredients that Komatsu had tasted, long before the pair had met.
It seemed the longer the kiss dragged on, the more the partners understood about each other. When Komatsu finally ran out of breath, extricating himself from Toriko and feeling like he had just surfaced from a dive into the world's most plentiful sea of ingredients, an intense satisfaction seemed to hover in the air of the room. Whilst Komatsu gasped in a massive breath of air, Toriko sighed deeply, a supremely pleasured look settling on his face, instinctively knowing that that one kiss had been equivalent to any of the largest feasts he had eaten in his life so far. Even as the sensation dulled gradually, the echoes continued, bringing the Bishokuya to the verge of tears in the way that only truly magnificent food could.
"To-Ko-ri-matsu-ko-san" The two had blurted each other's names at the same time, clashing in an almost unintelligible mix of sounds. Realising that they had unintentionally spoken together, smiles twitched at the corners of both mouths, as the partners collapsed into an indulgent hug. Tears were rolling down Komatsu's cheeks again, and two fat drops were trickling from even Toriko's eyes. 'How long has it been since I felt this sorta connection? When I felt this kinda need for somebody else?' questioned the Bishokuya in his mind. He could feel the devil laughing somewhere inside his head, in an I-told-you-so manner. The connection he could feel bonding himself to Komatsu filled him with a completeness he had never experienced before, yet it also awakened a deeply rooted insecurity, a fear that hadn't shown itself until now. 'What if you're not strong enough to protect Komatsu? What if you fail and he leaves you forever? Can you afford to lose something so precious to you?' The questions poked and prodded at his conscience, trying to find a weak spot in his resolve. But they vastly underestimated Toriko, who had an unwavering confidence in their partnership. 'That will never happen,' he told the retreating doubts, 'we're now stronger than ever before, and I'll train even harder. I'll master Food Honor, I'll conquer the Gourmet World, an' together we'll find GOD! Nobody will dare t' harm Komatsu- if they do, I'll make sure t' rip them ta shreds, even if it means havin' t' eliminate the 'seed' of their bodies!'
Toriko's aura had grown stronger, heat now issuing rapidly from his body. Komatsu sensed the sudden increase in temperature, and gazed curiously up at his partner's contemplative expression. "Toriko-san, is everything alright?"
Snapping out of his introspective battle, Toriko realised he had been releasing his Intimidation. He instantly retracted it, feeling a little guilty that he had let his control slip. "Oops, sorry Komatsu."
"It's okay," mumbled Komatsu, yawning as he clung onto Toriko's upper body. The sight of the chef huddled to the warmth and security of his chest was an endearing one, and the Bishokuya found his arm moving of its own accord, wrapping around Komatsu's waist once more. "Is it alright if I sleep here tonight, Toriko-san?"
"Of course," responded Toriko, feeling the chef's small hands clasping his forearm. Arranging the blanket so that the material just covered Komatsu's lower body, the blue-haired man stared for a while at Komatsu's peaceful form, before lapsing into a deep sleep, dreaming about a heaven filled with countless foods. It was identical to every other night's dream- except for one difference, almost swallowed by the vastness of the dreamscape. Komatsu was there, seated on a cloud next to his perch atop a pyramid of food, hand interlinked with his, pulling delicacy after delicacy from the heavens while he munched noisily.