5.2

It was infuriating. 

Because Lucien wasn't supposed to *care*. Yet, he was starting to. He shouldn't have ordered the staff to remodel the kitchen randomly to match Andrew's height so his shoulders didn't ache. That was a momentary lapse of judgement. 

He'd never say it. Of course not. But when Andrew adjusted his tie before work or made soup when Lucien had a cold, the alpha's cold heart melted just a little each time.

Unfortunately, Lucien was also a master at self-sabotage. Because, how could he just....say that? Or be nice to andrew? No, that was unacceptable. How dare andrew not have mind reading skills and figure out his feelings himself. He was an alpha. He can't just...say he found andrew *tolerable* now. No no. That would mean going back on his cold words. On the top of that, andrew was someone who took things at face value. Let's just say reading between the lines wasn't his strongest suite. Which made a rather unfortunate pair. One wasn't willing to say. One would understand until said clearly to his face, in simple words. This also led to many...situations. 

Take, for example, the lunchbox debacle.

It started ten months ago, the morning after the marriage. Andrew, true to his routine, had woken up early- around 5 am, to prepare breakfast. That's what his mother has taught him- he should make a good impression from the start. He'd painstakingly spent four hours to prepare an elaborate breakfast consisting of Lucien's favourite dishes- or what he assumed his favorite was, since he only had some tabloid articles for information. He's also prepared a lunchbox for the other. Lucien had come down around 9 am, and after glancing at the food, had scoffed. He'd eaten breakfast, but on being presented with the lunchbox by an eager to please andrew, he had refused coldly. Lucien had told Andrew, in a tone he thought was *distant and polite* (read: jerkishly blunt), that he didn't need any packed lunches. He'd eat at the office. Didn't like cold, stale food. Practical.

Andrew had blinked. His smile had dimmed and just for a moment, hurt flickered in his honey brown eyes. Outwardly, he'd nodded, focusing on the rationality of the answer instead of the tone. Of course, food in a lunchbox for cold and stale. He'd offered to use an insulated lunchbox instead- which had earned a glare and a crisp 'I said I don't want it. Do you find it hard to understand simple orders?'. That had successfully shut Andrew up, and internalized this with the seriousness of a man reading holy scripture. 'Lucien does not like packed lunch' was printed in his mind like gospel.

Never asked again.

Which, frankly, *annoyed* Lucien. Very much. Not that he wanted lunch packed. No. Obviously. He was a grown man. An alpha. Heir of the whitemore corporation. But—if Andrew *had* asked again, Lucien would have said yes. Graciously. Like a benevolent monarch dispensing favor. But Andrew didn't. Not once.

It happened slowly. The... Attachment. To the cooking. He's started eating more at breakfast and dinner- which Andrew made. Any takeout lunch his assistant bought from the office cafeteria or any high end restraunt from around the office seemed more and more unappetising as days passed. Some days, he'd just take a bite from the lunch, and leave the rest. He's just eat more at dinner at home. Now, ten months later, Lucien looked at five star salad with the sad looking greens in his glossy executive office while daydreaming about Andrew's made from scratch pasta.

It was ridiculous, really. He was a grown man, a high-powered executive. He didn't *need* a homemade meal. He could afford the finest restaurants, the most exclusive private chefs. 

But none of them made food like Andrew did. 

None of them made his chest tighten when they slid a plate in front of him, eyes flickering up nervously to gauge his reaction. None of them stayed up late to make him tonics or soup when he was sick.

None of them made him want to *smile* when they absentmindedly licked a dab of sauce off their thumb. 

And that was the worst part. 

Because Lucien had *told* him not to bother with packed lunches. He'd himself told Andrew not to. And he couldn't just ..backtrack. He was an alpha. He won't surrender his pride for a goddamn lunchbox. 

He wouldn't. 

Okay maybe he'd try mentioning the lunchbox once.