16
Day Three
T he lights hanging over the Star Lounge dance floor pulsed in time with the music, special-effects lamps sending spiraling kaleidoscopes of rainbows and laser-pointer squiggles cascading over the hot bodies that crowded the room.
A star map was projected on the domed ceiling, twirling like a disco ball.
The atmosphere was completed with a suspended statue of a spaceman in assless chaps straddling a rocket ship, a pride flag raised triumphantly in one hand.
Upon setting foot in the club, Celeste rolled up onto their tiptoes to look for a space on the dance floor. Finding the prime location, they snatched Ryan’s wrist and began to tug him through the crowd. Blake smiled and rolled his eyes, setting a hand on Marin’s shoulder.
“We should catch up with them,” he told Marin.
“What?” Marin shouted. Blake pulled him in close, speaking directly into his ear. Marin’s hair brushed against his cheek.
“Do you wanna go dance with them?” Blake asked. Under the weight of his palm, Marin shrugged.
“Yeah, it’s probably a good idea to stay together,” he responded. Knowing Celeste, Blake couldn’t agree more. They made their way to the spot that Celeste had staked out underneath the metal archway that the strobe lights were suspended on.
Celeste was holding both of Ryan’s hands, pumping them up and down in excitement as they encouraged him to dance to the beat. Ryan tucked his chin into his shoulder in embarrassment, laughing through his words.
“I don’t dance, I can’t dance!” he was saying, even as Celeste turned their back towards him and began to shake and roll their ass to the beat. “ Celeste !”
“That’s bullshit, I’ve seen you at emo night at Fang Bangers!” Blake called out to Ryan.
“You aren’t drunk enough!” Celeste decreed; they turned to Blake. “None of us are drunk enough!”
“I’m fine, I’ve had enough to drink,” Marin told Celeste, who made a great show of rolling their eyes.
“You’ve had one shot and two sips of a lava flow—fucking laaame! Go start me a tab!” Celeste yelled at Blake over the chorus of a Lil Nas X song. They pressed a credit card into his hand and shoved him towards the bar. “Get me a Zombie!”
“Jesus, pushy!” Blake complained, accepting the card.
“ I’m paying!”
Blake rolled his eyes and then looked at Ryan. “You want anything?”
“Whisky sour!” Ryan told him.
“Oh my God, you’re a fucking grandpa!” Celeste snapped, grabbing his hands and planting them on their hips. “Get yourself whatever,” they told Blake, more as an afterthought.
“On second thought, I’ll go with you,” Marin told him.
The two fought their way towards the bar underneath a violet neon sign.
A bartender with a bright-red side cut and spider bites was pouring rainbow shots out of a bridge of shakers, much to the delight of a group of drunken twinks.
As soon as the group disbanded, the bartender beckoned Blake and Marin forward.
“What can I get you guys?” he asked, dark eyes flickering up and down Marin.
“A Zombie, a Pabst, and a whisky sour,” Blake told him.
“Can’t do a sour, I don’t have any eggs,” the bartender told him. “Sorry. I can make you something better, though.”
He reached out over the bar to take up a lock of Marin’s hair in-between his thumb and forefinger. “Do you like it dry and bitter?”
Something awful prickled up Blake’s spine at the small act of familiarity.
“Sorry, it’s not for me,” Marin told the bartender, pulling away.
“Oh? Let me try and change your mind, then.” The bartender smirked and turned towards the shelf, grabbing a long, thin bottle marked Crème de Violette .
He tossed it over his shoulder—sending it spinning up towards the ceiling—then turned around languidly.
He grabbed a shaker whilst the bottle was midair and caught the twirling spirit behind his back as it began to descend.
He prepared the drink with apparent ease: ingredients disappearing into the shaker along with the violette. He shook with a flourish—winking at Marin as he did—and strained the drink, taking extra care to drop a Maraschino cherry into the bottom.
“Aviation Number One,” the bartender said, pushing the drink across the countertop with a quick swipe of a cocktail napkin along the rim. “It matches your hair.”
“Thanks,” Marin told him, smile polite.
“We’re opening a tab, actually. Under Celeste.” Blake cut in, voice a bit gruffer than he had intended. God damn it, he didn’t want to get kicked out for being petty with the bar guy over a drink.
“No problem,” the bartender shrugged and turned back to the shelf. “Just to let you know we have a two-Zombie-per-person policy.”
“That’s fine.” Blake shrugged. He glanced over at Marin anxiously, only to find that he was grinning and bouncing in time to the song playing.
Thank God , Blake thought. Experiencing jealousy over a partner was something he had always been uncomfortable with.
At the very least, Marin wasn’t bothered by his responses.
He was reminded of the “worthy of his love” condition of the pygmalion thing—and getting all shitty and jealous over a simple flirtation wasn’t something a lovable person did.
Not that it was a problem that Marin got jealous , Blake supplied in silence. It only applies to me.
As they took their drinks back to the dance floor, Blake’s mind crept back towards the conditions of the pygmalion situation.
Overtaken with sudden anxiety, he checked the time—it was five minutes past midnight.
Marin only had a little over forty-eight hours left.
Blake watched as Marin passed the drinks over to Celeste and Ryan, all calm smiles and excited nods. Blake took an anxious swig of his beer.
A warm hand closed around his wrist. He looked down to see that Marin was grinning up at him enthusiastically, already swaying to the song throbbing over the speakers.
“ Dance with me .” Marin mouthed, twisting their fingers together. His palms were still cold from holding the drinks. Next to them, even Ryan had started to dance, laughing at Celeste who was alternating between sipping their Zombie and screaming along to The Far East Movement.
Blake shook his head. Marin grinned at him.
“Relax!” he said and raised his arms, beginning to shuffle his legs.
Blake watched as he started to cut shapes, limbs bouncing, feet gliding and tapping along to the beat.
There was a passion, an energy , to his movements that wasn’t reflected by anyone else in the club.
A group of guys next to them turned to watch in amazement, shouting their encouragement.
“ Hell yeah, get iiiiiit !” Celeste screamed, shaking their half-downed cocktail at Marin.
“Hell yeah!” Blake shouted in agreement. Even if he was too shy to dance, he wasn’t too shy to deny Marin the chance to get hyped up.
“You, too!” Marin cried, taking Blake’s hands and dragging him close.
“I can’t!” Blake laughed, starting to bounce in place despite his words.
“That’s fine!” Marin grinned. “Have fun!”
“You’re doing great!” Ryan chimed in—even he was only swaying and fist-pumping while Celeste clung to his front, grinding their hips together.
Maybe it was Marin pulling him closer, the beer lowering his inhibitions, or the sensation of sinking into the anonymity of the dance floor, but suddenly Blake wasn’t as self-conscious as before.
He could feel the heat that Marin was putting off, the damp puff of his breath against his cheek as the music reverberated in his chest.
And for a moment, there was no pygmalion, no vase, no requirements to be met. There was Blake, his friends, and an attractive guy that was smiling at and holding onto him. Just the music and the movement and the fun.
?
A few hours into their dancing, Celeste reached over and started tugging on Blake’s coat sleeve.
“Hey!” they shouted. “Do you have any cigarettes?”
Blake reached into his pocket to fish around for the half-empty pack of Marlboros he kept on him for the rare occasion he chose to smoke. He handed it to Celeste, who instead gathered up a handful of Blake’s coat and started tugging him towards the edge of the dance floor.
“Come with me, I don’t wanna go alone.”
Blake turned to Marin and Ryan with a helpless shrug as he was dragged away by Celeste. Marin waved them off and Ryan laughed.
Blake allowed himself to be pulled through the throng of people and to the front doors where they wriggled out beside the line.
“We’ll be back,” Celeste informed the bouncer, flashing him the pack of cigarettes that they’d pilfered off of Blake.
Outside, the air was considerably cool for an August night—it probably had something to do with the fact that it was past two in the morning.
Other than the sounds from the people queueing up in front of the club, the street was quiet and still.
Blake and Celeste strolled down to an empty stretch of sidewalk between Star Lounge and a neighboring bar.
The silence was exaggerated by the ringing pulse in Blake’s ears, echoing the beats of the music inside the club.
To Blake’s surprise, Celeste reached into their pocket and extracted a sleek vape pen, blowing a cloud of sweet-scented fog into Blake’s face.
“I thought you wanted to smoke?” Blake asked. He stared down at the vape in disdain while smacking his Marlboros against the palm of his hand.
“So, yeah, I kinda lied.” Celeste shrugged. They reached out to tug on the lapels of Blake’s coat. “ Welllll ?”
“‘Well’ what?” Blake replied, taking out his lighter.
Celeste scoffed, rolling their eyes. “Well, you think you’re gonna seal the deal tonight or what?”
Blake’s cigarette only made it halfway to his mouth before he dropped it on the ground.
“What?!” he balked. “Seal the—with Marin ?!”
Celeste looked at him like he was an idiot, mouth agape and head jutted forward. “No, with Jeffery Goddamn Bezos— yes with Marin ! He’s only been grinding on you for the last hour and a half!”
“We were just dancing!”