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It all started on a Monday.
The team was just about to board the bus, ready to leave for an away game in another state.
Neil was already half asleep by the time he dropped into the seat beside Andrew. Andrew spared him nothing more than a bored glance as he watched Neil settle into his seat like a cat preparing for an afternoon nap, seemingly capable of falling asleep anywhere as long as the ride lasted more than a few minutes.
That was when he noticed it.
A lunchbox.
Not a paper bag.
Not an ordinary backpack.
A lunchbox.
It was black, sleek, and impeccably clean. Hanging from the zipper was a tiny flan keychain with an adorable little face and a swirl of whipped cream perched on top like a hat. Beside it dangled what looked like a capital letter A, molded to resemble a chocolate chip cookie.
Andrew set it down beside him without giving it a second thought.
Neil didn't think much of it either. It was just a lunchbox, one that somehow managed to radiate Andrew in every possible way, but who was he to judge—or to ask?
The ride passed with Neil sleeping through most of the trip, and before long he had forgotten all about the lunchbox and the brief curiosity it had stirred.
Or at least, that was true until lunchtime.
…
The Foxes' next stop came a couple of hours later, when the bus pulled into a fast-food restaurant just off the highway. They had claimed two tables and pushed them together so everyone could eat in one place while Wymack and Abby stayed outside, talking about something neither of them seemed interested in sharing.
Matt had ordered a towering burger that barely fit between the buns. Nicky, unable to make up his mind, had somehow convinced Allison and Renee to split a large pizza with him. Kevin, meanwhile, had requested a salad that wasn't even listed on the menu, insisting he wasn't about to ruin his diet for the sake of convenience.
Fortunately, the employees hadn't seemed to mind.
Dan was stealing fries off Matt's tray, Matt pretending not to notice while eating his burger anyway. Neil was doing what Neil did best, helping himself to everyone else's food — including Kevin's salad, much to Kevin's visible horror. The only two people he hadn't stolen from were Aaron, who happened to be sitting a little farther away than everyone else beside his brother, and Andrew, who had only just begun opening his lunchbox.
The others were far too distracted by their own meals to pay any attention to it.
Neil wasn't.
Ever since he'd first noticed that lunchbox earlier that morning, a small part of him had remained hopelessly curious. He hadn't meant to keep thinking about it, but now and then his eyes would drift back toward it, wondering what Andrew Minyard — of all people — could have packed inside.
He expected to find a sandwich.
Maybe a few snacks.
Possibly an unreasonable amount of dessert.
Instead, what greeted him was even better than anything he could have imagined.
The first thing Andrew lifted out was a beautifully crafted wooden bento box. The moment he removed the lid, a warm, mouthwatering aroma drifted across the table, rich enough to make every conversation die almost instantly.
One by one, the Foxes stopped eating.
French fries were forgotten halfway to mouths.
Kevin lowered his fork.
Even Nicky abandoned his pizza.
Every pair of eyes slowly turned toward Andrew's lunch.
Because somehow, it looked even better than it smelled.
Perfectly shaped rice sat beside glazed salmon that gleamed beneath the restaurant lights, accompanied by sautéed vegetables prepared with enough care to make them look almost artistic. Neatly arranged pickled vegetables filled one corner of the box, while another held fresh fruit that had already been washed, peeled, and cut into bite-sized pieces. Beside the bento sat a small thermos that undoubtedly contained soup, and tucked neatly into the lunchbox itself was a delicate lemon tart crowned with a generous swirl of whipped cream.
It looked less like something packed at home and more like a meal served at an upscale café.
For several long seconds, no one said a word.
None of them could quite believe what they were looking at.
"...What the hell?"
Someone finally broke the silence.
But Andrew, completely unfazed by the collective disbelief surrounding him, simply picked up his chopsticks and began eating as though nothing at all was out of the ordinary.
…
One would think that would have been the end of it.
It wasn't.
For reasons no one could explain, the black lunchbox with its adorable little keychains seemed to have become an extension of Andrew himself. Wherever he went, the lunchbox went with him. Road trips, practices, team meetings, away games—it was always there, sitting beside him as though it belonged no less than one of his knives.
More unbelievable still was what waited inside.
Every single time Andrew opened the lunchbox, a different meal appeared. Fresh pasta one day. Japanese curry the next. A focaccia sandwich. Homemade onigiri. Ramen carefully packed inside a thermos. Somehow, every meal looked even more impressive than the last.
And every single one came with dessert.
There was always dessert.
Eventually, the sight became enough to offend half the team — not out of genuine resentment, but because it perfectly summed up what everyone had been thinking for weeks.
"Why the hell do you, of all people, get to eat like royalty while the rest of us are surviving on cafeteria food?!"
Andrew didn't even bother looking up.
"Sounds like a you problem."
…
Naturally, when it came to the Foxes, it wasn't long before people started placing bets.
Nicky was convinced Andrew had a secret admirer.
Matt insisted Abby had to be the one making the lunches.
Allison, meanwhile, maintained that Andrew was buying expensive takeout from some ridiculously upscale restaurant and simply transferring it into the lunchbox before anyone saw.
Kevin, without so much as looking up from his protein shake, dismissed the last theory with complete certainty.
"Nah. That food is planned. Nutritionally planned. Whoever's making it knows exactly what they're doing."
Neil said nothing.
Because he had started noticing things.
…
All right, maybe what Neil had begun to notice weren't exactly clues.
They were simply... oddities. Small, suspicious details that, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, had never seemed worth questioning until now.
For one thing, Andrew wasn't the only one who suddenly seemed to be eating healthy and all that.
Kevin's meals had changed too.
Neil had grown so used to seeing Kevin drink the same horrifying green protein shake every single day that he hadn't realized when it stopped being the same. At some point, the color had begun changing. One day it was strawberry pink, the next a deep purple, then bright orange or pale yellow. Stranger still, Kevin had stopped making them himself altogether. He simply showed up every morning carrying a thermos filled with a different flavor.
A very specific thermos.
Transparent green.
Covered in little dinosaurs.
With an oversized letter K printed across the side.
Neil was almost certain those shakes weren't store-bought. They looked too fresh, too carefully prepared, and Kevin never seemed remotely surprised by them.
That wasn't all.
Somehow, Neil had also failed to notice that he himself had been eating out of the same set of food containers for weeks. Every single one had his name written across the lid in blue glitter.
How he had managed not to notice that before was beyond him.
And then there was Nicky.
Nicky never bought snacks anymore.
There were always chips, cookies, candy bars, or crackers lying around the dorm whenever he wanted them, and somehow no one — not even Nicky himself — ever seemed to question where they kept coming from.
…
Naturally, the Foxes' first suspect was Abby.
Well, everyone's first suspect except for Andrew and Kevin.
It made perfect sense. Abby was the closest thing any of them had to a responsible adult. She looked after them, worried about them, and, more importantly, she could cook. If anyone was secretly packing gourmet lunches for Andrew every day, Abby was by far the most reasonable explanation.
The theory survived exactly three days.
On the fourth, Matt finally decided to ask.
"Abby..."
She looked up from the stack of papers she had been sorting through, offering him an absent-minded smile.
"What's up?"
Matt hesitated for only a second.
"Are you the one making Andrew's lunches?"
Her smile faded into a look of complete confusion.
"Andrew´s what?"
"Andrew's lunches."
She stared at him for a long moment before shaking her head.
"What lunches?"
Silence settled over the room.
One by one, the Foxes looked from Abby to Andrew, then back to Abby again.
The confusion on her face wasn't forced. She wasn't trying to hide anything or play innocent.
She genuinely had no idea what they were talking about.
…
Their second suspect was Kevin.
After all, Kevin was obsessed with nutrition. More importantly, he had been the first to point out that Andrew's lunches weren't just well made — they were carefully planned. Every meal was balanced, every portion deliberate. Whoever was preparing them knew exactly what they were doing.
It wasn't much of a leap to assume Kevin knew more than he was letting on.
Neil decided the most efficient approach was simply to ask.
"Kevin... who makes your protein shakes?"
Kevin didn't hesitate.
"Aaron."
Neil frowned.
"...What?"
Kevin glanced up from the article he had been reading, looking mildly confused by the question.
"Aaron makes my shakes."
He paused for a moment, as though remembering another detail.
"And sometimes my meals too."
Then, apparently satisfied that he had answered, he lowered his eyes back to the page in front of him and continued reading as though he hadn't just dropped the single most unexpected piece of information Neil had heard all week.
Neil blinked.
Aaron?
…
From that moment on, Neil found himself paying closer attention to Aaron.
It didn't take long before he noticed something curious — something so ordinary that he couldn't believe it had escaped his attention for so long.
Aaron never bought food on campus.
Not once.
He always carried an insulated lunch bag with him, bringing it to class, to practice, and back to Fox Tower afterward as though it were just another part of his routine.
And yet, despite seeing it every day, Neil couldn't remember a single occasion when Aaron had actually opened it in front of anyone.
…
One Saturday, long before sunrise, Neil wandered downstairs in search of a glass of water.
He was halfway down the stairs when he noticed light spilling out from the kitchen.
For a moment, he assumed someone had forgotten to turn it off the night before. Then he heard the faint sound of music, barely louder than a whisper, followed by the steady rhythm of a knife against a cutting board and the shrill beep of a timer.
Curiosity won.
He stepped quietly toward the doorway and looked inside.
Aaron stood at the counter with his back to the room, wearing an old hoodie that, judging by the faded skull stretched across the back, almost certainly belonged to Andrew. Over it, he wore a beige apron patterned with strawberries and little cakes that looked so unlike anything Aaron would have chosen for himself that Neil had to wonder where it had come from.
The kitchen was in complete, organized chaos.
Several pots simmered across the stovetop, each at a different stage of cooking. A bowl of bread dough rested beneath a towel on one side of the counter, slowly rising in the warmth of the room. Vegetables had been diced into perfectly even cubes and separated into neat piles. A tray of cookies cooled on a wire rack beside an open notebook whose pages were filled with measurements, cooking times, and recipes written in Aaron's tidy handwriting.
Nothing about it resembled someone making breakfast before everyone else woke up.
It looked like the opening hour of a professional kitchen.
Neil stood there longer than he intended, trying to make sense of what he was seeing before finally breaking the silence.
"How many people are you cooking for?"
Aaron glanced up only briefly before looking back down at the saucepan in front of him. His gaze flickered toward the notebook for a moment, as though mentally counting.
"Technically four."
He answered so matter-of-factly that Neil almost wondered whether he had misheard him.
"Four?"
"Yeah." Aaron stirred one of the pots absentmindedly. "I do most of the prep on weekends. Makes the rest of the week easier."
Only then did Neil really look around the room.
The countertops were lined with containers, stacked neatly in rows, every one of them labeled in thick marker.
Andrew, written in gold.
Kevin, in green.
Neil, in blue.
And Nicky, in purple, covering containers that held more snacks than actual meal preps.
Neil's eyes drifted toward a small box sitting near the edge of the counter.
He opened it.
Inside sat a row of freshly baked cookies.
"Are these yours?"
Aaron didn't even look up.
"No."
"Then whose are they?"
"Andrew's."
Neil lowered the lid again and only then did he notice the label taped across the top.
DO NOT SHARE. DO NOT TOUCH.
Written in thick black marker.
One eyebrow lifted.
"You make all the desserts just for him?"
Aaron finally looked at him, his expression carrying nothing but mild confusion.
"He likes them."
There wasn't the slightest hint of embarrassment in his voice, nor any sense that he had admitted to something unusual.
To Aaron, there was nothing unusual about it.
Andrew liked certain desserts.
So Aaron had learned to make them.
It was that simple.
Neil looked back at the rows of containers spread across the kitchen, at the notebook filled with recipes, at the vegetables waiting to be packed away for the week, and suddenly a dozen little things that had never seemed important before began falling into place.
The lunches.
Kevin's protein shakes.
The endless supply of snacks that somehow always appeared in the dorm.
Aaron had been taking care of them for years.
He had simply done it so quietly that no one had ever stopped to notice.
…
It was Sunday morning.
By now, it had become routine for Aaron to claim the kitchen before anyone else was awake. While the rest of Fox Tower slowly stirred to life, drawn downstairs by the smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm bread, Aaron had usually been cooking for hours.
Neil was the first to wander out of his room.
By then, seeing the countertops lined with neatly stacked containers no longer surprised him. Each one was carefully labeled in a different color, arranged in tidy rows as though Aaron had been organizing them with the same precision he applied to everything else. He had just finished sealing the last container when the rest of the dorm began filtering into the kitchen one by one.
Nicky was the first to make a beeline for the counter.
"So, what's for breakfast?"
Without looking up from the coffee he was pouring, Aaron gestured absently toward the row of containers.
"Help yourselves."
One by one, everyone reached for the container bearing their name.
Kevin opened his first.
His expression changed almost immediately, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly — a reaction that, for Kevin, bordered on open excitement.
"Oat pancakes?"
Aaron nodded without taking his eyes off the mug in his hands.
"You've got extra training this afternoon."
Kevin accepted the explanation without another question, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Nicky was already halfway through opening his container before anyone else had finished looking at theirs. Inside, he found neatly cut fruit, a cup of yogurt, a sandwich, and no fewer than three different bags of snacks tucked into the remaining space. His entire face lit up, looking every bit like a child on Christmas morning.
"I knew it," he announced triumphantly. "There's a magical snack fairy taking care of me."
Aaron didn't even bother looking up.
"You always run out before Wednesday."
Nicky opened his mouth, fully intending to argue. Nothing came out. After a brief pause, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
"...That's true."
Neil reached for his own container next. Unlike the others, everything inside had been divided into smaller portions, each packed separately in a way that made it easy to grab throughout the day. He frowned slightly, trying to figure out why, but Aaron answered before he had the chance to ask.
"You don't eat enough in the mornings," he said simply, sealing another container without ever pausing his work. "This way you'll always have something small to eat until you finish everything."
Neil lowered his eyes to the food in his hands.
He couldn't remember ever mentioning that to Aaron.
Then again...
He couldn't remember Aaron asking, either.
The thought had barely crossed his mind when Andrew walked into the kitchen.
Without a word, Aaron reached into the refrigerator and retrieved a small container that hadn't been sitting with the others. He set it down in front of Andrew before returning his attention to the coffee as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
Andrew pulled it closer the moment it touched the counter.
Nicky noticed immediately.
And, without realizing it, made the worst possible decision.
"Again!"
Every head turned toward him.
He pointed an accusing finger at the small container in front of Andrew.
"He's got a different dessert again!"
Before anyone could get a proper look at it, Andrew calmly closed the lid and slid the container even closer to himself.
Nicky leaned across the counter, curiosity getting the better of him.
"Come on, let me see—"
The response was instantaneous.
Andrew smacked his hand away without the slightest hesitation.
"Touch it and lose your hand."
"I was only looking!"
"No."
"I wasn't even going to eat it!"
Andrew raised a single eyebrow.
No one believed that for a second.
Aaron, meanwhile, continued pouring coffee as though this exact exchange happened every Sunday.
"There's more cake in the refrigerator."
"No."
The answer came so quickly that the kitchen fell silent.
Aaron finally looked up.
"I made enough for everyone."
Andrew rested one hand on top of the container, drawing it a fraction closer.
"This one's mine."
Nicky looked ready to burst.
"See? See! He gets a special dessert!"
Aaron frowned ever so slightly, genuine confusion crossing his face.
"He likes lemon."
"So do the rest of us!"
Aaron shook his head.
"Kevin prefers desserts with less sugar."
Kevin nodded once without looking up from his breakfast.
"Correct."
"Nicky, you like cookies better."
"..."
No argument came this time.
Aaron turned his attention to Neil.
"You usually won't eat dessert if it's too sweet."
Neil blinked.
He couldn't remember ever telling Aaron that, either.
Aaron didn't seem to notice his surprise. He simply continued, listing everyone's preferences with the same matter-of-fact tone he might have used to read off a grocery list.
"Andrew likes lemon."
Silence settled over the kitchen once more.
Neil let his gaze drift across the counter.
The containers.
The colored labels.
The portions.
The ingredients.
None of them were the same.
They never had been.
There wasn't a single meal made for the Foxes.
There was one made for Kevin.
One for Nicky.
One for Neil.
And one for Andrew.
Somewhere along the way, Aaron had quietly learned what each of them liked, what they avoided, what they needed, and what they would forget if left to themselves. He had adjusted recipes without being asked, planned meals around schedules no one else kept track of, and remembered countless little details that everyone else had long since overlooked.
He had never mentioned any of it.
He had never expected anyone to notice.
He had simply... done it.
Neil glanced toward Andrew.
He was eating as calmly as ever, one hand resting protectively on the little container of lemon cake as though it were something genuinely precious.
And, suddenly, Neil realized Andrew wasn't guarding the dessert because it was lemon.
He was guarding it because Aaron had made it for him.
To Andrew, none of this was unusual.
It was simply Aaron.