three square meals a day, a comfortable bed, a roof over his head. once little more than an unachievable dream, now a reality. denji isn't so desperate he's nine years old again and waist deep in a dumpster in search of something edible, but an old dog can't be taught new tricks. instinct quicker than the mind, almost innate, something not unlike the nature of a rat to scavenge from its first breath. “ hey ! ”
there is a squeak with the pivot of his step, hand grasping desperately for his prize. acceleration is excessive for the short distance he's covered, an unstoppable force against an easily movable object, and boy comes crashing to the ground with a groan. the commotion is a comedy act, complete with an unenthused audience in kento nanami ... dignity is the last thing on denji's mind, even covered in used tissues and discarded remnants of conbini snacks.
“ tch ... senpai, you were seriously gonna throw this out ? you didn't even finish HALF of it ! ” an accusatory finger protrudes, jabbed in his warden's direction with disdain clear behind it. judge, jury, executioner, he's easily stuffing a portion of the unwanted pastry in his mouth. down the hatch it goes ! how else will he sniff out the motive of such a heinous crime ? the verdict is imposed through a mouthful of half - chewed bread. “ oh shit, this is good. ” / @shokutsus