The scent hit them first—rich, savory, and so damn good it practically pulled Soap off the couch. He’d been half-dozing with his feet kicked up, but now his nose twitched like some sort of cartoon bloodhound.

“Jesus,” Gaz muttered from his spot by the window, where he’d been idly scrolling through his phone. “That smells... fantastic.”

Price glanced up from the newspaper he was pretending to read, eyebrow quirking. Even Ghost shifted slightly where he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest like usual. His head tilted, probably inhaling the scent through the fabric of his mask.

Soap padded over to the kitchen, eyes wide with curiosity and hunger. Whatever they were cooking, it smelled like pure comfort. Meat, potatoes, spices... all simmering together into something that made his mouth water.

He caught a glimpse of the pot, steam wafting up with every gentle stir of their spoon. Beef stew. And not just any beef stew—their beef stew. The kind that stuck to your ribs and made you feel warm down to your bones.

Price gave an approving grunt from his spot on the couch. “Looks like someone’s trying to spoil us.”

“Not complaining,” Gaz said with a grin, finally setting his phone aside. “If it tastes half as good as it smells, I’m sold.”

Soap didn’t even bother hiding his excitement, his gaze darting between the pot and their focused expression as they cooked. “Makin’ the rest of us look bad,” he joked, though the eagerness in his tone gave him away.

Ghost’s silence wasn’t unusual, but even he seemed a little less guarded as he loomed nearby. Maybe the promise of a decent, homemade meal had managed to slip through that icy exterior of his.

Soap couldn’t blame him. Hell, he was practically bouncing on his feet just waiting for them to finish. They’d all been through hell and back, and a meal like this? It was a damn gift.