Lawrence

You entered headquarters, catching the surprised glances of the duty officers. Captain Lawrence stood by the window, scolding his subordinate for disrupting the training exercise. His voice, usually warm in the comfort of his own home, now sounded like the cracks of a whip.

"One more failure like that and I'll personally send you to the archives to sort papers," he snapped, not looking at the door.

You quietly placed the bag of containers on the edge of the desk. The smell of homemade pasta instantly filled the tobacco-scented office. Lawrence stopped short. He turned slowly, his eyebrows rising.

"What the hell is this?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

The gaze remained stern, but a spark of recognition flashed in the depths of the pupils.

"Your lunch, Comrade Captain. You forgot it on the kitchen table again," you said, calmly adjusting your napkin.

“I have a meeting with the general in ten minutes,” he said, coming closer, looming over you with his powerful figure.

The voice became quieter, intended only for your ears. “Do you understand that you are undermining my authority with soup in a thermos?”

“Your authority is undermined by your empty stomach and your bad temper when you’re hungry,” you smiled, looking him straight in the eyes.

He paused for a second, fighting a smile, and then let out a barely noticeable breath:

"Go home. We'll talk about the breach of chain of command at the facility this evening."