Chapter Text
Spring. A wonderful time to fall in love, find your soulmate, and open yourself up to new, absolutely wonderful emotions.
Oh, how Moon loathed this season. Couples everywhere, kissing right in front of everyone without a shred of shame… disgusting. And no matter where you looked, there were ads from agencies promising to help you find your “intended” in no time.
Moon exhaled a plume of chocolate‑scented smoke, flicking ash wide of the ashtray without a second thought, shivering slightly from the cool breeze.
“What’s with all this fucking bullshit? Why the panic when you’ve gone your whole life without marks? Just sit back and enjoy it!” he raged internally, glaring at a fresh advertisement banner that had just been pasted over some energy‑candy ad. The banner went on about how hard it was to find your destiny and how this particular agency could help better than anyone else.
Yeah, his morning was off to a shitty start—not that it was actually morning. Moon woke up in the evenings; he’d grown to love that schedule, so he usually took night shifts. Stubbing out the filter in the ashtray and closing the window, he turned his back on that crap, clicking his tongue at the bitter taste in his mouth.
Moon couldn’t stand all that soulmate crap. All through his childhood, his parents—who weren’t bound by any marks—drilled into his head what his soulmate was supposed to be and do. “What, you don’t get it? Your soulmate has to… Your soulmate is supposed to…” Moon hated it. Even if he were interested in finding the person he’d spend the rest of his life with, he probably wouldn’t bother with calculations and guesses about who they might be.
It’s pointless!
But one thing he definitely didn’t want was to become the “lucky” owner of a mark on his body. He didn’t want to belong to anyone, didn’t want to change himself, change his off‑putting personality, ditch his bad habits, or tone down his sarcastic jokes. He found it hard to change.
And besides, Moon didn’t deserve such an unaffordable luxury—meeting someone capable of accepting even part of who he was. Who’d like a passive‑aggressive guy with a grating laugh and no desire for sexual contact? Most people he’d met didn’t appreciate that last trait, and Moon kept quiet about it, hurt deep down.
Croaking something under his breath in a hoarse voice, Moon started getting ready for work at the run‑down diner. He smoothed down his dyed‑white hair with his palm, trying to look at least somewhat decent with those dark circles under his eyes and skin as pale as a toadstool.
Moon sighed, looking at himself in the mirror. The only asset his face had was a scattering of large moles that formed delicate constellations, trailing down to his neck and back—that was the one detail that made him somewhat attractive to others. He pulled on a black shirt with some obscure print, threw a sweater over it, hastily put on his pants, slipped on his shoes, gave himself one last look in the hallway mirror, and shot out of the apartment like a bullet, leaving behind a trail of cheap cologne and a head full of tangled thoughts.
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“Where the hell have you been?! You’re late again, for the umpteenth time in a row!” the manager hissed in a stern, reproachful tone, shuffling papers on his desk and quickly pushing his glasses back up his nose.
The buzzing of the lights and the ticking of the clock seemed more pleasant sounds than anyone’s voice. Moon glanced at the clock hanging crookedly on the wall. One poke and it’d fall off and shatter. It was already nine in the evening, and he should have been at work by seven… Awkward, though he didn’t particularly care; he’d already been thinking about quitting this job anyway, if only because the place was unbearably stuffy and the food smelled awful.
“So, why don’t you fire me then, if I’m such a bad employee? Come on, hand me my pink slip, boss,” he said with a cold chuckle that made the man wince, distracting him from his work for a moment.
“If you can’t talk like an adult, you can go keep the little ones entertained,” the man said, spinning in his chair to grab the necessary document.
Without looking at the person in front of him, he thrust the sheet into Moon’s hands and gave two sharp claps to hustle him along. “Fill it out at waltz tempo. I don’t have all day.” Then he acted as if Moon had already left.
Moon quickly signed where he was supposed to, added a little angry smiley face, and placed the sheet next to the computer, then left the office feeling both free and uneasy.
Looked like he’d need to find another job again, thanks to his constant lateness and missed shifts. He didn’t have enough money to pay the rent—he spent everything either on daily necessities or on sessions with his therapist.
No one liked feeling a constant, growing rage building up inside.
He stormed out of the building so abruptly he nearly ran someone over. Muttering something that might have been an apology, though his voice carried no hint of regret, he strode quickly away from the place.
Fishing his phone out of his pocket and slowing down to type more easily, Moon searched the map for some 24‑hour café where he could sit, figure out his next move, and calm down.
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Inside, pleasant music was playing, surreal paintings hung on the walls, and ficuses sat in the corners.
Moon took a seat in the back, ordered a cup of coffee, and pressed his fingers—still smelling of cigarettes—to his face. When his order arrived, he pulled out his phone and went to a job‑search site, looking for night‑shift openings. He took a sip of coffee and started scrolling.
A random listing caught his eye: they were looking for a substitute teacher at a daycare center located inside a shopping mall.
“‘Keep the little ones entertained,’ huh?”
The manager’s words came back to him. Why not give it a shot? He couldn’t stand kids, but the job requirements seemed simple enough.
Thinking it over as carefully as he could while finishing his coffee, Moon paid the bill and headed for the exit, having already sent his resume to the management of “Pizza‑Plex.”