Donnelly leans a hip against the booth, and he clutches on to a half-wrapped breakfast bagel. As he careens over my shoulder and peers at my journal on the table, I cage a fluttering breath. Absorbing the fact that Original Luna kinda dated him is like sucking on helium (even if we technically aren’t dating), and I feel floaty around him. So much about Donnelly compels me towards his bright energy field and pushes me to get to know him more. No amount of time spent with him feels like enough. I wonder if Original Luna experienced that too. I’m still holding in air. Like if I breathe too hard,
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