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Scoffing, I reach over and grab a handful of her sweats, dragging her towards me. “I don't like waking up alone.”
“You're not alone.” She rolls her eyes and begrudgingly sits on the edge of the bed. “I'm literally right here.”
When she tries to wriggle away, I drop my head in her lap and secure my arms around her waist. She sighs but her hands go to my hair and comb through the knots, slender fingers deftly twisting a few strands into a braid. I let her; if she's messing with my hair it means she's not trying to mess with that damn ring currently turning my pinky finger an interesting shade of green.
“Who were you talking to?”
“Pen, reminding me how late I am for class,” she grumbles, tugging my new braid pointedly.
“If you're already late, you might as well stay.”
“Nice try.” Soft laughter and softer lips brush my cheek. “I have to go.”
“Skip it and get your ass back in bed.”
She pauses for a second, contemplating, I can tell, and I bury my face in her lap so she can't see my smug smile. When I trace the dimples on her lower back, tickling lightly the way she likes it, she sighs contentedly and flops on top of me. “You're cuddly in the morning.”
Ordinarily? No.
With her? Fuck yeah, I am.
Especially after last night. Damn right I'm reluctant to let her go. If I don't occupy my hands with her, I'm pretty sure they'll end up somewhere else.
Like slamming into Dylan Wells' grimy fucking face.
Grunting, I shift onto my side, attempting to drag her down with me. With a whine of protest, Luna manages to evade, wriggling out of my grip and darting for the door.
'I have to go,” she calls over her shoulder as she steals a t-shirt and slips on the sliders she’s taken to leaving here, simultaneously tying the sweats currently swallowing her slender waist as tightly as she can. “Attendance is part of my grade.”
Well, shit. Can't really argue with that. Sighing, I roll out of bed, scratching the itchy scratches on my chest as I amble towards her.
“What're you doing?”
I glance up from yanking a pair of sweats up my legs to find Luna frowning at me. Well, kind of frowning at me, kind of eyeing my cock with too much interest for the limited time we have. “Walking you to class.”
Her frown cracks instantly, melting into something softer that she ducks her head to hide, using a sheet of messy hair as a shield, and as much as I want to smile at the effect such a simple gesture has on her, it also makes my chest ache a little too. It's the bare minimum, Common decency, really, yet it surprises her.
That kind of reaction happens a lot more than it should. Our first date, the batting cages, every date after that. I bought her flowers last week, just because, and when she opened the door to find me standing there with a bouquet, she just blinked in confusion and asked if they were for Amelia.
God, I want to punch whoever ruined such simple fucking intimacy for her.
Tugging on a t-shirt, I just watch her fumble around for a second. Taking her meds, twisting the front of her borrowed t-shirt into a knot so it exposes a tiny sliver of midriff, braiding her hair back from her face so it matches mine.
I like every version of Luna but I think this one is the best. Rumpled, disheveled, a touch sleep-deprived. Wearing my clothes. Blue eyes soft and sleepy. Bare-faced except for a few remnants of eyeliner she didn't quite manage to scrub off last night. Cheeks puffy, one a little flushed from sleeping on it all night. Beautiful as always. This Luna is relaxed and comfortable, and I'm pretty sure it's not a side of her she lets many people see.
Maybe that's why I love it so much.
And when she slides on her glasses, it reminds me that she is, in fact, a human being with the eyesight of a mole and not some otherworldly goddess who somehow stumbled into my bed.
Sidling up to her, I lift the glasses from her face just enough so I can swipe away the black smudged beneath her eyes. “Why don't you wear these all the time?”
Luna snorts. “A boy told me once that I look like a porn star with them on. Because, you know, apparently blonde hair, big boobs, and glasses scream porn even on a fifteen-year-old.”
Nausea settles deep in my belly at her words, at how casually she says them.
Fifteen. Barely older than my youngest sister. My fists clench at my side, and the face I've been imagining punching all morning suddenly morphs into a faceless, nameless highschooler.
Luna balls my t-shirt between her fists, tutting in mock disapproval. “Stop imagining punching a child.”
