Luna and the Moon [H.S]

3: fruity talk

(UNEDITED)

The way his green eyes glared at her was enough to make her practically shake in her seat, it wasn't like she was scared she was just very intimidated by his stare. And his tone. And his very upright posture.

"Can I help you?" He repeated, eyebrows getting closer together as he frowned and impatiently tapped the tips of his fingers on the wooden table beneath him. She watched his fingers and gulped.

"I just thought you needed a friend to sit with."

It was his turn to be intimidated. Why would a confident young woman, very attractive may I add, come sit over with me? He wondered. Me of all the people in London, she picked me.

"Why?" He bit the inside of his cheek nervously, and she tilted her head in wonder as she watched him suddenly get very nervous around her. Did he not want a friend? She frowned.

"You just looked lonely," and he scoffed, very loud, slightly dramatic, but he scoffed and shook his head in annoyance.

"I am not lonely," he said stubbornly. Of course he wouldn't admit it, nobody really wants to admit to such a thing right? It's humiliating, being alone and actually being very fully aware you are alone is humiliating. At least that's the way Harry sees it, and not that Luna would admit to it either – but that's the way she sees it too...

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[LUNA'S POV]

His fingers never stopped there insistent tapping that continued to agitate me. I do a nice deed for somebody without being asked, and suddenly I'm ready to jump off a plane in irritation. You know what I never understand, why do people do things to annoy someone else? Like sometimes people click their pens continuously just to piss the other person off, and then you have this; tapping his damn fingers making the stupid tapping echo around the already very quiet cafe. Not even his looks could make up for his excessively obnoxious actions.

"Sure you're not," I rolled my eyes. "So why are you sitting alone?" I asked, resting my chin in the palm of my hand whilst my other hand stirred the tea in my mug in front of me.

He stopped tapping his fingers and looked at me intensely, as if trying to figure out why on earth I was talking to him or coming over to him. He reminded me of me, alone and plastering a big fake smile for bystanders to believe he was actually content with life. Which was how I lived my life.

"I'm kind of busy," his voice strained.

"Busy with what?" I know I might seem slightly annoying to this man, but if I could let him just have someone to talk to his night might just turn out that little bit better. I know mine will, if he opens up and speaks more that is.

"Work," he replied bluntly. Maybe this is rude of me to invade his free time, his alone time. Maybe he isn't anything like me and just wants to get his work out the way.

"What do you do?" I asked, genuinely interested in whatever line of work he belonged to. He sighed, his fingers stopped tapping and he pushed his papers to the side and pulled a plate with a banana loaf on it closer to him.

"Why do you want to know?" He shot back.

"Just a question," I shrugged innocently, does there have to be a reason behind every question thrown at a person? No.

"I'm a teacher," he sighed, picking up his black pen and twirling it between his long fingers, I felt as though I was maybe staring just a bit too long at his fingers.