Messing With The Bad Boy

two

Luna

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kia turn around, and as soon as she saw who was walking towards us, she started panicking. She looked me dead in the eye, grabbed my hand, and dragged me to homeroom without looking back once. Even though I protested and tried to explain I needed a pit-stop at my locker. 

The teacher, Mr. Andrews, let us in without a word, which I found extremely odd considering we were around 7-8 minutes late.

Once I was seated behind her, she turned to me and I could see little beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Out of breath, she told me,

"Loony. Okay. Listen. Promise me you won't ever talk to Aiden. Ever."

Oh, right! That's his name. I remember him from my childhood days here.

 "Why not? We used to be pretty good friends during freshman year, remember?"

"That was before you moved to NYC. He's changed, Luna. Remember his dad? He was a gang leader. He's dead. And so are his mother and sister. They were murdered by some rival gang a couple of years back. He's never been the same and.."

In came Aiden. Sauntering into the class as if he owned the place, quietening the chatter of the class just by his mere presence. His eyes locked into mine and he started taking determined steps towards me.

Ah, fuck.

 "..but please understand that he is dangerous. Really dangerous. Just ignore him if he tries talking to you. And also....uh hello!? Are you even listening to me?", she exclaimed. 

Her eyes followed mine, which were looking over at his direction.

"Move."

He spoke in a low, deadly tone to a poor guy sitting on the desk beside me never breaking eye contact. Immediately he grabbed his stuff and shuffled away to find another seat. 

If I said that I wasn't intimidated, I'd be lying.

"Kiara.", he nodded icily towards her.

"Hi, A-Aiden.", she responded in shock, not looking at him entirely. 

He ignored her and focused his attention on me.

"And you are..?", he asked extending his hand.

"Luna Morrison.",  I saw his eyebrows go up, in what I assumed to be realization, but he was quick to recover.

That's the standard reaction I've received whenever I disclosed my identity to the folks of Storybrooke. At 15, I used to be a somewhat shy girl with short hair, braces, occasional acne, and baby fat. It's safe to say that I had a major glow up over the years when I was in New York.

Without warning, he raised my hand to his lips and left a small kiss there. All while sending daggers at me through his caramel-colored eyes.

Wha-?

A chill erupted from the cool touch of his lips which made a shiver run down my spine and I quickly retracted my hand. He seemed to have noticed that and smirked while sitting down on the desk next to mine.

Kia just gave me a worried look, shook her head, and turned back forward. I, too, faced the teacher and tried to ignore his overbearing presence.

He had definitely changed. He wasn't the same smiling, goofy guy who I'd grown up with. And this 'new' guy was bad news.

I had to be careful. I had to stay prepared.

Throughout the class, I could feel his eyes boring holes into the side of my head. I tried my best to ignore his determined stare and focus on what Mr. Andrews was explaining. I saw him tear a piece of paper from his neighbor's book and scribble something on it before tapping me on my shoulder and sliding it to my desk.