“You minimize everything important with humor!”
“You freeze everything important with control!”
“Like you feel? By making jokes about transformation? About the ceremony? About us?”
The accusation lands, and the air goes thin. I flinch. “I joke because I care too much, not too little!”
“That makes no sense?—”
“It makes perfect sense! I joke because if I don’t, I’ll cry! I joke because—” My voice cracks. “Because I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want this to work and humor is my armor!”
The library goes silent. Even the shadow creatures stop rustling. Keith freezes mid-PowerPoint gesture.
“And you?” I continue. “You’ve got three centuries of armor made of ice and distance! When something matters, you analyze it to death! You turn feelings into flow charts!”
“I don’t?—”
“You do! You’ve probably got a mental spreadsheet about our relationship! Column A: reasons this is logical. Column B:reasons this is illogical. Column C: optimal outcomes based on careful analysis!”
“That’s not—” He stops. His ear twitches. “That’s partially accurate.”
“See?”
“But I’m trying to change!”
“And I’m trying to be serious! But we both suck at it!”
We stand there, both breathing hard, the library in chaos around us. Ice everywhere from his lost control. Books scattered from the magical explosion. My frost patterns spell out words I didn’t mean to write: SCARED SCARED SCARED.
I look at my hands—I can see through them completely now. Like looking through frosted glass. “Stenrik, why am I translucent?!”
He looks at his own hands, and I realize—he’s slightly see-through too. “Why are YOUR edges blurry?!”
Keith slides over, completely solid now, almost human-looking except for his darkness. “Keith achieved full integration! Very satisfying transition!”
“We’re becoming shadow creatures,” Stenrik says quietly.
“Corporate shadow creatures,” I correct, horrified.
“Perhaps,” Keith says tentatively, “Keith could present a slideshow about acceptance?”
“NOT NOW, KEITH!” we both scream.
Keith retreats to the conference room, shadow creatures scattering. “Keith will prepare materials for later discussion!”
I sink onto the floor, exhausted. Stenrik stays standing, rigid with control again, ice still spreading in fractals around his feet.
“When we kissed during practice,” I say quietly, “that felt real. We weren’t trying so hard.”
“That was different.”
“Why? Because the stakes were lower?”
“Because we weren’t performing a magical ceremony that requires absolute emotional honesty.”
He stops. Considers. “Though you’re right. That was more honest than this.”
“The ceremony requires?—”
