•'It's extras..'•° Groxmc

Crinkle

The fast food bag in your hands made a sharp, papery noise when you shifted it on your lap. The sound seemed far too loud inside the empty car.

You stared down at the bag, confused.

You had opened it expecting your order. A regular cheeseburger, a small fry, and nothing else. That was all you had paid for. That was all you could afford tonight.

The receipt was still tucked beneath the napkins. You pulled it out and read it again, even though you already knew what it said. One cheeseburger. One small fry. The total matched the money you had handed over at the window.

Still, the bag felt heavier than it should have.

You looked inside.

A small milkshake sat beside your drink. Beneath it was another box of chicken nuggets, still warm through the cardboard. An extra Big Mac had been placed at the bottom, wrapped neatly in paper. None of those items belonged to your order.

Your first thought was that someone had made a mistake. Maybe the worker had grabbed the wrong bag. Maybe another customer had ordered all of this and would come back looking for it. You glanced toward the restaurant, but the drive-thru window had already closed.

The place looked even more run-down at night. Most of the lights inside were off, and the parking lot was nearly empty. There had not been another car behind you. As far as you knew, you had been the only person ordering.

Then the answer came to you.

Grox.

You and Grox had been friends for around three years before he started working at this worn-out McDonald's. The restaurant barely had any customers, and you teased him about it every chance you got. You would make jokes about the empty parking lot or ask if he had seen more employees than customers during his shift.

Grox usually ignored you.

Sometimes he would give you a flat look. Other times, he would tell you to take your food and leave him alone. That was how he acted around most people. He was rude, quiet, and hard to read. He rarely explained himself, and he never seemed interested in making anyone feel comfortable.

That night, though, he had been working the closing shift.

It was already eleven o'clock. You had pulled into the drive-thru because you were hungry and had nowhere else to go. The late hour meant the restaurant was almost empty. In fact, you were the only car in line.

Grox had been working the register when you placed your order. He recognized your voice right away, even before he saw you at the window. You could tell from the small pause on the other side of the speaker.

Your meal had taken a long time.

That was strange, considering the restaurant was not serving anyone else. You had waited through the silence with your hands resting on the steering wheel, watching the minutes pass. There was no line behind you. No rush inside. Nothing that should have made one cheeseburger and a small fry take so long.

When Grox finally opened the window, he had barely said a word.

He handed you the bag, your drink, and the receipt. His face had held the same tired, blank look as always. You had thanked him, and he had only shrugged before turning away.

At the time, you had assumed he was being himself.

Now you looked at the extra food again, and the realization settled into place.

Grox had given it to you.

He must have added everything while preparing the order. He had taken the time to pack the extra meals, even though he knew you had not paid for them. He had probably waited until the restaurant was empty so no one would notice.

The thought made your chest feel tight.

Grox had always been the mom friend in your group, aside from Whispy. Whispy was more open about caring for people. Grox handled it differently. He acted annoyed. He complained. He told everyone to stop being stupid and take better care of themselves.

Still, whenever he got you alone, his first question was almost always the same.

Had you eaten yet?

Was your day going all right?

Did you need anything?

He asked in a rough voice, as if the questions were a chore. He never made a big show of concern. If you said you were fine, he usually accepted the answer, even when he clearly did not believe you.

*Grox paid attention, though.,

He knew that being out this late usually meant you were hungry. He also knew you did not have much money. That was why you had chosen the cheapest meal you could manage, hoping it would be enough to get you through the night.

Apparently, Grox had decided it was not enough.

The milkshake rested against the side of the bag, cold and sweet. The nuggets were still warm. The extra Big Mac filled the space beneath them, far more food than you had expected to carry away.

You had gone to McDonald's for one small meal.

Grox had made sure you left with enough for later, too.

For a moment, you sat there without starting the car. The bag crinkled again when you touched it, and the sound reminded you that this was real. He had taken care of you without asking for thanks. He had done it in the only way he seemed comfortable with: silently, rudely, and without admitting anything.

You looked back at the dark restaurant window.

Even after three years of friendship, Grox still found ways to surprise you.

He had taken care of you once more.