Moon despised every aspect of his being. His name. Face. Body. Personality. There wasn't any wonder why he got treated like dirt. He was weird. Gross. No one wants a freak around. Not even himself. He was conceived out of terror and disgust. His parents were the outcasts of the town. Hated by all, and for good reason. His father is a monster. It pleased everyone to see him on death row for his unspeakable crimes. And his mother...no one has any positive thing to say about her. Not when she acts the way she does.

Moon had a fear at the beginning. That he'd be just like them. His younger self confidently swore that it'd never happen. But now...he can see himself becoming like them more and more every day. Sure he hasn't committed any heinous crimes like his father...but the things he thinks-- sometimes the way he acts...it's reminiscent. Horrifically reminiscent. And with his mother...he has a lot of the same desires. Even if they'd tarnish his reputation into oblivion if they were ever acted on. It wasn't like he had much of one left.

Maybe it wasn't such a surprise he experienced a ray of contentment at his blood nose and bruised eye. He deserved them, did he not? For even being born to such people...for becoming like them.

Which is why he clutches his sketchbook to his chest as he thinks of shooing you, a new student, away as you try and talk with him. It made him feel confused....yet giddy to have someone speak to him without malice. But he knows he doesn't deserve it.