Pinky Promise
By: Provocative Envy
###
-Day Two-
###
Buying candles is the single most excruciating experience of Marcus's life.
Probably.
He and Theo are sent off to a generic gift store in town; it's called Sensations, and Theo triple-checks the Yelp reviews on his phone before confirming, somewhat disbelievingly, that it isn't a fucking sex shop.
And it really isn't a fucking a sex shop.
There are three antique rocking chairs in the window display—one is buried under a mountain of creepy, Victorian-themed porcelain dolls; one is draped in a white linen bedsheet with a rainbow-flag border and a 'We Are Idaho' slogan embroidered across the middle; and the last is being used as a stand for a short, stubby, very ornately decorated Christmas tree.
The store owner is a friendly middle-aged woman with a heavily Bedazzled nametag that reads 'Gladys'; she has an acid-wash denim vest on over a festive red turtleneck, and, after directing them towards the aromatherapy aisle—which, what; Marcus is starting to feel both claustrophobic and like they've inadvertently stumbled onto the small-town inspiration for every Stephen King novel, like, ever—Gladys talks. Gladys talks a fucking lot.
"We're real supportive of the gay rights 'round here," she chatters proudly. "Y'all don't have to be shy."
"What?" Theo grunts, leveling a weirdly violent glare at the row of vanilla-scented tea lights. "What are we being shy about? Oh, bro, check it out, they have fucking massage oil, sick—"
"Can you hurry up, man?" Marcus mutters, bending down to inspect a ceramic garden gnome that apparently releases an 'authentic gardenia mist' on preset timed intervals. "Um—ma'am? Do you happen to have any chalk?"
"Call me Gladys, sugar, my mother is the ma'am in the family!" Gladys chirps, fluffing the bottom of her hair and then wrapping her hand around Marcus's bicep and squeezing. "She voted Democrat in the last election, too, in case y'all were curious! Love is love, that's what God believes, cross my heart and say amen!"
"—what do ghosts even like, though? Sandalwood? Lavender? Mint extract? Blood orange?" Theo is asking, seemingly oblivious to Gladys's bird-of-prey death grip on Marcus's arm. "Text blondie, she likes you way better than she likes me, she might give you an answer that isn't, like, ripped off the back of a fucking Ouija board—"
"Um—Gladys?" Marcus hedges, grimacing as he attempts to yank his arm back. "The chalk? Please?"
"Oh, certainly—it's just right over here, although I should warn you, sugar, our selection's a bit limited what with all the bookers wiping me out for the holidays—"
Marcus is pretty fucking sure he doesn't want to know what a booker is, but—
"What's a booker?" Theo interjects, popping up behind a cutout cardboard display of creatively injured teddy bears—several have eye patches, several more have casts and plastic crutches. "Bro, hey, I got a whole bunch of the Island Breeze candles; they smell like sunshine and lemonade, it's awesome, the ghosts are gonna go ape-shit."
"Scrap bookers," Gladys titters, reaching out to pat Theo on theshoulder; she hums a little breathlessly as she adds, "They picked up some fancy city trend on the Pinterestwith the chalkboard stickers, y'all know how it is—speakin' of, you boys in from…San Francisco? Maybe Miami? Personally, I was always a big fan of that Ricky Martin fella—"
Marcus can't decide if he wants to run the fuck away or…no, that's what he wants to do. He wants to run. Far. And fast. Away. With or without Theo. There isn't any room for indecision, not at this stage in the game.
"Washington," Theo replies slowly, holding up a dubiously acquired wicker basket that's filled to the fucking brim with candles. "D.C. Uh—Gladys, was it? Yeah? We're just gonna…take these. And leave. Now. With the chalk—does that have glitter in it? What the fuck—no, it's cool, ghosts dig glitter, we'll take that, too. Ready, big guy?"
###
(3:45 pm) bro
(3:45 pm) wtf is a pentagram
(3:46 pm) ?
(3:46 pm) is this some assassins creed shit
(3:48 pm) we should ask draco
(3:50 pm) what
(3:50 pm) no
(3:51 pm) no
(3:52 pm) we should abso-fucking-lutely not ask malfoy
(3:52 pm) malfoy will fucking laugh at us
(3:52 pm) and then start talking about that weird fucking diet granger wants to put them on
(3:52 pm) the one with all the fish
(3:52 pm) pescetarianism
(3:53 pm) just
(3:53 pm) hella fish
(3:54 pm) like
(3:55 pm) what does she have against flavortown
(3:55 pm) can u fucking tell me that
(3:55 pm) if she offers to make you scrambled eggs
(3:56 pm) say no
(3:56 pm) wtf
(3:56 pm) why
(3:57 pm) do you really want to know
(3:59 pm) I DON'T KNOW BRO
(4:00 pm) DO I?
(4:00 pm) warrington says a pentagram is a star with five points
(4:01 pm) u should ask him if it matters that the chalk we got is sparkly
(4:02 pm) he said to ask draco
(4:05 pm) this is bullshit
###
Hermione orders twelve thin-crust, gluten-free, vegetarian pizzas and then spends twenty minutes blotting the grease off with industrial-strength paper towels before she allows Theo to eat any.
Daphne, Blaise, Pansy, Warrington, and Pucey occupy themselves in the kitchen with what looks to Marcus like half the local liquor store and most of a Hawaiian pineapple farm.
Draco and Potter scowl at each other for a while before they wordlessly shotgun two Heinekens and scamper off to the basement to play unreasonably competitive pool and use Lucius's credit card to illegally bet on Canadian hockey games.
Meanwhile, Marcus stands on the balcony with Luna, alternating between nervously sipping his beer and tearing at the label affixed to the outside of the bottle.
"Should they be, uh, drinking so much? Before the—the séance?"
She loops her arm through his elbow and snuggles into his side, looking up at him through thick blonde lashes.
"Their inhibitions will be lowered," she replies serenely. "The spirits will like that. It's much easier to commune with them without the hindrance of social stigmas and skepticism—it will be better if they're drunk."
He squints at the ruins of the snowmen Draco and Hermione had left behind the previous night.
"I don't think anything is ever better when they're drunk," Marcus admits, honestly.
###
(10:33 pm) fuckkkkk man
(10:33 pm) this is legit like the beginning of every shitty horror movie ever
(10:34 pm) u feel me
(10:34 pm) like
(10:34 pm) a large group of super SUPER attractive young people
(10:34 pm) in a fucking cabin
(10:35 pm) in the fucking woods
(10:35 pm) with a fucking
(10:35 pm) sparkly white pentagram
(10:35 pm) and $200 worth of citrus scented aromatherapy candles
(10:35 pm) because FUCK vanilla
(10:36 pm) and just
(10:36 pm) like
(10:36 pm) nine gallons of jungle juice
(10:37 pm) HELLA jungle juice
(10:37 pm) seriously
(10:37 pm) we could fill the bed of a fucking pickup truck with what's currently in the fucking fridge
(10:38 pm) like a redneck swimming pool
(10:38 pm) daph and pansy need snape to teach them about alcohol poisoning
(10:38 pm) damn
(10:38 pm) remember that shit
(10:39 pm) the fucking
(10:39 pm) cpr dummy
(10:39 pm) and the sea monkey kit
(10:39 pm) like
(10:39 pm) snape is such a fucking terrifying off brand dracula motherfucker
(10:40 pm) bro needs a fucking theme song
(10:40 pm) and like a pipe organ
(10:40 pm) but
(10:40 pm) back to my original point
(10:40 pm) we're all gonna fucking die
(10:41 pm) hella die
(10:41 pm) u and blaise are probably going first though
(10:41 pm) black guys always die first
(10:42 pm) shit
(10:42 pm) should we hide y'all
(10:42 pm) ?
(10:43 pm) theo
(10:43 pm) the power went out
(10:44 pm) pucey is finding the backup generator
(10:44 pm) calm down
(10:55 pm) hey man
(10:56 pm) im sorry i said u would die first
###
Marcus is lying flat on his back on the leather couch in the still-dark living room, an empty mug of peppermint schnapps-infused hot chocolate rolling around on the floor next to his hand.
He's comfortable.
Warm.
Cozy, really, even with Luna sitting on top of his abdomen, spine straight and legs crossed, her long blonde hair tumbling out of a loose, messy bun, strands of it curling over her bare shoulders. She's staring at the panoramic window that takes up a good chunk of the far wall, studying their respective warped reflections in the tinted, shadowy sheen of the glass.
"Have you ever seen my father's show?" she suddenly asks, and her voice is gentle, and it doesn't cut the silence so much as it just—fucking melts into it, like honey into tea or sugar into coffee; sweet and easy and light.
"Uh—I've heard of it," he replies, shifting under her weight. "But I…mostly watch sports?"
She hums.
"You do that a lot," she comments idly.
"What, watch sports?"
She giggles, and he fights off the ridiculous fucking urge to fidget.
"No—you just sound like you aren't sure about what you're saying a lot of the time. Like there's a permanent question mark at the end of all your answers."
He tucks an arm under the back of his head and thinks about how to respond. He doesn't know—he doesn't know, not exactly, how to explain himself to her; how to explain himself to anyone. He'd grown up believing that actions, reactions, were more important than words. There hadn't ever been a point to learning how to—what had his therapist called it—externalize his emotions; and, if he's being honest, there hadn't been much to externalize. He wasn't smart like Draco, or calm like Blaise, or clever like Theo. Marcus had kept the world at a distance, kept everything in focus with fucking blinders on, vision narrow and sight as short as he could make it—because there was anger, and there was apprehension, and there were a lot of other really shitty things that started with the letter 'a'—like abandonment, that one fucking sucked—but beyond that—he doesn't know.
"I guess," he finally says, curling his toes into the cushion of the couch. He has wool socks on, chunky and white, with multi-colored strings of Christmas lights sewn around the tops. "I'm not—I don't like talking? About myself, I mean. My dad…we were super close when I was younger, especially after my mom left, but we didn't…talk? We just—I don't know. Hung out. Went to games. I, uh, look a lot like him. Like, a lot."
She purses her lips.
"I saw one of your father's fights a few years ago," she says, her tone significantly less dreamy than it had been. Marcus tenses. "Daddy and I were in Las Vegas checking out a hotel room at the Luxor that these tourists from Florida insisted had a haunting. I got lost—well, that's what I told Daddy, but I actually just wanted to find where they kept the mummies, I'd heard they had a Capuchin monkey—anyway, I ended up running into the showcase. Your father was…winning."
Marcus snorts.
"Yeah, he's good at that."
She shrugs, the lace-trimmed strap of her tank top sliding down her arm.
"Regardless," she continues, "I don't think you look anything like him. His ears reminded me of a bat. You have lovely ears."
Marcus opens his mouth to reply—and what the fuck is he supposed to say to that—just as a loud crash sounds from the kitchen.
"Oh!" Luna whispers, digging her fingernails into the hem of his t-shirt as she practically vibrates with excitement. "The spirit is here!"
Marcus kind of doubts that, especially since there are nine other people in the house, but he sits up anyway, stomach muscles contracting as he reaches out to settle Luna more comfortably on his lap—and the part of him that cares about shit like dignity really wants her to stop moving around like that, but the rest of him is pretty overwhelmingly on board with what his dick wants, which is for her to never stop moving around like that, so—
"Wait, shouldn't we…do something?" he asks, slightly desperate. "Like—catch it? Or…greet it? Didn't you want to talk to it earlier? With the—star circle thing? The pentagram?"
She blinks at him, huge blue eyes more than a little fucking mesmerizing in the semi-darkness.
"If the spirit wanted to interact with us, it would have created a disturbance in here, Marcus. We shouldn't bother it while it expresses itself."
His hands fall to her hips, almost without his permission, and he's struck by how small she is—how small he isn't—and he waits for the inevitable wave of panic to wash over him, waits for her to feel breakable and for him to feel dangerous; but it doesn't come.
"Oh," he says dumbly.
Her nose twitches, like she's trying not to laugh.
"I know that everyone here thinks I'm crazy," she muses with another one of her jarringly abrupt subject changes. "And that doesn't bother me. I'm used to that. People like Hermione—they close themselves off to the things they don't understand. That's normal. But my dad's show…what we do…it isn't for those people, or our viewers, or even us."
"It's not?"
She leans forward, resting her cheek on the broad curve of his shoulder.
"No," she sighs wistfully. "It's about the spirits. It's about—just because they're dead, doesn't mean they're gone, right? They don't leave, they just…linger. And hauntings—those are how they let us know that."
"So—you and your dad—you…"
"We listen," she replies promptly. "And if they're unhappy—like murder victims often are—we help them. We set them free."
He furrows his brow.
"What do you do if they—the, uh, spirits—what do you do if they're…happy? Where they are?"
She pulls back, glancing up at him with obvious surprise.
But then she—
She smiles, because she's always fucking smiling, but this one, this smile, it's totally fucking different—it's tiny, and it's secretive, and it's mischievous, and he wonders what she's thinking about, what she even sees when she looks at him, because he's beginning to suspect that what she sees isn't what he sees, isn't what everyone else sees, and maybe that's the point, maybe that's what matters—
She kisses him before the thought can stabilize.
And her lips are soft, so fucking soft, as they brush against his—
Once.
And then twice.
And then a third time.
And then he winds his fingers through the tangled blonde hair at the nape of her neck, and he kisses her, and he tilts her head to the side, and he kisses her, and he uses his tongue to lick at the seam of her mouth, tasting the remnants of sticky cinnamon Goldschläger and tangy sweet tomato sauce, and he kisses her, and he kisses her, and he marvels at how this moment—their moment—is both impossibly perfect and impossibly possible.
And he kisses her.
And he kisses her.
And she kisses him back and he kisses her again—again—again—and he's pretty sure he's about to run out of oxygen, pretty sure that he'll have to stop, eventually, to speak or eat or breathe—
He doesn't want to stop.
He kisses her.
He kisses her.
###
(01:00 am) everything alright?
(01:02 am) yeah man
(01:02 am) just
(01:03 am) u know
(01:03 am) daph brought something up a while ago that kind of
(01:03 am) …upsets blaise?
(01:04 am) oh
(01:04 am) hes just being dramatic
(01:04 am) its not
(01:04 am) like
(01:04 am) a THING
(01:05 am) she can just be a little too honest sometimes
(01:05 am) and blaise can be worse than malfoy when it comes to
(01:05 am) fuck
(01:06 am) idk
(01:06 am) denial?
(01:07 am) hella denial
(01:07 am) yeah
(01:08 am) blaise tried to get everyone to sign a petition to get me reinstated on the football team in high school
(01:08 am) he wouldn't listen when I told him it wouldn't work
(01:08 am) weren't u in juvie at the time
(01:09 am) like u weren't even a student anymore
(01:09 am) right
(01:09 am) yeah
(01:10 am) he's stubborn
(01:12 am) that's our boy
(01:13 am) so that was one of you slamming doors?
(01:14 am) it was granger actually
(01:14 am) she heard us arguing
(01:15 am) and like
(01:15 am) idk
(01:15 am) it got heated bro
(01:17 am) hey
(01:17 am) did u know malfoy wears one of those douchelord eye masks to bed
(01:18 am) ?
(01:19 am) its fucking
(01:19 am) green satin
(01:19 am) with little cartoon dragons all over it
(01:20 am) that explains the weird leather slippers
(01:21 am) weird old man slippers u mean
(01:21 am) like where does he even get those
(01:22 am) the fucking tommy bahama catalogue
(01:23 am) I think he stole them from his dad's closet in maine
(01:25 am) theyre lucius's
(01:25 am) ?
(01:26 am) I think so yeah
(01:28 am) oh
(01:29 am) huh
(01:29 am) theyre not that bad I guess
(01:29 am) yeah
(01:31 am) comfy
(01:31 am) yeah
(01:32 am) and honestly pretty stylish
(01:32 am) yeah
(01:33 am) bet they keep his feet warm as fuck
(01:33 am) yeah
(01:35 am) so
(01:35 am) hey
(01:35 am) why did u want to know if it was us slamming doors
(01:35 am) luna wanted to know
(01:36 am) she thought maybe the séance worked and the spirit was alerting us to its presence
(01:37 am) she wants to go to the historical society tomorrow
(01:37 am) i said I'd take her
(01:38 am) oh
(01:39 am) wait ur with blondie?
(01:41 am) like
(01:42 am) in bed?
(01:44 am) ?
(01:44 am) MARCUS
(01:45 am) MARCUS FLINT
(01:46 am) ?
(01:47 am) !
(01:55 am) ur a dick
(01:59 am) im setting pansy on u in the morning
###