LUNA'S POV
I blinked.
My mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
Brain? Empty. Dignity? Gone.
Then, before I could stop myself—
"Z-zero."
I said it.
Soft. Pathetic. A whisper barely louder than the sound of my will to live disintegrating.
His brows rose, just slightly. Not mockingly — more like he'd just confirmed something he already knew.
I wanted to melt into the floorboards.
Why did I say that?
Why couldn't I be cool for once in my life and just wink or lie or change the subject to potatoes or something?
He leaned back slightly, glancing back at his laptop. "Thought so," he said, voice flat — but not harsh. Just matter-of-fact.
I bit my lip, fingers fidgeting in my lap. "That doesn't mean I'm... weak or—like—a child or something," I added quickly, before my pride could die completely.
He didn't respond immediately or even glanced from his laptop.
His gaze were fixed on the screen. Like it saw through the deflections and right into the parts I tried to cover with jokes and loud energy.
I hated how quiet he was.
Then, finally, he spoke still not glancing away from the screen.
"I didn't say you're weak."
His voice was low. Calm. Almost too calm.
"But it makes you… breakable."
And somehow, that word hit harder than any insult ever could.
Breakable.
I blinked rapidly, swallowing the strange lump in my throat.
I didn't know whether to punch him or cry again. Maybe both.
Then I glanced down at my phone.
Thirty-seven missed calls.
From Sandra.
"What the—" I whispered under my breath, eyes widening.
My phone had been on silent this whole time... and I'd been in here. With Hardin.
A wave of guilt washed over me. Sandra was probably planning a funeral at this point.
I clutched my phone tighter and looked up at him. He was still focused on his laptop, completely unfazed — like he hadn't just emotionally disarmed me five seconds ago.
"I, uh... can we talk later?" I asked, voice soft, barely above a whisper.
His fingers paused briefly on the keys. "Sure," he said, tone flat as ever.
But somehow, that was good enough.
"I need to go," I added, backing toward the door.
No reaction.
Not even a glance.
Just the sound of keys tapping again, like I was a passing thought in the middle of some bigger storm in his head.
I hovered by the doorway for a second, chewing my lip. Should I say goodbye? Or just leave like it never happened?
My fingers tightened on the handle.
Nothing.
So I stepped out.
And I didn't say goodbye.
But the silence behind me felt like one.
**************************************
SANDRA'S POV
I was this close to filing a missing person's report.
Thirty-seven missed calls, three "where are you" texts, two angry voice notes, and one mental breakdown later, I was pacing like a lunatic at the front of our apartment, phone in one hand, emotional trauma in the other.
Then finally—finally—I saw her.
Luna.
Walking toward me like she hadn't just disappeared into the Bermuda Triangle of male toxicity.
I marched straight up to her, arms flailing. "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!"
She flinched. "I can explain—"
"Were you kidnapped by emotionally unavailable wolves again?" I narrowed my eyes.
She blinked. "...Again?"
"You've been gone for like HOURS. Steven is missing. Your soul is clearly scattered across several planets. And your phone? On. Silent?" I threw my hands in the air. "Ma'am, are you okay?! Do we need to spiritually sage your?!"
She rubbed the back of her neck. "I was… with Hardin."
I froze. My jaw dropped so hard it could've shattered pavement. "You were with Hardin?!"
Her guilty silence was loud.
"Oh my God. What did he do now? Did he throw dark sarcasm at you? Did you cry again?!"
She looked away.
I gasped, full-on movie gasp. "YOU CRIED AGAIN?!"
"I didn't plan to!"
"You don't plan to cry, Luna. It just happens when you're near a demon prince."
She groaned and started walking, clearly exhausted.
I followed behind like an emotionally aggressive duckling. "Was it, like, romantic crying or trauma crying? Or romantic trauma crying?"
"I don't even know anymore."
"Well, whatever it was, I'm calling Steven."
She grabbed my wrist. "No. Please. Not yet."
I studied her face.
Eyes red-rimmed. Shoulders heavy.
But there was something else, too.
A weird... glow.
Not the happy kind.
The "I just walked through emotional fire and kind of liked the burn" kind.
"Oh no," I whispered.
She tilted her head. "What?"
"Oh no no no no—you... you like him."
"Wha— I never said—"
"You didn't have to. You're literally glowing like a confused firefly."
She slapped her hands over her face. "Sandra, please—"
I gripped her shoulders. "Luna, listen to me. He is mysterious. He is hot. He is the human version of a power outage. But he is not boyfriend material. He'll definitely break you."
She looked down.
And that's when I knew.
She was in deeper than she thought.
"Oh baby," I exhaled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "We're so doomed."
We were back in the apartment.
The light was off. The windows were open. The rain had started again, soft and rhythmic like it understood this moment needed a soundtrack.
Luna sat curled up on the couch, knees to her chest, her face half-buried in her hoodie. She hadn't said a word since we got back.
I didn't push her.
I didn't ask.
I just made hot chocolate, placed hers beside her like an emotional support drink, and sank into the beanbag with mine. If there's one thing I've learned from being her roommate for almost a year now, it's that Luna talks when she's ready. You just have to hold the silence open long enough.
And after a good ten minutes of nothing but rain and the occasional sniffle, I heard her voice. Soft. Barely there.
"He's… I dunno."
I looked over. She still hadn't looked at me.
"Hardin?" I asked gently.
She nodded, her chin brushing her knees.
"I've never… liked anyone like this before," she whispered, like she was afraid the words might crack the air.
I didn't say anything. I just sipped my cocoa.
"I mean," she went on, voice slow, like every syllable cost her something, "I've had silly crushes. Movie star stuff. I've joked around with the guys. Steven, especially. He's always been around. Always safe. Easy."
She paused, tugging her sleeves over her hands.
"But Hardin…" Her voice dropped even lower. "I don't feel safe."
That got my attention.
I sat up a little straighter, watching her closely.
"I don't mean like, physically," she added quickly. "He's not scary in that way. It's just… he's so unreadable. One minute he's stone cold and emotionally constipated, and the next… he's like the only one who can see me when I'm falling apart."
I felt something tighten in my chest. She wasn't just falling for the bad boy trope. She was spiraling into something she couldn't name yet.
"And that freaks me out," she said, her voice barely a breath. "Because I've never felt like this before. I didn't even think I could. And now he's just… there. In my head. Under my skin. All the time."
Still, I didn't speak. I just let her have the space.
Then finally, she looked up at me. Eyes red, but clear. Like she'd just told herself the truth for the first time.
"I think I'm falling for him," she admitted. "And I don't know how to stop it."
My heart hurt a little for her. Not because she was in love — but because she didn't know what kind of love this was going to be. The kind that builds you, or the kind that breaks you.
So I gave her the only thing I could.
I scooted over, wrapped my arms around her, and pulled her into a quiet hug.
"You don't have to stop it," I said softly. "But if you're gonna fall, make sure you know how to land."
She nodded into my shoulder.
I didn't tell her about Steven. Not yet. Not tonight.
Tonight was just about her heart — and holding the pieces before they got too tangled to recognize.