It had turned into a ritual, this unspoken thing between us. For the last couple of weeks, those late-night calls were all we had.
I flopped onto the bed, muscles aching, but reached for my phone out of instinct.
I called her because I always did. Every day for the past eight weeks. She picked up on the first ring.
“I know it’s late over there, but practice went long?—”
“Dirks,” she said quietly, her voice uneven.
Something in her voice was off. Off enough that I sat up straighter. We only ever called each other. Never video. That had always been an unspoken rule.
“I’m switching to video,” I said quickly, already fumbling for the button. “Something’s wrong. I need to see you.”
I hit the button. It took her a second, but when the screen lit up, there she was.
My Luna.
She was lying in bed, tangled in white sheets, her platinum blonde hair loose around her. Behind her, the early morning light spilled through the windows. London was only waking up while it was late here.
“Did I wake you?”
She shook her head, but her eyes—fuck. Her eyes were rimmed red, like she’d been crying for hours.
“Hi, Lune,” I whispered.
My chest ached. Four fucking years, and I was staring at the woman who broke my heart... and still held every goddamn shard across a fucking ocean.
“I miss American pizza,” she blurted out.
The corner of my mouth twitched with a half smile. “Yeah?” I asked.
She nodded, and a single tear slid down her cheek.
God, I hated seeing her like that. But I loved it. too. Because this was her. Not the Luna everyone else knew—the one who smiled on camera, always composed, always fine. This wasmyLuna.
“I miss chicken nuggets. I miss Rhonda at the yoga studio by our old apartment. I miss... I miss greasy, terrible food that’s bad for you.” Her voice dropped an octave. “I miss?—”
“I miss you too, Luna girl,” I whispered.
She nodded again, but this time she couldn’t hide it. The tears kept falling, and all I wanted was to reach through the screen and hold her.
“I was going to fall in love,” she said softly, eyes unfocused like she was talking more to the ceiling than to me. “Like Nova did. With Ollie. That kind of soft, steady, healthy love.”
I stayed quiet, letting her fill the silence.
“I wanted that, and Will... he’s sweet. He’s thoughtful. He brings me soup when I’m sick, lets me hog the covers, but it’s just—” Her voice broke a little. “It’s empty, Dirks. I feel empty.”
Fuck.
I hated hearing that. Hated that someone as vibrant as Luna could feel so hollow. But underneath that, I’d be lying if I said part of me didn’t feel... relieved? No. Not relieved. Just... .validated.
Because no one ever compared. I knew that wasn’t fair because she was in pain, but hearing her admit it—tome—felt like some twisted proof that what we had was real. That it hadn’t just lived in my head all these years.
“I know this sounds stupid—like so fucking stupid,” she said, chuckling. “But the sex? It’s so bad. Like... I lie and say I came. Every time. Just to make him feel good.”
I blinked. “Lune . . . ”
“He’s... vanilla. He always wants to talk about it after, like it’s a performance review. I nod and say it was good, and then I wait until he leaves and I—” Her cheeks flushed.
