Lights, Cameras, Action!

Elian Park’s life ran on three principles: One: never trust online reviews written in all caps. Two: if a customer says, “I’ll come back for it later,” they absolutely will not. And three: if the weather forecast says “light drizzle,” expect the second coming of Noah’s Ark. By 4 p.m., the apocalypse had arrived. Rain battered the street like it had a personal grudge, thunder grumbled above the rooftops, and the entire block seemed to dissolve into a watery blur. The small bell over his shop door jingled weakly every time the wind shoved it. The bell above the door jingled with the kind of energy only chaos could bring. Elian didn’t even look up at first—he was too busy trying to convince the ancient cash register not to die on him again. The screen flickered like it was deciding whether to join the afterlife. He gave it a soft tap. “Come on, old girl. Don’t make me call tech support again. I can’t handle another lecture about your ‘firmware.’” Then the bell rang again—shorter, sharper. A second customer. Odd. Nobody sane came out in rain like this. “Give me a second!” he called, brushing his hair out of his face as he turned—and froze. Standing in the doorway, water dripping from his sleek black coat, was Adrian Vale. Yes, that Adrian Vale—the same man who’d starred in three international films, broken a thousand hearts, and somehow made arrogance look like an accessory. The actor’s face was half-hidden by a hood, but those storm-grey eyes were unmistakable. And boy, did they look annoyed. “You sell lighters here?” Adrian asked, voice clipped like every word cost him patience. Elian blinked. “Uh, hi? Welcome to—uh—” He waved vaguely toward the hand-painted sign above the counter. “Sunny Mart.” Adrian’s gaze flicked over the cramped aisles stacked with instant noodles, snacks, and random stationery like he couldn’t believe such a place existed. “Do you or do you not have lighters?” “Yeah, aisle three,” Elian said, trying for cheerful. “Past the chips. Oh, and careful with the floor—it gets slippery when it rains.” Adrian’s jaw flexed. He said nothing, just turned and strode down the aisle like a man whose entire life had been a series of disappointments. Elian exhaled and leaned on the counter. “Okay,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s fine. Totally fine. Just serving coffee to celebrities now, no big deal.” He’d seen Adrian Vale’s face on so many posters that it felt surreal to see it attached to an actual body. And honestly? He looked better on screen. In person, there was something cold about him—like he’d been carved out of marble and never thawed. Still, Elian watched him pick up a lighter, stare at it like it had personally insulted him, and then stride back to the counter. “Cash or card?” Elian asked, forcing a smile. “Card.” “Cool.” He gestured to the machine. “Tap right here.” Adrian’s fingers brushed the reader, and Elian tried very hard not to stare. Because, yeah, the guy was insufferable—but he was also absurdly beautiful. The kind of beautiful that made you angry because it felt unfair. The card beeped. Paid. “Thanks for—” “Receipt,” Adrian interrupted. Elian blinked. “You want the receipt? For a lighter?” Adrian’s glare could’ve melted ice. “Yes.” “Okay,” Elian said, printing it out and handing it over. “Here you go, sir.” Adrian snatched it, turned, and left without a word. The doorbell jingled again, leaving behind the faint smell of expensive cologne and the sound of Elian’s fragile ego deflating. “What a ray of sunshine,” he muttered. “Who’s a ray of sunshine?” Elian turned to see Noah standing by the snack display, rainwater dripping from his hair, a grin on his face like he’d just walked into a sitcom. “Noah!” Elian groaned. “Could you not sneak up on me like that? You almost made me drop a can of sardines on my foot again.” Noah chuckled, shaking out his umbrella. “I saw the guy leaving—was that who I think it was?” “Unfortunately, yes.” “Adrian freaking Vale? In your store?” Noah’s eyes widened. “Bro, that’s insane. Did he—” “He bought a lighter and scowled at everything.” “So, he was himself. Got it.” Noah smirked and hopped up onto the counter like he owned the place. “You’re glowing, by the way.” “I am not glowing.” “You are so glowing. Your ‘celebrity walked into my life’ arc just began.” Elian rolled his eyes. “If my life were an arc, it would be a flat line.” “Please, you’re the protagonist of every underdog story. Tiny shop, tired smile, suspiciously tragic backstory—” “Suspiciously tragic?” “Yeah. You have that look, dude. Like the ‘I skip meals but tell everyone I’m fine’ vibe.” Elian forced a laugh, but something inside him twitched. Skip meals? Maybe not intentionally—but between late nights and early mornings, eating had turned into something he sometimes forgot to do. He waved Noah off. “You sound like my mother.” “Which one? The imaginary one that calls twice a year?” “Ha-ha. Very funny.” Noah grinned, the kind that lit up the room even when the power went out. “Anyway, I can’t stay long. Luca’s waiting—he wants to show me this new indie film that apparently changed his life.” “Elian’s eyebrow arched. “Let me guess—three hours long and filmed in black and white?” “Exactly.” Noah laughed. “But! We’re still doing game night later. You, me, Luca, and maybe Mina if she doesn’t bail.” “Game night, right.” Elian tried to sound enthusiastic. He loved Noah and his boyfriend—he really did—but there were days the idea of being social felt exhausting. Smiling, joking, pretending everything was fine… it was easier in theory. Still, he nodded. “Yeah, of course. I’ll bring snacks.” “That’s the spirit.” Noah hopped off the counter, grabbing a bag of chips on his way out. “Also, Elian?” “Yeah?” “You’ve got that face again.” “What face?” “The one that says you’re thinking too much.” Elian’s smile thinned. “Maybe I’m just tired.” Noah didn’t buy it, but he let it slide. “Rest up, okay? And don’t skip dinner again.” With that, he was gone—leaving Elian alone with the hum of the rain against the windows and the faint echo of his best friend’s concern. He sighed, turning to restock the counter. But his mind wasn’t on the shelves—it was stuck replaying that sharp voice, that cold stare, that impossible face. Adrian Vale. He’d been as rude as a human could reasonably be without setting something on fire. But there was something about him that didn’t fit the headlines. Something brittle beneath the arrogance. Elian frowned. “Don’t be stupid,” he muttered. “He’s just another customer.” And yet, when he looked at the door, half-expecting it to open again, he couldn’t shake the strange feeling that their paths weren’t done crossing yet. Outside, the rain started falling harder—like the universe was already laughing at him.