Pinky Promise
By: Provocative Envy
###
-Day One-
###
He wakes up too early.
He isn't really sure why—the rest of the house is silent, there isn't any light bleeding through the blinds of his upstairs window, the annoying Metallica alarm on his tablet isn't going off—but there's this weird rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins that he normally equates with clean jerks and wind sprints and bicep curls, so he laces up his running shoes and puts on one of the hand-knitted black beanies that Hermione had made for him and he's out the front door and jogging down the snow-banked gravel driveway before he stops to think too hard about how cold it is.
Because he likes this—the strain in his muscles, the sweat on his face, the cut and dry reality of physical exertion; his body can either do something or it can't. There isn't any in between. And that lack of arbitrary yes-no-maybe-so ambiguity has always been his favorite part. He can remember being a teenager, too big for his age and too angry for his own good, sneaking into his dad's gym, relishing the sting of weighted black leather against his knuckles, wicked upper cuts and hard right hooks—Marcus had perfect form, his dad had said so once, and starting fights had been fucking easy. Finishing them had been even easier. He'd drowned out the noise of being a Flint—of being Marcus Flint—in blood and bruises and broken bones, and it had been dizzying how fast that had escalated from after-school football practice and a couple of playground suspensions to a bunk bed pallet in juvie and a warning from his dad's attorney to stop getting caught before he turned eighteen.
Marcus thinks he's better now, though.
He's still too big, still too angry, but he's learned how to be scared of himself—violence comes as naturally to him as breathing does, after all, and he knows how that story ends.
So—
So he lifts weights and he uses his dad's recipe for his protein shakes and he plays in a weekend rugby league and he obsessively watches ESPN and he runs a fucking lot. The urge to clear his head isn't usually as intense as it had been when he'd rolled out of bed that morning, but he attributes that to the unfamiliarity of his new surroundings; he isn't good with change, has had the same six or seven best friends since he'd been born, practically, and the abrupt inclusion of someone like Luna in his daily routine had left him…
Reeling.
Unsettled.
He snorts at how fucking stupid he sounds.
And then he picks up his pace, straightening his shoulders and tightening his abdominal muscles and making sure his hips are squared off as his steps get longer.
It's nice for a while.
The forest is quiet, branches barely rustling and birds just beginning to chirp, and his breath puffs out of his mouth in steaming white clouds that dissipate with every mindless thud of his feet on the asphalt. His thoughts are finally calm and his mind is finally empty and he finds that he's looking forward to breakfast—he doesn't want to label his instinctive half-smile at the idea of breakfast with Luna as anything serious, doesn't want to get ahead of himself, but there's a fluttering in his stomach that makes him consider the possibility of crazy shit like butterflies and first date jitters and he has to laugh at that, just a little, because she doesn't even know that he's the one taking her to breakfast yet.
###
(09:10 am) hey
(09:10 am) r u with blondie
(09:16 am) her name is luna
(09:16 am) and yeah
(09:16 am) im with her
(09:16 am) why
(09:16 am) warrington thinks ur besmirching her honor or something
(09:17 am) ur not right
(09:17 am) its too early for this shit
(09:18 am) like
(09:18 am) fuck
(09:18 am) its fucking
(09:18 am) hella early
(09:19 am) and daph kicks in her sleep
(09:19 am) and blaise snores
(09:19 am) and fucking malfoy took a two hour shower and now the bathroom smells like the goddamn perfume counter at saks
(09:19 am) ?
(09:20 am) were on our way to that diner
(09:20 am) cool
(09:21 am) could u bring back bacon or something
(09:22 am) what the hell
(09:22 am) granger got rid of everything good
(09:22 am) like
(09:23 am) theres like thirty boxes of kashi
(09:23 am) and blaise is talking about buckwheat pancakes
(09:23 am) and im just like
(09:23 am) fuck all y'all
(09:24 am) im a fucking carnivore
(09:24 am) and malfoys such a bitch hes offering to make everyone smoothies now
(09:25 am) like
(09:25 am) i see u bro
(09:25 am) i know hes got a backpack full of fucking slim jims hidden in the mud room
(09:30 am) do u want eggs
(09:31 am) hella
(09:32 am) over easy right
(09:32 am) with sourdough toast
(09:34 am) lightly buttered though
(09:34 am) fucking
(09:34 am) cholesterol
(09:35 am) u feel me
(09:40 am) are jackalopes real
(09:41 am) luna says they are
(09:42 am) ask hermione
(09:42 am) granger just tried to junk punch me when i brought up jackalopes so
(09:42 am) make of that what u will
(09:44 am) im salting ur eggs ok
(09:45 am) ur the best bro
###
Luna orders two whole grapefruits and a platter of scrambled egg whites for breakfast. She sweetly asks their elderly waitress for a side of cayenne pepper and any nut butter except almond or cashew—which results in some suspicious side-eyeing from the rest of the staff, most of whom look like they could've been cast as extras in all the black-and-white diner scenes in Pleasantville—and she leaves her neon pink cashmere scarf wrapped around the neck of the severed, cotton-stuffed jackalope head mounted on the far wall next to what Marcus is pretty sure is a Photoshopped picture of George W. Bush eating a bison burger.
"Um—you left your—did you want me to go back and get that for you?" Marcus offers as he holds open the restaurant door and juggles Theo's overstuffed plastic to-go bag. "Your scarf, I mean? You left it."
Luna glides past him, twirling the origami paperclip pendant on the chain of her necklace; she has a tiny clutch purse that's an exact replica of a human eye, complete with lashes and a tear duct and a bright blue iris, and she'd said something about the necessity of having the presence of a third eye and constant vigilance and windows to the spirit realm but he'd been dousing his omelet with Tapatio at the time and wondering if she'd meant to grab his hand and lace their fingers together when they'd left the car and since he isn't all that great at multitasking even when he isn't feeling frazzled and feverish—and fuck if he hadn't been feeling both wicked fucking frazzled and wicked fucking feverish after she'd swung their interlocked hands around and graced him with a happy little smile that had made him want to pinch his own goddamn arm to make sure he wasn't fucking dreaming—he hadn't caught the majority of her explanation about the purse, basically.
And now—now she's blinking up at him with a quizzical expression and he's staring at her mouth because he doesn't want to miss a fucking second of any of her smiles and she seems to always be smiling so he figures it's only a matter of time—
"Oh, no, Marcus, I intended to leave a scarf behind for the jackalope," she says, like it should have been obvious. "Jackalopes are notoriously cold-blooded, you know, his spirit is probably freezing in the underworld—I'll have to bring him some ear muffs tomorrow."
He furrows his brow and waits for any part of what she'd just said to make some kind of sense. It doesn't.
"So—um—ghosts get…cold, then? Like, they don't have bodies, right? How does that…how does that work, exactly?" he tries.
He'd been right.
It was only a matter of time before she smiled again.
###
(4:00 pm) dude
(4:00 pm) granger and blondie are making granger and daphne look like best friends
(4:00 pm) what the fucks up with that?
(4:05 pm) her name is luna
(4:05 pm) and hermione just doesn't like it when people disagree with her
(4:06 pm) especially without evidence
(4:06 pm) like
(4:06 pm) this one time we were all watching the rundown
(4:06 pm) fuck yeah
(4:06 pm) wasn't stifler in that
(4:07 pm) sean william scott
(4:07 pm) stifler is a fictional character
(4:08 pm) but yeah
(4:08 pm) he was
(4:08 pm) anyway
(4:08 pm) we were watching the rundown
(4:08 pm) and hermione said she didn't like the rock because he only had one facial expression
(4:09 pm) and draco just told her she was wrong
(4:09 pm) and didn't elaborate
(4:10 pm) and she kept trying to have a "discussion" about it
(4:10 pm) and he just said "anyone who doesn't like the rock is wrong"
(4:11 pm) he kind of has a point
(4:11 pm) u cant just not like the fucking rock
(4:11 pm) its un-american
(4:11 pm) like
(4:11 pm) hella
(4:12 pm) hes the fucking scorpion king u don't fuck with that
(4:12 pm) hes like vin diesel if vin diesel was aging better
(4:12 pm) a fucking icon
(4:12 pm) yeah
(4:13 pm) she was mad about "lack of evidentiary support"
(4:13 pm) idk
(4:14 pm) it got out of hand
(4:14 pm) but
(4:15 pm) luna isn't like that
(4:15 pm) so
(4:16 pm) yeahhhhhh
(4:16 pm) no shit bro
###
It's an hour after dinner—whole-grain rigatoni with a tomato-basil-zucchini sauce that Hermione had whipped up while Warrington polished off a bottle of chianti and Pucey interrogated Daphne about her toe socks—and Marcus is standing with Luna on the patio, hoodie zipped up and boots unlaced, watching Potter and Pansy and Draco and Hermione drunkenly attempt to build a pair of snowmen.
"You'd think that someone like Hermione would be more interested in making an anatomically correct snowman," Luna remarks tartly. "Wouldn't you?"
Marcus bites down on his lower lip and scrunches up his nose to hold back his smirk—there's something impossibly fucking cute about Luna acting all irritated and passive aggressive.
"Nah," he drawls, "she forgets to be uptight when Draco's around. Unless it's finals week. Then they're both uptight. You don't want to be around for that."
Luna tilts her chin to the side as Potter and Draco simultaneously stuff handfuls of snow down the back of Hermione's jacket; they guffaw and high-five when she shrieks in outrage and Marcus absently wonders how long it'll take them to remember that they aren't actually friends.
"Draco and Hermione…they're good for each other," Luna says thoughtfully. "And they are, from what I've observed, very happy together as well."
"Yeah."
Luna's lips twitch.
"But that's so strange!" she exclaims, laughter bubbling out.
Marcus shoots her a bemused grin.
"What? How's it strange?"
She shakes her head.
"People rarely possess the self-awareness to like what's good for them," she replies, tone wistful. "Daddy says that's why the divorce rate is so high."
Marcus coughs.
"That's…"
"Oh! Did I tell you? I've narrowed down the possible murder locations for the haunting to either the bedroom that I'm in, or the bedroom that's directly above mine," she interrupts, bouncing on her toes and turning to latch onto his bicep, breasts brushing his elbow. "There wasn't any nocturnal activity in the kitchen."
Heat prickles at the nape of his neck; Luna's really fucking tactile, it turns out, likes to hug him and hold his hand and sit on his motherfucking lap; and while he's certainly not going to complain—he'd probably let her use him as a goddamn human ladder if she needed to—he's only technically known her for a day and a half, if that, and his dick is reacting accordingly to the idea of a hot new girl who enjoys touching him. And it's awkward. He doesn't think he's gotten this many random unpredictable hard-ons since his freshman year of high school.
"Uh—isn't that—Hermione and Draco's room?"
"Mm hmm," Luna confirms, rubbing her nose against the fabric of his hoodie. His breathing falters. Is she flirting with him? Is he supposed to do something now? "I tried to tell them at dinner—that's why I brought out the thermal images from between approximately 3:15 and 3:47 this morning—but Hermione didn't seem…amenable."
He winces. That's a fucking understatement.
"Hermione can be…stubborn? Yeah? She doesn't mean anything by it, it's just—how she is."
Luna hums, and then sighs, and then looks up at him through her eyelashes.
"What about you, Marcus? What are you like?"
He frowns, taken aback.
"What?"
She shrugs.
"Well, if Hermione is like that—what are you like?"
"I'm…" he trails off, licking his lips. "I'm…I don't know. Not like Hermione?"
Luna curls her body around the front of his and snorts into his chest. He almost shivers.
"I hardly need you to tell me that."
He swallows, slinging his arm around her upper back; there's enough clothing between them that he can't really feel anything, but the position is still pretty intimate, and he's grateful that he can't see her face as he struggles to string a sentence together.
"Yeah," he says, clenching and unclenching his jaw. He doesn't know how to answer her question, and he's surprised by how much that bothers him. "Right. Uh—I'm—I'm…strong. Physically. I used to, um, used to get in a lot of fights, you know? I was good at that. Winning fights. There's like this—zone, kind of, that I'd go into, and everything would become really clear and, like, really simple and…I liked that, I guess? Shit. That sounds bad, doesn't it?"
She doesn't immediately respond.
He panics.
He hadn't really planned to delve into the mess that had been his adolescence; he has issues, he knows that, issues with anger and impulse control and what his court-appointed psychologist had termed his toxic relationship with his father—but hadn't meant to—he hadn't wanted to—
"I believe in a lot of things that most people think aren't real," Luna eventually says, sounding contemplative and a little bit sad; but then she pauses, and giggles, and his heart feels like it's lodged in his fucking throat. "And there's an old adage, isn't there, about how you don't know how to properly appreciate something until you don't have it anymore?"
He drags the toe of his boot along the ground and glances down at her. Flakes of snow are clinging to the ends of her hair, dusting her arms and the glittery purple pom-pom on the top of her hat. She's ridiculous. She's beautiful. He hadn't even realized it had started to snow again.
"Yeah?" he asks, suddenly feeling like he's really out of his fucking depth.
She nods slowly.
"Yeah," she replies. "And I like to think that the opposite is true, too—that you can't properly appreciate something you aren't any longer, not without having been whatever it is…before. You know?"
He hesitates.
"I don't think that's how it works," he murmurs, squinting out at the darkness of the trees. "I don't think…stuff like that, it doesn't just go away. It sticks. It lasts."
She nudges his shoulder with her own, barely even jostling him.
"Well, regardless," she replies, voice oddly subdued. "Things don't have to be logical to make sense, and things don't have to make sense to be real. To be true."
He isn't positive that he understands what she's talking about—nothing new there, really—but he suspects that she might be telling him something important, something that she believes is real, something that she believes is true; and that's enough for him, he thinks. Because he's never met anyone quite like her before—someone whose honesty doesn't come with a gift receipt.
And he likes it.
He likes her.
###
(01:16 am) blondie told me some weird ass fucking story on the lift earlier
(01:16 am) again
(01:16 am) her name is luna
(01:17 am) like i guess some fools got their asses murdered in our cabin back in the day
(01:17 am) she went into a lot of detail
(01:17 am) it was super gross
(01:17 am) but
(01:17 am) daph wants to do a séance
(01:18 am) you and i are supposed to go get candles tomorrow
(01:18 am) a very specific kind of candle
(01:18 am) idk
(01:18 am) idgaf as long as theyre not fucking "vanilla" scented
(01:18 am) u feel me bro
(01:19 am) like
(01:19 am) oh
(01:19 am) cool
(01:20 am) whatever
(01:20 am) theres gonna be pizza
(01:21 am) hella pizza
(01:22 am) with fucking pepperoni
(01:22 am) and fucking meatballs
(01:22 am) and fucking kalamata olives
(01:22 am) so im in
(01:24 am) hermione will probably make it thin crust
(01:24 am) no shit
(01:24 am) fuck
(01:24 am) she confiscated pansys peppermint schnapps this morning
(01:24 am) before we left for the slopes
(01:25 am) shit tastes like magic in hot chocolate
(01:27 am) why?
(01:27 am) something about how if u wouldn't drink it while driving u shouldn't drink it while skiing
(01:28 am) that's pretty reasonable
(01:28 am) what the fuck
(01:28 am) no its not
(01:28 am) if i want to get drunk and climb a fucking douglas fir with my fucking ski poles im fucking going to man
(01:40 am) was the séance daphnes idea
(01:40 am) or lunas
(01:41 am) séance was blondies idea
(01:41 am) pizza was daphs
(01:45 am) i probably didn't need to ask that question now that i think about it
###