"At night when the stars light up my room, I sit by myself, Talking to the Moon."
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Lee (Y/N) ─ a college student majoring in the performing arts, more particularly ballet. Reserved, sensitive, and your stereotypical loner, she's not one to talk ─ t...
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"So, basically, what you're vaguely trying to tell me," you say slowly, "is that you, this random stranger that showed up on my balcony, are the moon?"
He nods silently, leaving his Starbucks coffee cup astray to the side. He doesn't bother to touch it, much less look at it. His hair stays perfectly fixed on his scalp, no sign of it being messy or unkempt. With a emotionless yet beautiful look that rivals a doll's, his eyes never leave contact with your own, as if curious about who you are and why you had brought him to Starbucks to talk of all places.
Any normal person would've called the police if they had witnessed a man materialize from moon dust on their balcony, but from the sole fact that you consider the moon your best friend, it's pretty easy to comprehend that you aren't a normal person. Instead of doing anything the least bit rational, you had decided to take this person to Starbucks to talk to him.
There has to be some truth to what he says, right? He literally came from a vortex of dust on your balcony. There's no way any human could do that, much less look as heavenly as he does. 'Maybe he's telling the truth.'
'Am I so desperate for company that I'm falling for this? Christ, I'm pathetic.'
"Where's your proof? You really expect me to believe you with nothing to show for it?" You cross your arms over your chest, leaning back in the polished chair of the coffee shop. A strange mix of the aromas of basic black coffee and caramel swirl in the atmosphere, the temperature warm and cozy. You feel anything but warm and cozy, though. You swear to God that you're off your rocker for even considering that this person is the moon.
Despite how cold he looks, you could've sworn you'd saw a bright twinkle in his eye at the sound of your disbelief.
"I'm not lying."
You notice the hints of passion in his slightly raised stoic voice. He sits back in his chair, despite your raised brow.
"Fine. I'll prove it to you," he looks to the side coldheartedly, pale beryl irises staring at anything other than you. You raise a brow, unable to believe that he can actually prove that he's the moon. The moon would be patient with you, and this guy seems to hate your guts. Or maybe he's just standoffish by nature?
'I'm actually going insane,' you mentally scoff. Honestly, you're surprised you aren't a stuttering mess right now. Strangers terrify you.
Suddenly, you get an idea.
"Hmph," you hum. "Tell me something only the moon would know about me."
Not the least bit shocked at your suggestion, he doesn't bother to look your way, leaning the weight of his head in his hand.
"Alright," he says. "Have you become friends with Megan yet, or are you still afraid? Oh, and what about your parents? This may be a sensitive topic, but has your relationship with them improved?
