December's Moon

17| LUCA

| LUCA |

On Saturdays, brunch was served at ten thirty in the morning. Students wouldn't be up for eight am breakfast, so it saved the kitchen staff the time of preparing a meal that wouldn't be eaten anyway.

The dining room was nearly deserted when Luca made his way in after his morning workout. A few sophomores and freshman chatted at the tables as they ate pancakes and omelets, and Luca saw one or two of his own classmates, but other than that the place was desolate, as it usually was in the mornings on weekends.

Not a single Junior was present. Guess they ended up having that party last night after all. They were probably all still hungover and wouldn't be up until the ass crack of noon.

Luca headed straight to the back of the dining room to pour himself a coffee. He needed that more than he needed greasy eggs or buttery pancakes right now. He found his newly favorited 1995 Running With the Wolves Annual 5k mug and began pouring black tar into it, stretching out his neck as he did. His body was already tensing up and getting sore from the two hours he'd spent at the gym that morning.

"Good morning, Luca," a familiar voice startled him.

Luca nearly jumped where he stood, his fingers slipping on the coffee pot. Hot liquid spilled on to the back of his hand, nearly searing his skin.

"Shit," Luca hissed under his breath, setting the pot down on its warmer and licking the back of his hand as he glanced to his right.

December had somehow snuck up behind him and was standing next to him. He wore a dark grey sweatshirt. The front was unzipped, but the hood was up over his head, the drawstrings pulled unevenly so one was halfway down his chest while the other was only exposed a few inches. December searched through the mugs until he picked a black one that said "One Man Wolfpack" in faded red text.

"Good morning, December," Luca grumbled.

"How did you sleep?" December asked.

"All right, I guess."

"I did not sleep very well." December passed the mug back and forth between his hands. "Do you mind helping me?" He placed a hand on Luca's upper arm, his grip tighter than what was friendly. He held out his cup and gestured towards the coffee station. "Just black, please. I don't want anything . . . else . . . in it."

Luca's hand shook as he picked up the coffee pot. He poured into December's mug until it was right at the brim, finally returning the pot to its warmer. A bead of sweat dripped down the back of Luca's neck, soaking into the collar of his clean, light blue Polo shirt.

"Thank you," December said. He brought the cup to his mouth, but he didn't drink. He just blew some steam off the top. "It's amazing, isn't it—the sludge they pass off for coffee—the crap they call food. Shocking no one has died of food poisoning yet, don't you think, Luca." December's grip on Luca's bicep tightened until it hurt. The tips of his fingers dug into Luca's bare skin.

"It is," Luca said, his voice tense. "Amazing."

December smiled at him, revealing the tips of his teeth. The grin sent chills down Luca's spine. "I'd like to talk with you, Luca," he said. "Walk with me?"

December didn't give Luca a choice. He adjusted his grip on Luca's arm so it was looser and pulled at him, leading him out of the dining room.

Luca caught some of the younger students throwing glances as the two older boys walked out of the dining room together. A few whispered amongst themselves, but it was too quiet for Luca to pick up anything they were saying. Although Luca wasn't popular among the underclassmen, they all knew who he was and respected him, or were at least intimidated by him. On the other hand, everyone loved December. He was friendly with everyone, even the underclassmen.