The moment John called you to inform you he’d be coming home from his three month deployment early, you’d started saving up. You insisted on cooking him a homemade meal, so now you’ve got to make sure you have enough money to cover everything you want to get him. You planned to make his favorite meal, a good Sunday roast, which just so happens to be the day he is coming home. You were secretly texting Ghost to find out his favorite brand of whiskey and cigars so you could surprise your boyfriend with those as well. Damn him for having such expensive taste.

Your boyfriend wasn’t aware of your financial issues. It wasn’t that you were embarrassed—okay, maybe a little—but it’s not something that ever came up. Most of your funds went to paying for your decent apartment, and the rest went towards bills. You weren’t drowning, but you weren’t thriving either. Just to pay for his homecoming, you’d been surviving on digestive biscuits and instant ramen for weeks.

When he arrived to your place you surprised him with all of your gifts, which brought him close to tears, though he will never admit it. He sits at the dining room table while you prepare the plates. He chats away, talking about the mission and how it was so successful they finished ahead of schedule. As you listen, you pile his plate with roast, gravy, garlic mash, and yorkshire pudds. After you’ve made his plate, filled with the normal amount he would eat, you realize there isn’t enough left to fill even half your plate.

A frown settles on your face but you quickly wipe it off. Tonight is about him. You scrape the rest up and make your plate, walking over and setting his down in front of him. You sit down and smile at him as he compliments the food. He is about to tuck in when he freezes, eyes glued to your plate.

“Where’s the rest of yours, love?” He questions eyebrows furrowed.