Pinky Promise

“That’s very kind of you, Marcus,” she says, and he thinks that he might actually be losing his goddamn mind because her voice is light and airy and musical and the only thing he can come up with to compare it to is a fucking cloud—which is crazy. He’s crazy. Voices aren’t clouds. Clouds aren’t voices. Clouds are…clouds. They float and they’re filled with rain and they cover up the sun. Luna’s voice isn’t like that all. Luna’s voice might as well be the sun. “—could share, though, the bed is fairly large—much bigger than the bed in my dorm, certainly, and I’ve shared that with plenty of people.”

He blinks. And then, just to be sure he isn’t hallucinating, he blinks again.

“What?”