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Marina’s house is old. It’s been renovated over and over so much that the stairs are where the kitchen used to be, the window trim in the bedroom hugs right up to perpendicular walls, and unevenly cut crown molding lines the ceilings. It’s for this reason that the closet in Marina’s tiny bedroom is large enough to fit the both of them, in a space just behind hanging clothes and bags. There’s a turntable too, Marina’s records and CDs, posters she doesn’t want her sisters to find—the biggest one she has is A New Hope , which is so large it overlaps a lot of the smaller ones. Sharing her find with Pearl animatedly, she apparently was able to buy it for two dollars and fifty cents from the basement of the cinema in town.
The lava lamp In Marina’s hidey-hole provides the only light available in the closet—purple juice with orange "lava," it turns the air around them the prettiest color; it turns Marina’s skin the prettiest color, Pearl thinks absently. Cans of beer litter the floor, some empty, some getting there, and they are courtesy of Pearl—of course. It’s New Year’s Eve, and Pearl had decided that Marina was way too stiff for a night rather spent drunk off your ass. Marina had scoffed at her when she said that, grabbing a can from the six pack and popping it open right then and there.
“Well?” Pearl’s smirk had widened.
“Well, what?” Marina’s voice wobbled.
“You gonna drink it?”
“Why would I do that?”
“You took the can—“
“A-aren’t you supposed to drink champagne on New Year’s?” Marina stalled, which fed Pearl’s already tipsy laughter.
“You want champagne?” Pearl challenged. Marina’s cheeks had burned, she resigned to her fate. She gingerly took a sip and her face twisted. Pearl nearly fell over, clutching her stomach.
“It’s not funny,” Marina scowled, casting a glare to the can in her hand. “It tastes like pee...” And yet, as the hours passed, the can was long emptied, replaced by another.
“You don’t hafta’ drink that, y’know…” Pearl assured her, later on.
“Mm,” she took a sip from the new can, wrinkling her nose. “There’s enough payoff for dealing with the taste…”
Marina’s sisters were out—working late, at parties—the whole reason Marina called Pearl over was because she finally had the house to herself, a rare occasion.
They both share the single bean bag in Marina’s hideaway, as they talk. Marina’s long legs cross over Pearl’s to fit properly, but neither of them mind the snug fit.
“ Hmng ,” Pearl suddenly sits forward, shoving off Marina’s legs.
“Mmmwha?” Marina blinks awake, she had been falling asleep with her head against Pearl’s shoulder.
“Wanna see,” Pearl crosses over Marina and plops down on the other side of the bean bag, thoroughly jostling Marina in the process.
“What r’you… doing?” she yawns, rolling over to look at Pearl.
“Wanna see what vinyls you got,” Pearl leans forward to the low shelf housing the lava lamp, stacks of records propped up just near it.
Marina hums, shifting behind her, and Pearl eventually feels a forehead press against her hip, a finger snapping the band of her underwear peeking through the waistband of her pants.
“ 'Ey ,” Pearl reaches back and pinches her shoulder, Marina groans an “ ow, hey, ” into the beanbag where her face is pressed. “Weirdo... ” Pearl laughs, leaning back and crushing Marina behind her.
Sorting through the vinyls, Pearl pulls out a few of the big, flat sleeves, gazing over unfamiliar album covers.
“Reena?” Pearl frowns. She’s laying on Marina’s side, pinning her arm down. “What… what are these?”
When she receives no answer, Pearl looks over and finds Marina staring oddly at her through hooded eyes.
“Marina?” Pearl repeats.
Marina’s response is partially muffled, Pearl doesn’t quite catch it.
“Huh?”
“They’re... waltzes. Classical music.”
“Why… why d’you have classical music on vinyl—“
“‘I’M A PIANIST, PEARL,” She defends, squirming beneath the weight of Pearl’s body.
“Is this all you have on vinyl?” Pearl starts laughing; partially because of her discovery, partially because of Marina's expression, which is comically embarrassed.
“NO…” Marina cries. “‘IS NOT, NO…”
“Why would’y go into a perfectly good record store an’ buy classical goddamn music,” Pearl cackles, Marina resigned to hiding her face in her hands and yelping some unintelligible defense.
“I mean, okay, okay, you like the waltzes, okay, but d’you got any real m —mmmmm...“ she abruptly stops, realizing her mistake a moment too late.
Marina reveals her face again, eyebrows raised high. “Do not, go there right now, Pearl Houzuki. Do not finish that sentence,” she lazily draws out the n in not, “don’even think about finishing that sentence.”
“Whaddya mean, I wasn—“
“Ohoh, you know exac’ly what you were gonna say, and lemme hear then, what you think real music sounds like, if not what music actually sounded like before whatever, hellfire screamo you listen to now even existed…” Marina squirms away from Pearl’s weight, squishing her cheeks between her thumb and index finger.
“Dint mean it! Hav mershy!” Pearl pleads through puckered lips.
“ Metalhead ,” Marina utters the word like it’s something stuck to the bottom of her shoe, she tickles Pearl’s stomach where her already tiny shirt rides up, like they’re kids. But Pearl is sensitive, and Marina knows this, and the next few minutes become acute tickle torture. Pearl eventually finds strength in her weakened state to make a break for it, and starts crawling away, but her futile attempt is thwarted in an instant when Marina pegs her down on the carpet.
“ Reena ,” Pearl wheezes. “M’gonna ralph, you lug—“
“Lug, huh?” Marina snorts, but lays off a little and lets her breathe despite the comment.
Pearl gasps new air into her lungs, free and twitching from the prior torture. With her cheek pressed to the shag carpet, she can see through the opening in the closet door, and catches a glimpse of the alarm clock on Marina’s nightstand.
“Reena,” she breathes.
“What,” Marina presses her forehead to Pearl’s temple. “Anything to say for yourself?”
“It’s January.”
Marina pauses, looks up at the clock. “...Damn.”
“Yeah,” Pearl smirks. “You gotta kiss me now.”
“In your dreams, you nugget,” she doesn’t lay all the way off Pearl’s back, and the position they’re in is finally starting to attract the attention of Pearl’s buzzed brain.
12:02 AM
“Aren’t I s’posed to kiss you right when ‘turns twelve, anyways?” Marina ponders, but Pearl’s heart is beating a little too loud to hear.
“Ah, uhh…” there is a lot of skin touching her right now.
“Hm,” Marina hums and it’s right in her ear. She hikes up her legs like she’s going to finally roll off of Pearl, and she has a second to breathe before Marina bites her earlobe and that breath catches dangerously in her throat. Marina laughs low, snorting, and then the warmth at her back is gone. Pearl sits up, shaky, she can’t even bring herself to make fun of Marina’s goofy laugh. She hopes dearly that her ears aren’t burning as red as they feel, hopes that the dimness of the lava lamp’s light can hide it well enough.
“We’ save the kissing for February,” Marina jokes, falling back onto the bean bag and laughing breathlessly. Pearl didn’t think it was that funny.
“Oh yeah, of course, totally,” Pearl’s head spins. Marina starts squirming around again, reaching for one of the records Pearl dropped before, sliding the disc out of its sleeve and setting it on the turntable, setting the needle onto the disc and toggling with one of the knobs before hitting play. Pearl stares at the small of Marina’s back while she’s twisted around, where the hem of her baggy shirt hikes up.
“Whassat?” Pearl asks, dazedness beginning to wear off into lethargy.
“A waltz,” Marina laughs; Pearl, with her musician’s ears, can easily pick up the one-two-three rhythm to the dreamy sound. Despite the desire to hate it and make fun of Marina further, Pearl thinks it sounds pretty. Even if it reminds her of a princess movie.
Marina twists back around on the bean bag, looking to Pearl expectantly.
“What, you wanna dance with me?” Pearl jokes.
“Just get over here,” Marina propels forward to grab Pearl’s arm and tug her in towards her. “And don't be silly. There’s not enough room to dance in here, anyway.” She adds, quieter.
“Sounds a little gay,” Pearl half-jokes, half-prays.
“I just bit your ear, Houzuki.”
Oh, and she hasn’t forgotten it . “Then why save the rest to February?”
“‘Cause I just wanna hold you, now.” Her breath is warm, smells a little like sucky beer. Her arm settles around Pearl’s waist. It’s snowing truckloads outside, but she and Marina are warm in the lava lamp light.
“Okay,” Pearl whispers, her body warm, sweet and lethargic. Maybe she could hold out until February.