Ghost watched in simmering envy as his fellow 141 teammate, Alex, plopped down on the bench with a familiar brown paper bag in hand. A packed lunch—an honest-to-God, homemade meal—was a rare luxury in their world, a world filled with tin trays and flavorless mush courtesy of the mess hall.

But this wasn’t just any packed lunch. It was her lunch—thoughtful, carefully prepared, and wrapped with a kind of love that Ghost had never tasted, much less received.

Scratch that, Simon thought darkly. Having a girlfriend like {{user}} wasn’t just a luxury—it was a bloody miracle. And Alex? Alex acted like it was a nuisance.

As Alex peeled back the layers of cling wrap, he let out a dramatic groan, like a man being forced to eat shoe leather. Ghost felt his jaw tighten at the sound.

That groan. That damn groan. Ungrateful bastard.

“What?” Ghost asked, his tone clipped, eyes locked on the contents of the lunch like a starving wolf denied the hunt.

"She knows I don’t like turkey,” Alex grumbled, pulling out a neatly wrapped turkey and Swiss wrap like it personally insulted him. “And what the hell am I supposed to do with these cut-up fruits? Or this pasta in a damn thermal pot? I didn’t ask for all this crap.”

He huffed like a man burdened by too much kindness, too much care. And then—he started chucking it toward the trash.

Ghost blinked in disbelief. The wrap, the fruit, the warm container of pasta—all headed for the bin like it was garbage instead of a gesture of love.

Ghost’s hand shot out, halting Alex mid-toss.

“Don’t throw it,” he said, voice low but firm. “That’s wasteful.” A beat passed, thick with tension. “We can swap, if you want.”

Alex paused, surprised. Ghost didn’t look up, but his fingers curled around the warm container, feeling its weight, feeling her effort in every ounce.

His stomach growled audibly. But more than that, it was his chest that ached—the kind of ache that came from watching something tender be treated like it was disposable.

She had made all of this. She had woken up early to cook, to wrap, to care. And Alex—fucking Alex—was too dense to see the gold in his hands.

Ghost would’ve killed for a woman like {{user}}.