LUNA'S POV
His gaze stayed locked on me — unblinking, unreadable, and somehow calm in the most infuriating way.
I didn't speak. I couldn't. My brain was buffering like a cursed laptop running on 2% battery — all tabs open, all screaming PANIC.
Then, without warning, he tilted his head just slightly, eyes narrowing like he could see every thought I was trying not to accept.
"Don't shut down now, little pest," he said, voice low — and that nickname rolled off his tongue like it belonged there.
I swallowed.
He stepped forward again and it felt like the air between us collapsed. My heart started hammering like it was punching through my ribs, desperate to escape.
Then he leaned in.
Close enough that I could feel his body's warmth —
"I know it's hard to admit it."
That— that was too true. And the worst part? He said it like he already knew what I was running from.
Tears stung the edges of my eyes again. I blinked hard, willing them away. I couldn't cry. Not here. Not in front of him.
But my hands were trembling now, and my breathing was all over the place. Shaky. Uneven. I'd never felt fear like this — not even with my dad on one of his worst days. And I didn't even know what I was afraid of.
Still, I looked up at him. Slowly. Eyes glistening with everything I was trying to hold back.
And then he said.
"You're terrified because for once, you can't pretend it's all a joke. And because deep down… you know I see through that."
The words hit like a train wreck to the chest. A direct hit.
I could hear my heartbeat in my ears — loud, pounding, like it wanted out. My breathing got heavier, faster, too loud for the silence in the room.
I took a step back — a desperate, instinctual move to escape whatever this was.
But Hardin?
He stepped forward.
Slowly.
Hands shoved deep into his pockets with the kind of composure that only made it worse.
I stepped back again — and again, he followed, that same maddening calm, like he had all the time in the world to watch me unravel.
And then — with a sharp thud...
My back hit the wall.
I froze. And before I could even think, his hand lifted and pressed against the wall just to the side above my head, boxing me in. His other hand? Still in his pocket. Like this was no big deal. Like I wasn't about to shatter in front of him.
His eyes met mine. No mockery. No smugness. Just intense and unreadable.
I sucked in a sharp breath.
And then it all fell down.
My hands flew up to my face, and I sobbed. Not the cute, single-tear kind of crying. No. I cried cried. Ugly, messy, can't-breathe crying. Right there. In front of Hardin.
Everything — the pain, the confusion, the guilt, the heartbreak — poured out like floodwater through cracked glass.
And him?
He just stood there.
Watched me.
Didn't flinch. Didn't move. Didn't say a single word.
When the sobs finally slowed to sniffles, and the hiccups calmed into quiet, I wiped my face roughly with my sleeves. Not that it helped. I probably looked like I'd fought a hurricane and lost.
I looked up at him again — slowly, from under my lashes.
He was still watching me.
Then he finally spoke.
"Feel better?" he asked flatly. No emotion. Just like that. Like he was asking if I needed more sugar in my coffee.
But weirdly, somehow… I felt better.
Lighter. Freer.
I nodded, still too embarrassed to speak properly. I didn't trust my voice not to crack in seventeen directions.
Then he straightened, stepping back, finally releasing me from the magnetic field of his presence.
He returned to the table like the whole emotional breakdown hadn't just happened.
"Thank you," I muttered, barely above a whisper.
He didn't even glance up. "For what?"
I hesitated. I wasn't even sure. For letting me cry? For not making it worse? For seeing through me?
I didn't answer. Because when I'm around Hardin, my mouth can't be trusted.
And I think — he knows that too.
But the truth was… I didn't know why I stayed back.
I could've left. Should've, maybe. But something about the silence after the storm... made me pause.
My feet moved before I could talk myself out of it. Quietly, I walked over and lowered myself onto the seat next to him — not too close, just enough to feel the heat from his presence again.
He didn't look at me. Didn't ask questions. Just kept typing on his laptop, the light from the screen casting a soft blue hue across his sharp features.
I watched him in silence.
The calm way his fingers moved across the keyboard. The occasional furrow of his brows. The way his jaw tensed when something clearly annoyed him, though he never said a word.
HardinBriggs.
Everyone called him hot and mysterious — and now I understood why.
Maybe that was Steven's reason for telling me to stay away from him. But honestly? That only pulled me closer.
I tilted my head slightly, watching him. Not like a girl crushing on a broody bad boy. More like someone trying to read a book written in a different language. One you wanted to understand, no matter how difficult.
Why didn't he stop me from crying?
And why… did it feel better that he didn't?
"You're still here," he muttered, flatly — like I was an afterthought, not a surprise.
I was silent for a couple of seconds too long.
"Yeah," I finally said, soft. "I just don't get you."
He chuckled.
Chuckled.
Like I'd told a mildly amusing joke. Like my entire emotional spiral was just... cute to him.
How cold.
"I don't also know why I'm attracted to you," I blurted.
It was later that I found out I'd said that out loud — and instantly, internally facepalmed so hard I almost blacked out.
Why are you so expressive, Luna?
I slowly pulled my hoodie over my head. WHY did I say that out loud? This isn't a teen drama monologue! Now he thinks I'm one of his fangirls.
He turned to me slowly, like the moment had weight.
And then—
He chuckled. Again.
What is funny or amusing at this point in time?
But then came the words that made me freeze.
"Don't be," he said, flatly, turning back to his laptop. "It's a warning, though."
My brows furrowed.
"What?" I asked, confused. "Why?"
He didn't answer right away. Just kept typing, like he was thinking about whether I deserved an answer at all.
Then, he gave a low, quiet laugh — not the cute kind. The type that sounded like it belonged in the background of a villain's entrance scene.
"I don't know why I'm warning you," he murmured, "but don't be."
Still… I couldn't help it.
"Why?" I asked again — quieter this time. Less curious, more vulnerable.
He paused. The clacking of keys stopped. His fingers stilled. Then, softly:
"You're too innocent."
I blinked. That word again.
Innocent.
And… what did that even mean? My nose scrunched slightly.
"Says who?" I snapped before my brain could stop me. "What makes you think I'm innocent?"
Finally — finally — he turned. Full body. Full face.
He stared at me with that unreadable gaze and said:
"What's your bodycount?"
My entire soul evaporated.
I felt like I got whacked with a frying pan the size of Texas.
Body count?
EXCUSE YOU?
I hadn't even had a boyfriend before, sir.
The closest I've gotten to intimacy was emotional eye contact and throwing popcorn at Steven.
I opened my mouth, closed it, then opened it again like a buffering Wi-Fi signal.
What was this guy's problem?!