Altean Shiro doesn't know how human coran can eat his cooking with a straight face but secretly appreciates it.
“I said I was sorry,” Shiro protested quietly, handing Hunk another kayilii fruit to ease the scorching in his throat.
“I know, I know,” Hunk coughed once he’d drained all the juice and finally had his voice back. “The bottles were unlabeled.” He coughed again, grabbed one more and bit into it for good measure, then straightened up. “Come on, let’s toss them before anyone else finds them.”
Too late, Shiro realized in alarm as they pushed the door to the main kitchen open. And of course the person leaning on the counter was the last one he would have ever wanted to get burned by that hells-damned-
“Hey, you two,” Coran drawled boredly, munching on another bite of a failed pechulka-jam roll.
And not collapsing to the floor in a heap of vomiting pain.
They both stared.
“You…uh…you alright, man?” Hunk asked warily.
Coran raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, before squinting at them suspiciously. “What are you up to? You’re looking rather guilty all of a sudden.”
“Nothing!” Shiro said quickly, pulling Hunk back by the arm. “It’s…nothing. We were just, um-”
“Trying out some, uh, snack stuff we found on our last stop. They okay with you?” Hunk asked.
Coran shrugged and popped the last bite in his mouth. “Kinda smoky, but not bad. Wouldn’t mind if you pick up some more next time we’re out that way. Later, lads,” he said, taking his cana and heading out of the kitchen.
Shiro was only vaguely aware of Hunk elbowing him in the ribs.
It didn’t remove the grin from his face.