“Are you sure you did these thoroughly enough?”

Yep. Too easy. That look says: you can’t make a simple snack without charring something, pickling something, or, on one memorable occasion, causing something to explode — so shut up and eat, you ingrate.

Ah. It’s good to be home.

“Because they’re kind of sour.” He makes a show of scrunching up his face, mandibles set at different angles, brow plates askew.  “I have to say, I had these on Palaven once, and they were much sweeter. Made my stomach dance a little.”

Saren narrows his eyes. Probably at the fact that Nihlus is popping the slices into his mouth faster than you can say “voracious krogan”. Nihlus winks at him.

“You’re supposed to savour them. Rest that tongue for once,” he finally replies.

“It’s always a plot to get me to shut up.” Nihlus rolls his eyes. “Fine. But just so you know, they’re really very sour.”

“Left alone for any longer, they’d resemble pure sugar rather than fruit.”

“What’s wrong with that? I love a good hit.”

And here is the you have no taste look. Very familiar, faintly endearing. He grins.

“Sweetness must be controlled, or it overpowers the other flavours.”

“Have to disagree. Take the maximum dose all at once, feel elated after. It’s amazing. That’s how it works for me.”

“As incredible as your metabolism may be–“

“Oh, it is. Haven’t had a dose in a while.” He looks pointedly at Saren, who neatly deflects the glance with a mandible flick. But it’s not a complete failure; Saren seems to have gained a sudden, intense interest in the stainless steel tap and the stack of ceramic dishes.

That mere act makes him look at least ten years younger.

Nihlus proffers the plate. “You?”

Saren stares at the two remaining slices for a while.

“I don’t like sweets.” But his posture tells a different story.

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