The walk to Luna's place is mercifully short, which is good. But I'm already mentally preparing myself for the inevitable awkwardness of meeting her parents. What will I even say?
We wind through the expensive plaza and into a residential area behind it. The buildings here are the kind that make you wonder if you're allowed to look at them without a certain credit score. Everything is pristine, modern, and costs more than an average person would earn in a lifetime.
Then Luna stops in front of what can only be described as a monument to wealth inequality.
"This is... where you live?" I manage, my brain short-circuiting as I take in the massive skyscraper in front of me. It's new, gleaming, and looks like it was designed by someone who thought "subtlety" was a type of pasta.
"Mm-hmm..." Luna nods, looking at me with a slightly confused smile, like she genuinely doesn't understand why I'm so shocked.
Oh. Oh no. Luna's rich. Like, really rich. The kind of rich where you don't even understand that you're rich because it's just your normal.
The building is easily seventy stories tall, all glass and steel and architectural ambition. The entrance is flanked by massive marble pillars that probably cost more than my house, and the doors are these enormous glass things that look like they could withstand a nuclear blast while still looking elegant.
I'm still processing this when I notice the man standing next to the entrance.
Calling him a man feels insufficient. This is a specimen. He's wearing a perfectly tailored suit that's struggling to contain what appears to be a body carved from granite. He's got to be at least 6'10", with muscles that have muscles, and a jawline that could cut diamonds. His face is handsome in a way that makes regular humans feel like evolutionary mistakes.
Luna looks up at him and gives a tiny wave before immediately looking back at the ground. The man nods kindly at her and steps aside, pulling open the door with the kind of smooth efficiency that suggests he's done this approximately ten thousand times.
He also looks at me and gives me a small smile, which is simultaneously reassuring and terrifying because a man that large smiling at you feels like getting approval from a very friendly mountain.
What type of fancy-ass apartment has a doorman? And not just any doorman, but one who apparently memorizes residents' faces and looks like he moonlights as a superhero?
We walk inside, and I'm just... I'm just shocked. My brain has officially given up on processing things normally.
The lobby is massive. We're talking ceilings so high that I'm pretty sure clouds could form in here. The walls are made from rich, dark wood that probably comes from trees that take a century to grow. Crystal chandeliers hang overhead, casting a warm light over everything. There's a seating area with pristine white sofas arranged around small wooden coffee tables that look like they belong in a furniture museum. Another section has floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with leather-bound books and tasteful decorations, and at the side is a large, curved reception desk with an actual receptionist standing behind it.
This place is so fancy, I feel like I should be wearing a tuxedo.
I'm just gaping around, trying to process the sheer opulence of everything, while following Luna toward a bank of eight elevators.
Eight. Elevators.
But we don't even take those. On the opposite wall, there's another discrete elevator door that I almost missed. Luna presses her keyfob to a scanner next to it, and the doors slide open with a soft whoosh.
Hold on.
I'm completely flabbergasted. Does Luna have... a private elevator? I've never seen this in my life. This is the kind of thing that happens in movies about billionaires, not in real life to people I actually know.
We step inside, and the elevator starts moving upward immediately. The interior is all polished metal and soft lighting, with a small control panel that has exactly two buttons: Lobby and Penthouse.
"Luna," I say, unable to keep the shock out of my voice. "Luna, this is insane. You have your own elevator. Your own elevator. I didn't even know you were—I mean, you never said—"
"My family... owns a large business... in Japan..." Luna says softly, looking down at her hands. "They wanted me... to receive an education here... so they got this place..."
"'A large business,'" I repeat, making air quotes with my fingers. "Luna, you have a private elevator. I think we're past 'large business' and into 'probably owns a small country' territory."
She lets out a soft giggle, and I'm momentarily distracted by how cute it sounds.
"Wow, sorry, it's just, this place is insane! I feel out of place just standing here..." I shake my head, still processing. "And jeez, who was that guy at the entrance? He was massive!"
"Oh... uh yeah... he's just the doorman… I've never really... spoken with him before..."
A mischievous thought crosses my mind, and before I can stop myself, I'm grinning.
"He's totally your type though, right?" I say, feeling a bit impish, "Tall, muscular, handsome, basically everything you said you liked."
Luna's face immediately turns pink. "...He is... attractive..." she starts, and my stomach does this weird dropping thing.
"Oh," I say, trying to sound casual.
"But... I don't like him... or anything!" Luna says quickly, her blush deepening. "We've never... even spoken!"
"Okay, okay, I'm just teasing," I say, feeling an inexplicable sense of relief wash over me.
Wait. Why do I feel relieved? We're just friends. I don't... I'm not crushing on her, right?
Am I?
Before my brain can spiral into emotional territory I'm not equipped to handle, the elevator stops and the doors slide open.
Holy shit.
The elevator opens directly into the penthouse suite. Not into a hallway. Not into a foyer. Directly. Into. The. Apartment.
And it's, in a word, enormous.
The space is... I don't even have words. To my left are what I can only assume are floor-to-ceiling windows, currently covered by elegant white curtains that probably cost more than my entire bedroom. A moderate distance away from these curtains are three massive beige sofas arranged in a U-shape around a flatscreen TV mounted on the back wall. The TV is so large it could probably be seen from space. On my right is a dining table that could seat twelve people comfortably, surrounded by chairs that look like they were handcrafted by furniture artisans.
"Welcome... to my home," Luna says beside me, and there's something almost shy about the way she says it. Like she's worried I might judge her for living somewhere so extravagant.
"This is... wow. Luna, this is incredible," I say honestly, still trying to take it all in. "Wait, shoot, should I have brought a gift or something? For your parents?"
Please don't let me have committed some massive social faux pas. I'm already the poor kid; I don't need to also be the rude poor kid.
"Oh... don't worry..." Luna says gently, tucking a strand of purple hair behind her ear. "I live... alone..."
I blink. Process that. Reprocess it.
Wait.
"Alone? You live here by yourself?"
"Mm-hmm... My parents visit... sometimes... but they're usually... busy with work..."
So right now, I'm alone with Luna in her house. No parents. No awkward conversations about my intentions or my future or why I look like I bought my clothes from a dumpster behind a thrift store.
A rush of relief goes through me, and I immediately feel guilty about my social awkwardness. But also, and I can't stress this enough, thank God.
Luna walks through the elevator doors and slips into a pair of fuzzy purple slippers that match her hair. She points to some guest slippers for me, and I quickly change into them. They're probably the nicest footwear I've ever worn.
She leads me through the apartment, and we walk up a massive wooden staircase in the back that leads to a second floor. Because of course there's a second floor. In the apartment.
We stop in front of what I assume is her room.
"Um... could you... wait out here... for a moment?" Luna asks, fidgeting with her sleeves. "I want to... change into something... more comfortable..."
"Yeah, of course! Take your time." I say, probably too enthusiastically, and position myself firmly facing away from the door like my life depended on it.
I wait maybe three minutes, occupying myself by examining the hallway art (abstract paintings that probably cost more than a car), before the door reopens.
I turn around, and—
Jesus Christ.
Luna's just wearing a casual white t-shirt and grey shorts. Simple. Normal.
Except Luna doesn't really do "normal" when it comes to how clothes fit her.
I always knew Luna was, uh, generously proportioned, the hoodie didn't hide that completely, but apparently, the hoodie was doing way more work than I gave it credit for, because holy shit. She's absolutely massive. The white t-shirt clings to curves that seem to defy the laws of physics and probably several building codes. Her chest is... substantial doesn't even begin to cover it. They're massive, perfect spheres that somehow maintain their shape despite their size, jiggling slightly with even the smallest movement. Each one strains against the fabric of her shirt like they're staging a protest against the concept of modesty.
And her thighs. God, her thighs. They're huge, soft, and jiggly, the flesh bouncing gently even when she's just shifting her weight. Combined with her tiny waist, she looks like she was designed by an artist who thought "realism" was a suggestion rather than a rule.
She smells even sweeter now somehow, the cotton candy scent more prominent, tickling my nose and making it even harder to think clearly.
I'm distracted, staring like an idiot, before I realize I'm being both rude and perverted. I quickly snap my eyes up and keep them firmly planted on her face. Her very cute, very pink face. She's looking away, blushing furiously.
"So... um..." Luna starts, still not looking at me. "What should we... do first?"