Desperate to salvage his pride and reassert his authority, Liam sneered, stepping even closer into Arlen’s space.
"So, you’re the rich kid who thinks he can just slide into Mika’s life," Liam hissed, his voice dropping to a low, threatening register. "Let’s get one thing straight, Adelaide. You might have a fancy last name, but in this penthouse, you’re nothing. You’re a ghost. Mika doesn’t want you, and I sure as hell don’t want you here. So don’t get any ideas about trying to play the charming fiancé."
Arlen blinked. He looked at Liam’s tense, angry face, then down at the bent plastic spoon in his hand, and finally back up at Liam. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t look angry. He just looked... mildly puzzled.
"I do not have ideas," Arlen replied softly, his androgynous voice carrying a peaceful, deadpan weight. "I am only making a sandwich."
"Don’t play dumb with me!" Liam snapped, his insecurity flaring into genuine anger at Arlen’s complete lack of fear. "You think this silent, innocent act works on us? It’s pathetic. Look at you, standing in a barren room like a dog, holding a loaf of cheap bread. Have you no shame?"
From the doorway, Mika crossed her arms, her fiery red hair catching the hallway light. She felt a swell of pride watching Liam confront him, though she couldn’t help but notice how tense her boyfriend’s shoulders had suddenly become.
"Exactly, Liam," Mika chimed in, her voice dripping with disdain. "He’s trying to make us feel guilty. It’s a classic manipulation tactic."
Arlen’s gaze briefly flickered past Liam, looking up at the ceiling where the giant glob of creamy peanut butter was still stubbornly hanging directly above the actor’s head.
"The bread was very cheap," Arlen observed quietly, his vacant eye returning to Liam. "It was fifty pesos. But the peanut butter was ninety."
Liam’s brow furrowed. "What the hell are you talking about?" He stepped even closer, pointing a finger at Arlen’s chest. "Are you mocking me?"
"No," Arlen said, his voice entirely sincere. "I am telling you the prices."
Liam’s face flushed a deep, angry crimson. He was used to adoring fans, obsequious directors, and rivals who at least had the decency to look intimidated by him. Arlen’s placid, budget-conscious response felt like a psychological slap in the face.
"Are you kidding me right now?" Liam hissed, stepping forward until he was practically chest-to-chest with Arlen. He pointed a manicured finger directly at Arlen’s nose. "You think this is a joke? You think you can mock me with your pathetic grocery list? I wear shoes that cost more than your entire life, you freak!"
Mika took a step into the room, her fierce eyes narrowing. She could see Liam’s composure fracturing, and it irritated her that this vacant-eyed boy was causing it without even raising his voice. "Liam, don’t waste your breath on him," she warned, though her voice was tight. "He’s doing it on purpose. He wants you to lose your temper."
Arlen didn’t look at the finger in his face. Instead, his left eye drifted upward again, tracking the slow, inevitable pull of gravity on the ceiling.
The thick, creamy glob of ninety-peso peanut butter was beginning to sag. A tiny, heavy droplet was forming at the very bottom of the brown mass, stretching thinner and thinner.
"Look at me when I’m talking to you!" Liam snarled, grabbing Arlen by the shoulder of his oversized sweater. The sudden, violent movement shook the air in the small, barren room.
It was the exact amount of vibration needed.
*Splat.*
The heavy dollop of peanut butter detached from the plaster ceiling and fell straight down, landing with a wet, heavy thud directly on the crown of Liam’s perfectly coiffed, expensive hair.
The silence that followed was absolute.
Liam froze. His hand slowly slid off Arlen’s shoulder. He didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes went wide with a mixture of confusion and rising horror as he felt the thick, warm, sticky weight slowly beginning to slide down the side of his styled locks.
Mika’s jaw dropped. Her hands flew to her mouth, her fiery eyes practically popping out of her head. "L-Liam..." she whispered in sheer disbelief.
Arlen looked down from the now-clean spot on the ceiling. He stared at the brown mound resting atop the actor’s head, his expression remaining entirely blank, devoid of any malice, amusement, or regret. He held up his bent plastic spoon, offering it forward with a polite, helpful nod.
"It fell," Arlen explained softly, his voice airy and deadpan.
Liam slowly raised a trembling, manicured hand to the crown of his head. His fingers brushed against the thick, oily mass. When he pulled his hand back and saw the brown smudge coating his fingertips, his face contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated horror.
"Peanut... butter?" Liam’s voice cracked, his carefully cultivated composure instantly shattering. "My hair... My stylist spent three hours on this! My hair!"
"Yes," Arlen nodded, his tone entirely conversational. "It is very sticky. It is best to use warm water to remove it. Soap is also recommended."
"You... you did this on purpose!" Liam roared, his voice cracking as he swatted Arlen’s hand away. The bent plastic spoon flew out of Arlen’s grip and clattered uselessly onto the wooden floorboards. "You threw this at me! You rigged it!"
"No," Arlen corrected gently, pointing a slender finger toward the ceiling. "It was already up there. I tried to scoop it, but the spoon bent like a catapult. It went up. Then you walked in and stood under it. Gravity did the rest."
"Don’t lie to me, you psycho!" Liam shrieked, clutching his head as if he had been shot. He looked at his sticky fingers, his chest heaving with hysterical panic. "Mika! I have a callback tomorrow! A major callback! If my scalp breaks out from this ninety-peso garbage, my career is over!"
Mika rushed into the room, pushing past Arlen to get to her boyfriend. She frantically grabbed a tissue from her pocket, trying to dab at the mess, but only succeeded in smearing the thick paste further into Liam’s perfect highlights.
"Oh my god, Liam, don’t touch it, you’ll make it worse!" Mika yelled, her fiery red hair practically shaking with rage. She snapped her head toward Arlen, her eyes blazing with absolute hatred. "You absolute freak! You planned this! You knew he was coming over, so you set a trap!"
Arlen looked down at the dry slice of bread still clutched in his left hand. "I did not know he was coming. And I do not know how to set traps. I only wanted a sandwich. Now my supper is on his head." He looked at the dollop on Liam’s hair, his vacant eye blinking slowly. "It is a waste of peanut butter."
"A waste?!" Liam gasped, his ego completely bruised as he backed away from Arlen as if he were a biohazard. "You’re worried about your peanut butter?! I am an actor! My face is worth millions!"
"Your hair is also very nice," Arlen added, trying to be polite. "But now it smells like roasted nuts."
"Get me out of here!" Liam cried, shielding his head with his hands as he bolted out of the guest room, practically weeping as he ran down the hallway toward the bathroom.
Mika stayed behind for a fraction of a second, her body trembling with fury. She stepped right up to Arlen, her face inches from his, though she still had to look up slightly.
"You think you’re clever, Adelaide," she hissed, her voice vibrating with a tyrannical promise of vengeance. "You think this little ’brain-dead’ act protects you? You just crossed the line. I am going to make sure these next five months are an absolute living hell for you. Clean up this room, and don’t you dare step foot out of it tonight."
"Okay," Arlen murmured softly. "I will stay here."
Mika let out a sharp, frustrated growl, spun on her heel, and slammed the door shut with enough force to rattle the bare windowpane.
Silence returned to the barren room. Arlen stood alone in the dimming light, holding his single slice of plain white bread. He looked down at the floor, then back at his bread.
He scooped another portion of peanut butter, now successfully spreading it on the bread. He quietly ate inside the silence of his room, completely unbothered by the storm he had just created.