My eyes are fixed on the tiny, colorful universe in front of . My fingers move carefully, deliberately, choosing beads.
There are so many—glittering ones, matte ones, shaped like stars and hearts. It’s surprisingly absorbing.
I sneak a glance at Moon.
He’s hunched over his own string, his brow furrowed in fierce concentration.
He looks... completely different.
The arrogant, untouchable superstar is gone. In his place is a man—no, a boy—tackling a frustratingly difficult task. He’s fumbling with the tiny beads, his large, elegant hands looking clumsy and out of place.
His blue eyes are laser-focused, his expression a mix of intense effort and quiet frustration.
The effect is only heightened by the black face mask covering the lower half of his face, making his focused eyes seem even larger, more serious.
The usual aura of intimidating, pristine perfection is softened, replaced by sothing almost... human.
His pheromones, that clean, expensive scent of amber wood, are a light, constant presence. Not aggressive, not overwhelming, but there, wrapping around us like a subtle, personal atmosphere.
I realize with a start that since we sat down, it’s the only scent I’ve really noticed.
Is it always this... present?
This... enveloping?
I stare at him, lost in the strange thought.
His head snaps up. Blue eyes lock onto mine.
I flinch, caught, and imdiately drop my gaze back to my beads like a child who’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"Why are you staring at ?" he asks, his voice muffled slightly by the mask.
I look back up, manufacturing a smooth lie.
"I was just trying to see what kind of bracelet you’re making."
A flicker of that familiar arrogance returns. "Don’t worry," he says, his tone implying I should be honored.
"It’ll be good. Because Moon Arden is making it."
I sigh internally. This man’s self-love is truly on another level.
I look back down, focusing on my own project. The beads spell M-O-O... I need an N. My hand dips into the communal bowl, fingers sifting through the plastic pieces.
At the exact sa mont, Moon’s hand reaches in.
Our fingers brush. A jolt of unexpected warmth.
We’re both holding the sa bead. The only ’N’ in the pile.
My eyes snap to his. "I found this first," I declare.
"I saw it first," he counters, his grip tightening.
Anger, hot and childish, flares in my chest.
"No, I’m the one who found it. Find another one for yourself!"
He tries to snatch it. I curl my hand into a tight fist around the tiny piece of plastic.
"It’s mine, Mr. Moon."
He stands up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly.
"Zyren, it’s mine."
He leans across the tiny table, trying to pry my fingers open.
We’re grappling over a plastic bead. Like preschoolers.
"No, it’s mine—!"
"No, I saw it first—!"
"Moon, don’t—!"
A cheerful, amused voice cuts through our ridiculous scuffle.
"Ohh, what a bittersweet couple!"
We both freeze.
My eyes widen. So do his.
Bittersweet couple...?
We turn our heads in unison. A staff girl is standing there, a soft, knowing smile on her face.
"Please, stop the fight," she says gently, her eyes twinkling.
I look around. Oh, god.
Every other couple at the nearby tables has stopped their own activities.
People are smiling, whispering, watching the two grown n in expensive clothes fighting over a single plastic bead.
My cheeks ignite, burning hot beneath my mask. The embarrassnt is a physical wave, crashing over .
Moon reacts faster. He pushes back from the table as if electrocuted, dropping into his chair with a thud.
He crosses his arms tightly over his chest, turning his head sharply away, the very picture of a pouting, scolded child.
I straighten my shirt, unable to et anyone’s eyes, my gaze fixed on the table.
So. Embarrassing. Thank every star in the sky I’m wearing a face mask too.
The staff girl’s smile remains polite. "Sir, please tell if you need any help."
I keep my head down, my voice a mortified mumble.
"We... need more beads."
"Of course, sir." She nods politely and glides away.
I risk a glance around. People are still looking, their smiles fond, their chatter undoubtedly about the ’cute, bickering couple.’
I drop my head into my hands for a second, then let it fall back to stare at the cursed bead still clutched in my fist.
God. I should have just given him the stupid bead.
After a long stretch of silent, surprisingly focused work, I lean back in my chair. A deep breath fills my lungs—not just with air, but with the clean, sharp scent of amber wood.
"Done," I announce.
Moon looks up from his own project, his expression unreadable.
"Mine as well."
I stand up, a flicker of childish excitent surprising . It’s ti for the reveal. I hold out my finished bracelet towards him.
"See."
He glances down.
It’s a simple, colorful bead bracelet. The central piece is a small, silvery moon charm.
Spelled out in delicate letter beads beside it is his na: MOON.
But there’s one more bead. A single, glossy black bead with a white question mark etched onto it.
He stares at it for a long mont, his usual arrogant mask replaced by pure, quiet scrutiny.
He takes the bracelet from my hand, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they trace the curve of the beads.
They stop on the question mark. He rubs his thumb over its smooth surface, then slowly lifts his gaze to mine.
"Why," he asks, his voice devoid of its usual playful edge, "did you add this?"
I look at the bead, then back at him. "It expresses your personality."
One perfect eyebrow arches. Curiosity, sharp and genuine.
"My personality?"
I nod, calm on the outside while my heart does a nervous tap-dance against my ribs. "Yes."
I reach out and take the bracelet back from his loose grip. His hand remains where it is, palm up, waiting.
"You’re the first person in my life," I say, my voice lower, more careful than I intend. I take his wrist—the skin is warm, the bone elegant under my fingers—and carefully loop the bracelet around it, adjusting it until it settles perfectly against his skin.
It rests there, the colorful beads and the small question mark standing out against his usual sleek perfection.
I don’t let go of his wrist just yet. I look up, eting those unnerving blue eyes head-on.
"...who I find so difficult to understand."
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