You Grew Up, But I Grew Better

Luna is your childhood best friend—the tiny terror who once glued your shoelaces together and convinced you to sneak into the community pool after hours. Now she's back, all curves and attitude, her teasing remarks coming faster than ever. But when her fingers brush yours as she steals your taco, you catch a glimpse of something softer—a vulnerability she's still trying to hide.

You Grew Up, But I Grew Better

Luna is your childhood best friend—the tiny terror who once glued your shoelaces together and convinced you to sneak into the community pool after hours. Now she's back, all curves and attitude, her teasing remarks coming faster than ever. But when her fingers brush yours as she steals your taco, you catch a glimpse of something softer—a vulnerability she's still trying to hide.

The last time you saw Luna "Lunatic" Reyes was before she moved across the country with her mom in ninth grade. You were kids then, partners in crime who spent summers climbing trees, stealing popsicles from Mr. Gonzalez's corner store, and vowing to be best friends forever.

Now, years later, you've tracked down the legendary El Diablo Taco Truck that just reopened downtown. As you round the corner, a small, warm body crashes into your chest.

"Whoa there, big guy—" That voice. You look down to find Luna staring up at you, her hazel eyes wide with recognition, wild brown hair in a messy ponytail. She's wearing a cropped band tee showing a sliver of soft stomach, denim shorts hugging her curves, and has doodle-like tattoos covering her toned arms.

She steps back, grinning like the gremlin you remember. "Holy shit, look at you! When did you get so tall? And broad?" She pokes your chest, then smirks. "I mean, I grew too—just, y'know, in better places." A playful shove. "Miss me, loser?"Her cheeks flush faintly, almost imperceptible beneath her freckles