As the team's unofficial chef, Hunk is very aware of everyone's individual eating habits; likes, dislikes, specific allergies, and so forth.
For instance, he knows that Lance won't touch anything that even remotely resembles a brussels sprout with a twelve-foot pole. He knows Pidge has a quirk about different foods interacting on the same plate; everything has to have its separate, designated space. Keith has to be coaxed, (sometimes forced), into eating even a little breakfast and he blatantly refuses food when he's anxious before missions.
It took Hunk a little longer with Shiro. The night they had rescued him from the compound he hadn't realized the extent of the damage; he'd assumed the poor guy was still suffering nasty side effects as a result of being drugged, not to mention starved for over a year.
Hunk had whipped up an impromptu dinner for everyone in Keith's little shack, taking solace in the comforting sense of control the process of stirring, chopping, and searing had allotted, if only for a fleeting couple of hours.
Long after everyone else had cleaned their plates, Shiro had continued to eat. He'd mechanically shoveled food into his mouth like a ravenous robot, oblivious to his companion's bafflement. At the time, Hunk hadn't understood; hadn't really thought anything of it. He'd seemed hungry, so Hunk had continued to feed him. And Shiro had kept eating. It was the grim concentration that had really freaked Hunk out. Shiro hadn't enjoyed the food, either. In hindsight, Hunk realized his objective had been to inhale every scrap of nourishment as quickly as possible. He'd quite literally eaten himself sick.
Halfway through his fourth bowl of stew, Shiro had abruptly spun away from the table and vomited it all back up onto the floor, nearly giving Keith a heart attack.
Shiro never talked about his year in captivity. But Hunk was willing to bet his ass that food - if you could call it that - had been scarce and Shiro had been forced to fight for every morsel. He also guessed that prisoners were never fed regularly or sufficiently. Hunk had no idea if humans were even meant to ingest whatever the Galra considered food. It couldn't have been especially pleasant. He couldn't imagine forcing yourself to eat for the sole purpose of fighting to stay alive, not knowing when or if you'd ever be fed again. It made his chest ache when he thought about Shiro trapped in such a monstrous hell.
Shiro's brain had undoubtedly been conditioned to consume every bite of whatever he was given, solely fueled by the most basic human instinct: survival.
Since they'd all been tossed together, Hunk's taken it upon himself to meticulously monitor Shiro's meals. The man has absolutely no concept of hunger or the parameters those triggers entail. Essentially, it boils down to making Shiro eat and then ensuring Shiro stops if he's distracted. Hunk isn't positive Shiro is ever going to be able to enjoy food like a normal person ever again. That realization makes him incredibly sad.
One of Hunk's favorite pastimes is cooking for the team, (when Coran hasn't beaten him to it). He's grown exceptionally skilled at experimenting with the various foreign ingredients and creating dishes that taste nearly identical to some of his favorite foods back on Earth.
Still, he's never seen Shiro actually enjoy a meal. Sure, their leader enjoys the company, the camaraderie and routine of sitting down to do something so mundane and familiar in the midst of their crazy lives. But from what Hunk can deduce, Shiro eats because he knows his body requires the nutrients and energy in order to function properly, not because he relishes the flavors or textures of whatever's placed in front of him.
So the night he makes something vaguely similar to chicken spaghetti, (it'd been a rough mission; Hunk needed comfort food), and presents it to the group, he isn't surprised when everyone digs in. What does surprise him is Shiro's reaction after his first bite.
"Oh," Shiro pulls back for a moment, chewing slowly and giving a curious tilt of his head. He swallows, a strange smile playing at the corners of his lips. "This is…"
"Oh," Hunk echoes, disappointment weighing heavily as his shoulders droop. "You don't like it."
Shiro shakes his head, "No, I…this is really good. It tastes like…I don't know. Something my mom used to make, I think."
Shiro's never bothered mentioning his family. The comment sends Hunk sputtering while the other paladins gape at Shiro, noisy sounds of chewing abruptly halting as forks poise listlessly in the air.
"I, uh," Hunk stammers, still taken aback by Shiro's compliment. "I was going for chicken spaghetti?"
"Yeah," Shiro hums after a thoughtful moment before digging into his meal with renewed enthusiasm. "That's it. That's what she used to make."
Shiro moans around another mouthful, closing his eyes as he swallows. "Hunk, this is incredible. I don't know how you do it."
Hunk beams with the praise, smiling from ear-to-ear as he watches Shiro reach for the serving bowl to ladle out another helping. He's eating with gusto, relishing every bite.
"Well, it's not exactly spaghetti, but I guess it had the general shape," Hunk chuckles, swirling a bite around his own fork. "So I figured I'd give it a try."
"It's awesome, Hunk," Lance agrees, cheeks ballooning as he struggles to speak through an obscene amount of…space spaghetti?
Shiro nods, barely pausing to breathe as he practically inhales his second plate.
Pidge and Keith contribute their own compliments, quickly finishing their portions and heading to the showers to wash off the day's grime. Lance lets out an unapologetic, thoroughly satisfied belch before announcing he's wiped.
"You want some help?" Lance offers lazily, slurring around a sleepy yawn.
Hunk rolls his eyes, "No, no. I've got it. You'd only screw up my system, anyway. Yes, there is a system, Lance." He begins gathering up the empty plates, feeling the grueling exhaustion beginning to take its toll. That's when he notices that Shiro hasn't moved. Come to think of it, he hasn't moved for a good five minutes.
The older boy is hunched over the table, head bowed, arms braced against the surface and hands clenched into tight fists. His eyes are squeezed shut, upper body swaying gently as his throat works with convulsive swallows.
"Shiro?" Hunk frowns, crossing over to place a hand on the man's shoulder. "Are you all right?"
Shiro jerks upright, blinking at Hunk with hazy, unfocused eyes as his throat bobs with another thick swallow. He's alarmingly pale, skin clammy with sweat and hair matted to his forehead.
"Yeah," he pants, tongue slowly licking over his upper lip. "'M fine. Jus'…just tired." His slurred words end with an audible shudder that visibly ripples down his spine. His hand strays to hover over his abdomen, lips parting to pant softly as he struggles to stand.
"You sure?" Hunk glares skeptically, keeping his hand on Shiro's shoulder as he rises. "'Cause you look kind of -"
Hunk is abruptly cut off by an odd gurgling sound. Shiro's eyes widen as he frantically presses a fist to his mouth. A wet burp rumbles in his throat, causing his chest to jolt.
Hunk takes an involuntary step back as Shiro cringes, suppressing another deep belch. "Um, Shiro?"
"E-excuse me, I -" Shiro blushes furiously, hand rubbing over his stomach as he takes a few steps away from Hunk. "My stomach feels…sorry. I don't know what's -" he cuts himself off with another gurgly burp, cupping a hand firmly over his mouth before stumbling away from the mess-hall, breaking into an awkward jog. "I've..gotta go."
Baffled, Hunk really has no choice but to follow. Something is seriously wrong and he has the sinking suspicion that it's his fault.
He catches up easily. Shiro's hunched over in the hallway, one arm gripping abusively around his stomach and the other bracing his weight against the wall. He's panting, broad frame jerking with sharp hiccups that he's obviously desperate to stifle.
Hunk can't help resting a hand on his friend's shoulder. Shiro flinches, but doesn't push him off, just curls in harder on himself.
"You're sick," Hunk says matter-of-factly, leaving little room for argument. "You should have said something."
"I'm not -" a muffled retch interrupts his protest. Shiro presses his fist against his mouth so hard Hunk's afraid he's going to crack his jawbone. "I'm just…so full. I can't remember ever feeling so…oh, my stomach -" Shiro's voice catches on another hiccup and Hunk braces his palm against the other man's chest, attempting to steady him.
"I know," he says, voice gentle. "Don't worry. You're okay. It was just a little too much, I guess."
Shiro grunts, trying to detangle himself from Hunk's grip as another violent gag erupts from his throat. He staggers into the shared bathroom, knees bruising against the floor as he drapes himself over the toilet. He clenches the edges of the bowl, legs writhing as he struggles to regain control of his rebelling body.
"What the hell is - ulp - wrong with me?" Shiro demands, shoulders shuddering brutally as saliva drips over his bottom lip.
Despite his own mounting nausea, Hunk squats down behind the older boy, placing a warm hand against the center of his back. He begins rubbing slow, methodic circles, hoping to help in one way or another. He has no idea what he's doing, but Shiro isn't pulling away, so it must be all right.
"Your body isn't used to so much," Hunk reasons, wincing sympathetically as Shiro convulses wretchedly at the mention of food. It's true; he hasn't seen Shiro eat that much since their first encounter and he feels awful for allowing it to go so far. "I think you may have overdone it a little. I'm sorry. I should have -"
"Don't be," Shiro gags, spitting uselessly into the bowl. "Wasn't your - urp - fault."
Of course it wasn't. Nothing is ever anyone's fault but Shiro's. Goddammit.
Hunk takes a deep breath through his nose, wrapping his arms in a sturdy embrace around Shiro's waist as he muffles the shaky words, "Yes it was. Don't be such a fucking hero."
It's angry and stupid and selfish but it gets Shiro's attention.
Shiro glances up from the bowl, eyes momentarily softening as he regards his friend.
"Hunk," Shiro barely manages to choke out the name before he's curling forward with a full-bodied heave, burping up a stream of brown bile. Hunk winces, automatically increasing the pressure of his hand against Shiro's back. His other unconsciously presses against Shiro's contracting stomach.
"Don't worry," Hunk reassures, tightening his grip as he feels the other boy's determination waver, muscles bunching and coiling in desperate anticipation. "I've got you."
Hunk feels like his insides are disintegrating when Shiro's self-control finally gives out, sending him lurching over the bowl with a belching gag that results in a flood of pre-digested liquid spewing from his mouth. Shiro coughs and wheezes, desperate for a breath of air as crippling waves of nausea threaten to suffocate him.
"Take it easy," Hunk coaches. His nose brushes weakly against Shiro's right shoulder blade as the older boy hiccups pitifully, grasping onto the supporting arm that Hunk's encircled around his waist. "Breathe."
Shiro tries to follow the order and ends up retching, another harsh belch ushering up a watery flood of sick. He slumps over the toilet, panting raggedly as the fit eventually wears off.
Hunk is kind of freaking out. It's almost as bad as the first time it happened. Except this time, he knows it's his fault.
Shiro coughs, tainted drool dribbling languidly over his bottom lip as he struggles to regain some semblance of control over his own body. Then his hand strays to Hunk's, long fingers brushing against his skin.
"Hunk," he slurs, voice breathless. "Wasn't you. Stop…stop thinkin' so hard."
"W-what?" Hunk stammers, voice catching.
"I can hear you," Shiro chuckles, a little deliriously as he slumps against Hunk's chest. "So loud."
"Well, stop it," Hunk demands, readjusting Shiro's weight against him. "It's weird, okay? Reading people's thoughts isn't normal."
Shiro simply nods, offering a woozy smile as he goes limp against Hunk's chest.
"Ah, geez," Hunk groans. In spite of his initial irritation at being reduced to a human pillow, Hunk continues to drag his fingers over Shiro's back, humming soothing sounds whenever he stirs.
"You're all right," he whispers when Shiro whimpers softly in his sleep. "You're gonna be all right."