Chapter Text
This wasn’t how Kravitz wanted to spend his weekend. Initially, he had plans to get ahead with his college applications, head to a cafe and maybe even splurge on a fancy latte to carve a chunk out of the mountain of essays he still had to write. He thought about it wistfully, sinking down into an uncomfortable leather armchair surrounded by exposed brickwork, Edison bulbs, and close up pictures of bicycles. Honestly, he’d be wistful for a Dunkin Donuts right now. He’d be wistful for anything but the chaos that was surrounding him.
He cursed his middle-school self for being so into magic. All those Candlenights gifts of trick cards, juggling scarves, and, illusions, were what got him into this mess. Sure, at age 13 he had won a school talent show and that was pretty cool, but since then his mother, Raven, has been so proud that she refused to let it go. He was glad, of course, that she supported his dreams, but it just so happened that those were the dreams of a young child that she refused to let go of. So the Candlenights gifts of guidebooks and trinkets never ended and, loathe as he was to admit it, he had gotten quite good.
Thus why he was standing in a house he had never been in, performing in front of a crowd of enraptured eight-year-olds. He went through his routine quickly but well. Asking for volunteers and giving out small gifts of fake 13 dollar bills and nickels from behind the children’s ears. While being out on the spot like this wasn’t his bread and butter he had to admit that the pay was good and the kids were cute.
The party had been planned for a young boy, one of his mother’s, friend’s boyfriend’s son he believed. As he continued to do small performances for block parties and the like, she was more than happy to post them on her Facebook for all the world to see. Somehow this meant that, after inquiry, she had volunteered his services as a kid’s party magician. The young boy, Agnes or Angus or something like that, seemed to be exceedingly smart for his age. While the boy didn’t speak up much during the performance, Kravitz could swear that his keen eyes were focused on his sleights of hand rather than the flourishes and misdirection. He’s bet money on the kid knowing all the tricks he had used.
After his performance, when the cake was served and he was busy packing up his props he heard a musical voice behind him.
“Hey thug, are you a magician? Because when I look at you everything else disappears”