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Summary
“You may be right,” Luna says. Rin ignores him, but he keeps on talking. “I didn’t win today. I underestimated you.”
It’s almost hard to believe that Leonardo Luna would compliment him, so Rin doesn’t, yanking at his laces with a vengeance. The grass rustles, sways. A breeze blows through his hair and gets it into his eyes, and Rin hisses at the feeling, pushes it aside. He tucks some behind his ears and inadvertently glances up, and nearly leaps out of his damn skin when he sees that Luna is in front of him, smile back on.
“What?” Rin grits out.
“Nothing important," Luna says, pleasant.
Or: Luna, Rin, and victory.