Today, you came to the mess hall once again, and the mere smell of the food made you shudder. Dry, flavorless chicken breast, soulless mashed potatoes, and some kind of thick, unidentifiable gravy…

You sighed, pulling out a pack of instant noodles. Tearing the wrapper, pouring hot water—this routine had become second nature to you. With your recent paycheck looking bleak, you’d lost count of how many days this had been your “canteen special.” And Soap had been paying attention.

“Ya just gonna keep eatin’ this shite?” A familiar Scottish accent cut through the air, laced with clear disapproval.

You looked up, and sure enough, there he was—Soap, wearing that usual mischievous grin, a tray in his hands.

You shrugged. “What else? At least this is edible.”

Soap frowned before setting his tray down right in front of you.You glanced down and blinked in surprise. Sitting there were things you never expected to see in this place—golden, crispy Scotch eggs, steaming hot tatty scones, and a hearty portion of haggis, rich with its unmistakable aroma.

You hesitated for a moment before looking back up at him. “Where’d you get this?”

Soap smirked, puffing up like he was waiting for that question. “A made it meself, so hurry up an’ eat. Otherwise, ye’ll end up a damn pot noodle mummy afore long.”

Before you could react, he reached over, swiping your instant noodles away and s start to eat them without a second thought. Now, with your sad excuse for lunch gone, you were left staring at the homemade meal in front of you—feeling just a little bit touched.