Noodz at the Actor's Hideout

chapter 2

Is there a manual for denying condoms? A step-by-step guide on how to reject a box from your crush that you supposedly should take? An hour of searching on Google and a sleepless night proved Sera that there is none.

Figures, she thought, leaning back in her computer chair with a scowl. She grabs her Winx Club vacuum flask from her desk. It's filled with iced coffee to the brim and is in need of a big slurp. She wraps her lips around the pink metal straw, and well, cringes at herself. No one probably keeps a record or guide for scenarios as mortifying as that, and how mortifying it was.

It was—ah, fuck. She'll explode.

Sera betrays herself by tirelessly playing what happened in her head again, picking on it, dissecting every scenario with a clenched jaw and a wrinkled nose. She lets her head fall back and sighs, the taste of brown sugar sits on her tongue but something else teases her senses. Ah, there it is, the bittersweet memory.

Yuan Chen—the face of her new wallpaper—could only blink at her. Sera clearly remembers how he looked at that moment. His neat brows were furrowed, and his bicep—my, that bottle of lemonade was securely tucked under it. Then, after a stutter, Sera stamped her embarrassment. She sealed it with four words.

"That's not my condom!" she spluttered and he raised a brow. "I— it's the store's."

He did not relieve her misery with a response. Instead, Yuan Chen—the face of her most recent nightmare—slowly placed his noodles on the counter. He gave it a pat as it sat there, shiny plastic wrap glinting under the fluorescent light. They held each other's gazes, hers mortified and his cautious. The light on the third fridge blinked. Then, he put the lemonade down next, but not before giving a loose box of condoms a gentle nudge with the bottle.

Excuse me, this-deranged-woman's condom, his gesture said.

The action left a trail of moisture on the plastic that protected the box.

Right at that instant, Sera wanted Olary's mountain ranges to come and squeeze the life out of her. It didn't matter if she'd be found dead in her faded, turquoise Pete's Mini Mart uniform.

Please, a miracle, come and crash the store now.

Yet the only crash that happened was behind her, and yes, it was the fucking condom rack that she bumped into. And yes, more fell to the floor.

Sera shut her eyes. Her shoulders were high enough to touch her ears.

Yuan Chen—who has the face of a fucking heartthrob—cleared his throat and said, "My noodles, please. I also need some hot water again."

Sera releases the straw from her mouth with a groan. She tucks the dreadful memory inside her fictional box of shame. It has to stay there forever and rot, better yet, it has to eat itself and vanish.

But wait, what is that? Sera physically pauses, dark brown eyes widening a fraction and fingers curling around the edge of her desk.

There it is, the sweet memory.

Yuan Chen—the face that makes her smile a bit more lately—mentioned something before leaving her station that night. He paid for his items (in cash and the exact amount). He took the noodles (now with hot water and a disposable fork), then as he turned to leave, he paused.

He had his tongue pressed against his cheek as he watched her fidget under his gaze. Then, he tapped two fingers on the counter, two quick taps then a point at her face.

"Your eyeliner looks great."

Sera's hands automatically flew to her lids where she knew a long and bold line of gold eyeliner laid on her brown skin. It was a new makeup style she was trying. She spent hours on it. He—