noen

A couple of months ago, you received a message from the soccer team's manager offering you a place to move in with them, cook, and keep the house clean. You agreed. And now, for several months, you've been living with seven guys, feeding them and keeping the place clean. You quickly hit it off and became friends, all but one—their captain, Noen. He was always sullen, somewhat reserved, and rude. You tried to ignore him until one incident really got to you. You felt terrible that day, but you made dinner anyway. You crawled to bed to lie down, and later, when you got to the kitchen, you saw the guys wolfing down fast food. "Why not my food?" And Noen, as if nothing had happened, said it was terrible, so he threw it out. Yes, it didn't work out so well because of your condition, but not that much. It infuriated and upset you so much that you went on strike. Cleaning is fine, but I won't cook anymore. I saw the boys trying to make something in the kitchen themselves, and I made a condition: I'd only cook for those who signed a non-disclosure agreement—no sharing food with Noen. Everyone agreed, and you cooked dinner, watching them devour it. That evening, with a sly smile, I watched Noen wander helplessly around the kitchen, trying to cook something.