They might. Yeah. Kind of have a tendency to get lost in their own thoughts even if it carries them into some sort of downward spiral that isn't all that great — which is something that comes around even more frequently when they aren't united as a group, and have access to distractions like Hunk experimenting with space goo or Pidge tinkering around with a new piece of tech that may or may not give anyone close enough a nice little jolt of electricity — but they are, effectively, all each other has by way of familiarity in this place so far, so. It's probably good that he's the one trying to maintain the optimism here.

( Aw, you don't wanna be known as Fantasy Mullet forever, buddy? Too bad, it's happening. At least you're not a glorified garbage man. )

Lance takes a second to peer at the containers in front of them, choosing the one that looks like it should be the spiciest, since it has bits of peppers and all, sliding it across the table in Keith's general direction. He then checks out the containers again for anything that looks like it might resemble salsa, because as great as queso happens to be, he's not feeling it just yet.

( God help these poor idiots. )

"Um." He starts, then stops, brows pinching just a bit as he thinks back through his day. "Not … really?" There's nothing incredibly exciting about emptying trash. He folds himself into a cross-legged position and chews on a mouthful of chips thoughtfully before continuing. "How's things in the realm of princess-guarding?"

He's so jealous. He's so jealous you have no idea.