The next morning, Andrew hesitated in front of Lucien, holding a neatly wrapped lunch box.
Lucien's heart stopped.
It's happening. It's finally here. Oh my god.
OH MY GOD.
Andrew cleared his throat. "Your mother mentioned you might... um. Want lunch? Since your office food is not palatable and you work so hard and-" he was rambling on, trying to mask his own nervousness.
Lucien's face went blank.
His mother mentioned it.
Not him. Not because Andrew had wanted to. Because Eleanor had told him to.
This was worse than rejection.
Lucien stiffened. The hand which was about to take the box from andrew stilled and withdrew. "I don't need it."
Andrew blinked. "But she said-"
"I said I don't need it."
Andrew's shoulders slumped slightly, but he nodded. "Alright."
And just like that, the lunchbox was stored back in the fridge. Andrew looked crestfallen. Lucien stormed off, trying to convince himself the look on the other's face didn't bother him.
(It did. A lot more than he's like to admit)
---
That evening, Lucien's mother called.
"Well?" she demanded. It didn't take a genius to guess what she was referring to.
Lucien gritted his teeth. "He offered. I refused."
Eleanor sighed. "Lucien."
"I couldn't accept it like that! It was like- pity. Or something."
"You idiot."
Lucien hung up.
---
Days passed.
Andrew, confused but respectful, did not bring up lunch again.
Lucien, miserable but pridefully stubborn, ate his gourmet takeout with increasing resentment.
Eleanor sighed. Richard continued laughing in his drink at family functions.
And worst of all-
Andrew had started giving away the extra food.
To the staff. Sending it to Eleanor and Richard via servants.
Lucien had walked into the kitchen yesterday to find their housekeeper, Mrs. Langley, happily eating what looked like HIS beef stew.
His favourite. Made by the recipe andrew tweaked and perfected exactly to Lucien's taste.
HIS stew.
This was unacceptable.
---
Lucien Whitemore was a man of strategy. A master negotiator. A titan of industry who had never lost a deal. A man who's been called born for business multiple times. And business was all about acquiring things, finalising deals and making profit.
And yet, here he was-bested by a lunchbox.
No. Worse.
Bested by his own pride.
He paced his study like a caged wolf, his ego warring with his stomach. His mother's failed intervention had only made things worse. Now, not only was Andrew not packing his lunch, but he was also feeding the staff with food that should have been Lucien's.
This was an outrage.
A betrayal of the highest order.
And yet-
He couldn't just ask.
...Could he?
No. Absolutely not.
There had to be another way.
Lucien decided to deploy Operation: Obvious Suffering. Because he knew- Andrew wasn't unkind. And God forbid the devoted omega let any discomfort happen to his alpha. He just had to make the oblivious omega realise he was suffering.
---
Day 1- He dramatically pushed away his takeout at the office, sighing loudly as soon as Andrew's call came
His assistant, Mark, frowned. "Sir, is the food not to your liking?"
Lucien scowled. "It's fine."
(Translation: it's not Andrew's.)
Mark, wisely, said nothing.
---
Day 2: He "accidentally" left a gourmet food magazine open on the kitchen counter, a page on "The Art of packing the perfect lunch for your alpha!" And "the way to an alpha's heart is through his stomach." prominently displayed.
Andrew, ever the dutiful homemaker, tidied it away without comment.
Lucien wanted to scream.
---
Day 3: He resorted to physical moping.
He slumped at the dinner table, poking at his food with exaggerated melancholy.
Andrew, concerned, leaned in. "Are you feeling unwell?"
Lucien exhaled heavily. "Just... thinking."
"About?"
"...Lunch."
Andrew blinked. "Oh. Do you... want seconds?"
'NO. I WANT YOU TO PACK ME LUNCH FOR TOMORROW.'
Lucien gritted his teeth. Outwardly, he replied, "No."
Andrew nodded and went back to eating.
Lucien wanted to throw himself out a window.
---