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“Nah, I wanna try it.” He grabbed a chip and scooped out some hot sauce.

I winced. “Dan, it’s really hot. I’m a ghoul, remember? I can handle heat a lot better than most other people. Including other supernatural people.”

He smirked at me. “I can handle it, kitten.”

“I really wouldn’t—”

I winced again when he shoved the whole chip into his mouth and crunched down. At first, he gave me an approving look and said through his mouthful, “It’s good.”

Then his eye twitched again, before both started watering. He tried to save face by continuing to chew, slowly, as he went pink. Then red. Then started to sweat.

“Spit it out.” I looked around for something, but heard him swallow thickly and gasp for breath.

“Fuck,” he wheezed, doubling over, then stumbled for the sink and shoved his head under the faucet as he fumbled to turn the water on.

I suppressed a snort and reached for the fridge. “Water doesn’t help. You need milk.”

“I can’t close my mouth,” he garbled. “It hurts too much.”

I hurriedly scanned his fridge, reaching for an unopened bottle of creamer. Huh, I thought Dan took his coffee black. “Here.”

When he lifted his head, his eyes and nose were streaming and a snort of laughter escaped me before I could stop it.

“It feels like my tongue’s going to fall off.” He stuck it out, panting like a dog, then reached up to grab his own head. A second later, he’d popped it off but groaned in anguish. “That isn’t helping!”

“Here,” I said again, unscrewing the bottle and handing it over. Head tucked under his arm, he tipped the bottle over his mouth and guzzled almost the entire thing down. I watched in silence as creamer poured from his neck hole, splashing all over his side and shorts and running in streams down his leg.

“It’s not helping!” he gasped. “Rafe!”

“It will.” I tried to reassure him, pursing my lips to hide my smile as I rubbed his back soothingly. “Just give it a minute.”

“I can’t take another minute,” he choked out dramatically. “It feels like I’m dying. Rafe, why would you bring that evil into my house?”

I laughed and reached for the bowl to snag a chip, dipping it into the hot sauce and popping it in my mouth. The heat tingled on my tongue pleasantly, warming the back of my throat. “It’s good.”

“It’s torture,” he wheezed, still panting like a dog. “You were going to dip your balls in that. Thank fuck I found you when I did.”

“Yeah.” I grimaced.

“Oh god, it won’t stop.” Trembling lightly, he shoved his head back on and sucked in a shaky breath, then winced and clutched his throat. “It hurts to breathe.”

“I thought you didn’t need to breathe.”

“I don’t, but it’s reflex!” he shot back, voice hoarse and croaky, then clutched his throat again and bent over. “Fuck, it hurts.”

“It’ll stop in a sec.”

“No, it won’t! It’s stripped away the lining of my mouth! I’ll never taste food aga—” He faltered, then cautiously straightened up. “Okay, I think… I think it’s going away now.”

“Good.” With a sly smile, I reached into the bag and pulled out the tub of salsa I’d bought. “Maybe stick to this, dullahan.”

He exhaled a slow breath and rubbed his chest, then looked down at the creamer bottle in his hand. “Shit, probably shouldn’t’ve drunk all that.” He cast me a sheepish look. “Uh, do you want coffee? There’s just enough left if you do.”

I froze, my eyes darting to the bottle. Had he bought it for me?

No, surely not. He must just have it for guests.

It was the exact kind I bought, though.