(Signs, Soy Milk, and Psychological Warfare)
The wooden sign was finally finished—simple, neat, and just a little bit crooked, much like its creator's patience.
"Watch your step," it warned in crisp letters, though Aria Larkspur clearly had no intention of following her own advice.
She crouched in the garden, pressing the stake into the soil with a stubborn, bone-deep determination. Ethan Vale stood over her, holding an umbrella with the air of a reluctant bodyguard who hadn't signed up for this much emotional labor.
"Move," he said, his voice flat. "You'll faint again, and I'll be the one the doctor blames."
Aria didn't even look up. "Relax, Ethan. If I collapse, I'll make sure to do it with enough dramatic flair to finally give you a personality."
…Rude. Painfully accurate, but rude.
She finally jammed the sign into place and stood, brushing dirt off her palms as if she'd just unveiled a masterpiece for the Louvre. She turned to him, her eyes bright and her voice suddenly dropping into a softer, more dangerous register.
"Now, when you see this… you'll remember me, right?"
For a split second, Ethan's gaze flickered. It wasn't guilt, and it certainly wasn't affection. It was something far more inconvenient: hesitation.
He was the first to look away.
The silence that followed wasn't the usual heavy, suffocating kind; it was buzzing, like a live wire snapped in two. Ethan shifted his weight, his grip tightening on the umbrella handle until his knuckles turned as white as the orchids. He opened his mouth to say something—likely something clinical about damp soil or immune systems—but the words seemed to snag in his throat.
"You're overthinking it, Ethan," she whispered, her voice a silk thread pulling at his armor. "It's just a sign. It's not an anchor."
He finally forced a sharp, breathy exhale, his eyes snapping back to hers with a look of sheer frustration. "It's annoying," he corrected, though his voice lacked its usual bite. "You're annoying."
They walked back to the villa slowly, sharing the umbrella. Well, technically, Ethan held it; Aria simply occupied the dry space beneath it as if she owned the weather itself. Their shadows stretched long across the path. Too close. Too quiet.
Too… *something.*
Aria broke the silence abruptly. "I don't remember much from before. You know that."
Ethan gave a noncommittal hum. "You've mentioned it."
She tilted her head, her gaze drifting. "Was I horrible to you?"
That actually made him pause. "…Why would you think that?"
Aria stopped dead in her tracks. She turned—fast. Before he could calculate a retreat, her fingers snatched his face, forcing his lips upward into a grotesque, exaggerated smile.
"Because you look like *this* all the time."
Ethan froze. He was currently processing several things: confusion, a mild sense of offense, and the warmth of her fingertips.
"Congratulations," Aria added sweetly. "You smile like you're filing a tax return."
He stepped back immediately, pulling his face from her grip. It was a tiny motion, barely a flinch—but she caught it. Of course she did. Her hand dropped, and her expression didn't shatter; it just… dimmed.
"Oh." A quiet, hollow laugh followed. "Got it."
She stepped back to a "safe" distance, rebuilding that invisible fortress around herself with alarming speed.
"I have piano practice," she said, her voice light and airy once more. "Try not to miss me too much."
Then she turned and walked away. Not fast, not slow. Just… gone. Ethan stood there in the rain for longer than was strictly necessary, which was suspicious enough on its own.
The piano music started ten minutes later.
Smooth. Elegant. Methodical.
*Too perfect.*
Ethan returned to his study, pretending the music was just white noise. He lasted exactly seven minutes before he found himself walking back toward the sound.
"Pathetic," he muttered to himself.
Inside the music room, however, the "White Moonlight" had clocked out. Aria wasn't even at the bench. She had put a recording on loop and was currently sprawled comfortably on a chaise, scrolling through her phone.
"Play something more tragic," she muttered lazily to the air. "If he won't apologize, I'll just emotionally harass him with the background score."
*"You are truly unbelievable,"* the System sighed in her head.
"I am iconic," she corrected.
Next morning. Fresh sunlight. New attitude.
**Maximum Petty Mode: Activated.**
Ethan stepped out onto the terrace just in time to see Aria returning from a morning run. White tracksuit, hair pulled back, a light sheen of sweat catching the morning light. She looked effortlessly radiant—which was, frankly, infuriating.
He almost called out to her. *Almost.*
She walked right past him. No stop. No smile. Just a curt, professional nod. It was the emotional equivalent of being "Seen at 9:42 AM."
Ethan lowered his hand slowly. Somehow, that felt worse than if she'd screamed at him.
In the dining area, Aria sat sipping soy milk like a queen ignoring a fallen kingdom.
"Breakfast, Miss?" asked the cook, Mira.
"Mini dumplings," Aria replied softly, her eyes fixed on a book. She didn't glance toward the stairs when she heard his footsteps. She didn't even pretend to notice him.
*Savage.*
Ethan paused mid-step. He looked down and caught her sneaking a half-second glance at him through her lashes. She immediately whipped her head away, her cheeks puffing out in a tiny pout.
*Annoyed. Adorable.*
He almost laughed, which was a dangerous sign of weakness. By the time he actually made it downstairs, she had already vanished.
"Mira, send my food to the piano room," her voice echoed from down the hall.
Ethan sat at the massive table alone. Silent. Thinking. Finally, he said casually, "Send hers up first."
Mira blinked, then her eyes widened. *Understanding unlocked. Couple fight detected.*
When the tray finally reached Aria, there was a single rose resting beside the dumplings. Deep red. Fresh. Slightly dramatic.
She stared at it for a long beat. "…What is this?"
"A peace offering," Mira said, looking far too cheerful. "From Mr. Vale."
Aria scoffed instantly, though she didn't put the flower down. "He couldn't even say it to my face?"
Mira smiled knowingly. "He said he'll apologize properly tonight."
Aria picked up the rose, twirling the stem between her fingers. A satisfied smirk spread across her face. "Of course he will."
She let out a long, contented sigh.
"Honestly… I'm irresistible."
*"...You're insufferable,"* the System corrected.
Aria's grin only widened. "Same thing."