Chapter Text
"It's Most Unfortunate..."
You are standing in the middle of the Asian market when you hear it. You hear that voice. You almost drop your packet of rice noodles in your hand.
The cadence is the same, the voice a deep bass, demanding and imperious...
You immediately turn to the market shelf next to you and very quietly slide the cans of baby corn and mung bean sprouts apart, parting them enough so you have a glimpse through the wire backing of the store shelf.
You narrow your eyes to see beyond the items on the other side and hear a quiet chuckle, deep and throaty. Whoever it is on the other side of the shelf seems to be laughing at their own joke.
You poke your finger through the wires and shift some of the bottles of hot sauce away like you did with the cans and lean down, pushing your head through so that your chin is resting on the shelf.
A figure on the other side moves and you see a pair of hands holding a bottle of sriracha in one and a jar of sambal oelek in the other.
You see the hands are pale with well-trimmed nails and a few freckles. They hold the large size of spicy sauces, but they're dwarfed in comparison to the hands holding them.
You see the figure weigh and balance the containers, alternating them back and forth. "What's the fucking difference?" the figure mutters. The voice is now softer, a rich baritone and you think that might be his normal voice, but the way he had spoken the first time... it was too uncanny to be a coincidence.
You have to get a better look to make sure. You turn your head and crane it around to try and get a look at the face but have no luck. All you see is a black long-sleeve shirt and the giant hands and the hot sauce.
You jerk your head out of the shelf and straighten your body, standing on tippy toes to try and see over but you're too short.
There's nothing for it. You’re going to the other aisle to find out for sure.
You turn the corner and see a man, alone, next to the hot sauces with a shopping basket hanging from the crook of his arm. He's facing away from you and all you can see is his wide back in the black shirt and dark jeans and black boots. He seems slightly hunched over and you assume he's still deliberating over what to buy.
You have a sneaking suspicion you might know who this man is, because you remember that long black hair from anywhere.
"No way..." you whisper under your breath and begin to approach him.
You make sure to step with heavier footfalls on the floor and clear your throat from a distance to give him fair warning that you are behind him.
Sure enough, his dark head shoots up and he turns on you with a questioning face and your suspicions are confirmed. It's that guy...
You make sure to smile at him and shrink in your posture a bit as you get closer. You lean your head to one side exposing your neck slightly, because you know from documentaries you've watched; this is the most submissive and least threatening stance a person can do.
You want to make sure he's put at ease and it seems to work because you see his eyes soften and there's a ghost of a smile on those distracting lips of his.
"Hello, again," You say brightly, still smiling as you approach his side and come around to his front.
He's still holding the two hot sauces but doesn't take his eyes off you moving around him.
"Hello." He says back. He's so tall, and you have to look up into his face. He swallows and you see his Adam's apple bobbing.
You make sure to lower your voice just slightly because you want to sound more seductive, not animated."Can I help you with anything?" You say in your easiest, least forceful manner.
He looks down into his hands. "Uh," he glances at you with his eyebrows furrowed, "Yeah, maybe you can."
"What do you need?" You ask, a little too breathy, and mentally kick yourself for sounding desperate.
"Uh," he says again and swallows, "I don't see much of a difference with these," he holds up the bottles, "does it matter?"
You cock your head to side, looking like you're thinking. "It matters," you say, "What you do you plan on making with them?"
His eyebrows knit together in deep thought and he chews on his bottom lip. "I don't rightly know." He answers honestly, and looks back over at your face, "Sorry, I bet that sounds pretty dumb, huh?"
You smile at him; he's always like this, so shy and awkward. You've always enjoyed it and him whenever he came into the store.
"Not dumb at all," you assure him, "I mean, they look alike except the bottle shape, right?"
“Yeah.” He nods, “They both have that rooster on ‘em.” He looks at the front of the sambal oelek in confusion, the corners of his mouth turned down.
You laugh and cheekily say, “That’s why it’s called ‘cock sauce’.”
His eyes fly up to yours, widening. You see a blush spread across his cheeks.
You bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from laughing harder at how uncomfortable he looks.
You demurely lower your eyes, still smiling, “Look,” You say and point to the sriracha bottle, "This one is more of an everyday hot sauce. It’s sweeter and appeals to a wider range of palates. The sauce is thinner, and pureed so it comes out easier,” You take your finger and touch the bottle’s narrow pointed end, “Here from the tip...” You finish looking up into his eyes.
The blush has now covered his entire face, it’s spread under his goatee and his sparse facial hair.
“And this,” you point to the other, “Is more robust. It’s chunkier, so you use a spoon to get it out and it’s definitely more garlic-forward, if that’s what you like.” You hold your package of noodles behind your back, waiting to see if he has any more questions, and to make sure your boobs stick out that much more.
He still looks confused, and shakes his head slightly, “So wait, they’re not spicy?”
“Oh no,” you assure him, “They’re hot as hell! I just wanted to let you know the difference.”
“Huh.” He grunts, looking from one hand to the other.
You lean in, watching him for any signs of nervousness, and see none, so you speak to him conspiratorially, “If I were you, I’d just get both. You know, just to cover my bases…”
“Hmm…” He hums, “Unfortunate circumstance…” He mutters under his breath, and you find yourself studying him now. He said that word again, but not in the voice you heard at first.
He looks at you, noticing you staring and his face breaks out in a brilliant grin. You see his teeth and everything, He looks shy but relieved, “All right, fine. You sold me.” He puts both in his basket.
Over both your heads you hear the store’s intercom crackle to life and a blaring, muffled voice speaks throughout. You hear them call your name specifically, announcing that you were needed back at the front, and to get to your check stand. They don’t sound particularly happy about your absence.
That’s what you had been doing before all this. Another customer had changed their mind on their choice of noodles, and you were going to put it back on the shelf. That is, you were going to put it back before you were spectacularly distracted.
He is looking down to your hand and politely tells you, “I think those go on the next aisle over.”
You look up above to the store’s ceiling, feeling like you’re in trouble with the powers that be; and tell him that it’s you being called and that you have to go.
You look down at the package with him and he tells you he’ll take them, and put them back for you, so you hand them over, thanking him and hurry to the front of the store
Behind you, you hear his dulcet voice rumble out, “No, no thank you...”
When you reach your register, you now know why your manager’s voice sounded so exasperated. There was a steep line of customers waiting to check out, and you forgot to turn your light off, everyone thought you had disappeared.
You rush to your till and enter your password, and politely welcome the scowling woman in front of you.
A little while later, you happen to look up and the shy man you’ve seen so often before, the tall one with the impossibly soft-looking hair, go through the self checkout and walk out of the store.
You continue your job, talking and smiling pleasantly with your customers, but the whole time you’re thinking about him, and who you suspect he could be. You promise yourself to do a fuckload of research tonight when your shift ends, for sure.