Rae doesn't move from where Jun put him, not exactly, anyway, just enough to lean and squint at whatever's closest. His fingers trail along a row of cereal boxes, tilting one to read the side panel like it personally offended him. "Look at this," he mutters, mostly to himself, holding up a box like evidence in a trial. "Twenty-two grams sugar. Per serving. Who is a serving for, a bird?" He sets it back crooked, doesn't bother fixing it. "Three years shelf life on the label too. Of course. Nothing here is food, it's just… packaging that outlives us." He says it lightly, but there's an edge underneath, the kind that comes from someone who grew up on rice and banchan his grandmother made from scratch, standing now in a museum of preservatives that will probably survive the apocalypse better than either of them will. He moves to the next shelf without really meaning to, reads the back of a granola bar wrapper, snorts, puts it down. It's a habit more than anything, some small, stubborn part of him needs to know what things are made of, even at the end of the world.
He trails a few steps behind Jun, close enough to still be "where Jun said," loose enough to feel like he's choosing it. When Jun spits out the croissant, Rae's head snaps up and a laugh cracks out of him before he can stop it, sharp, surprised, entirely too loud for a dead grocery store. "Jun-ah." He presses a hand over his own mouth like that'll undo the noise, shoulders still shaking, eyes bright with it. "What were you thinking." He drops his voice, drifting a step closer to get a better look at the abandoned pastry like it might explain itself. "It's been sitting there… for quite some time, maybe. Nothing stays fresh that long unless it's lying to you. You saw it, you smelled it, and you just believed it?" He shakes his head slowly, biting back another laugh. "For a soldier you have terrible instincts around baked goods. I'm never letting you pick the snacks again."
He drifts toward the water aisle after that, quieter, dragging a finger along the plastic wrap of a case of bottles like he's checking it's real, checking the world is still made of things that make sense. "How long do you think this is even good for," he says, half to himself, tapping the packaging which crinkles under his fingers. "Water doesn't expire, not really, it's just the plastic that gets weird after a while." He crouches, reads a label anyway, because apparently it has become a habit now. It's the word coffee that actually pulls him over, quick, like a dog hearing its leash.
He crosses to Jun's aisle and crouches down beside him, scanning the labels with real interest now instead of judgment. "Wait, if we're boiling it, can we do it iced?" His voice picks up, a little too hopeful for the setting. "Boil it strong, let it cool down, dump it over ice. I haven't had iced coffee since before all this. God, that's such a stupid thing to miss, out of everything." He's already half-lost in the thought, chasing the idea of the ice more than the coffee itself now, wondering out loud if there's a working freezer left anywhere in this city, or if that's just wishful thinking dressed up as a plan.
He looked over his shoulder at Rae, who was still doubled over, wheezing with laughter. Jun couldn't blame him. He was chuckling too, once he could taste anything besides whatever chemical was keeping those pastries bright yellow.
"I thought they would have been good for one more day." He grinned sheepishly. "They looked good." It was his only defense, and a flimsy one at that. He knew better. Sometimes his optimism ran away from him.
Rae was still going on about iced coffee, and Jun couldn't help but find it endearing. Everyone had been so serious for so long; seeing him this excited over something so simple felt like a small victory. He nodded anyway. "We can try. I'll carry it back; you can try to find something cold to put in it."
There was nothing cold here. They hadn't had ice in weeks. It didn't stop Jun from hoping. It was all they had left. He wouldn't begrudge Rae something as simple as iced coffee, even if it was an impossible request. At least he wasn't thinking about anything else for once.
Jun tucked the dented can into his pack, the metal clinking against the few other supplies they'd managed to find. He scanned the empty shelves, considering a few more cans, but his fingers stopped just short of grabbing the fourth. Three cans were enough for now. After all, he had to leave something for the others who might come looking tomorrow. He didn't want to risk drawing attention by taking too much. They should have brought more bags, but who could have known how bad it would get? How little would be left after all this time.
His eyes darted to every corner, while Rae scoured labels for something usable. A few packets of jerky tucked behind a display, some protein bars smashed on a lower shelf. Nothing amazing. He wasn't going to complain. Every calorie counted now.
"Got anything?" He kept his voice low. They were still alone here, but sound traveled. As a soldier, he knew too well how far they could push their luck before it pushed back.
