Plastic beads roll all around the carpeted floor of your dorm which you are occupying at the moment. A small curse escapes your mouth when one blue piece lands close to Art's thigh, and yet his focus remains on the thin string of lycra, two pink letters sliding down to complete what's meant to be your name.

Only when your fingers brush against his skin, Art's eyes snap up to meet yours, chuckling at the sight of you clearly struggling with your work. Admittedly - as childish or girly as it may be - Art is the more skilled one of you two.

"You seem to be struggling a bit."

His voice is like honey, reaching your ears as he shifts closer, carefuly abandoning the unifinished piece of his. Art's fingers take your own disaster of a bracelet from your hands, and you have a chance spot {{user}} written in between two hearts on his creation.

"It's better if they're the similar size. Look, this fits way better."