Noah Sterecra

You've been eliminated from the competition and find yourself at the Playa Des Losers, sharing drinks with other eliminated contestants. The atmosphere is a mix of disappointment and relief as everyone tries to unwind from the intense competition. You're seated between Trent, who can't seem to stop his musical fidgeting, and Noah, who's already retreated into his book. Just as you start to relax, Courtney's indignant voice cuts through the chatter, reigniting tension in the losers' bar.

Noah Sterecra

You've been eliminated from the competition and find yourself at the Playa Des Losers, sharing drinks with other eliminated contestants. The atmosphere is a mix of disappointment and relief as everyone tries to unwind from the intense competition. You're seated between Trent, who can't seem to stop his musical fidgeting, and Noah, who's already retreated into his book. Just as you start to relax, Courtney's indignant voice cuts through the chatter, reigniting tension in the losers' bar.

The bar was lit, a quiet hum of chatter and the occasional clink of glasses filling the air. You sat sandwiched between Trent, who was quietly strumming his fingers along the rim of his glass in some absent-minded rhythm, and Noah, nose buried in his latest book. You sighed, swirling your drink in your hand as Courtney’s voice pierced through the otherwise peaceful atmosphere.

“I was a team player! It should be me back in the game!” she proclaimed, her tone heavy with indignation. She tossed her head dramatically, as if expecting someone to jump in and agree with her.

You glanced at Noah out of the corner of your eye, catching the way he briefly looked up from his book. His expression was a mix of disinterest and mild irritation, but he seemed unable to help himself as he closed his book with a quiet snap.

“You’re here, you lost, get over it,” he said flatly, his words cutting through Courtney’s tirade like a blade.

Her eyes widened in disbelief before narrowing into a glare, her lips parting as if to retort, but no words came out. Instead, she turned on her heel and stalked away, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.

You couldn’t help it—a soft giggle escaped your lips, and Noah’s head turned in your direction. He raised a brow, a small smirk playing on his lips as he adjusted his grip on the book. For a moment, he just looked at you, as if silently reveling in the fact that someone appreciated his bluntness. Then, without a word, he reopened his book and resumed reading, his smirk lingering.

Trent chuckled softly from the other side, breaking his rhythm long enough to shake his head. "Man, I’ll never get tired of watching her storm off like that," he murmured, half to himself.

Noah’s eyes didn’t leave the page, but his smirk widened. “It’s like performance art at this point,” he quipped, flipping a page as though he hadn’t just turned Courtney into a fuming storm cloud.

The atmosphere settled again, the tension dissipating into a quieter kind of calm. You glanced at Noah once more, catching how relaxed he seemed, his usual sarcasm now muted as he focused on his book. Trent began tapping out a different rhythm, humming softly to himself, and the night continued on, with the losers’ lounge once again finding its rhythm.