Malakai’s dark eyes shone and he was doing a shitty job at hiding the bashful grin spreading across his face. “I’m kinda into it, you know. I think I pull this ’fit off.”
It was true. It was kind of scary, actually. He looked exactly how I imagined Niyo to look: regally handsome, kind.
“But,” he continued, “as you know, Niyo is nothing without Shangaya. According to my calculations you have forty minutes to get dressed. I already know you have your outfit. You ready, my Fireflower?”
I did already have my outfit. His use of Niyo’s pet name for Shangaya made me smile. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to you going full nerd on me. But”—I released him, and started backing my way toward my halls—“that ain’t the question. The question is, are you ready for me as Shangaya?”
Malakai raised an eyebrow as he followed me into my building, shooting me a slanted smirk as he murmured, “Oh. Rah. You think you got it like that, Scotch?”
“Nah,” I said, adopting Malakai’s own swagger and mimicking his self-assured tone of the night we kissed. “I know.”
“Are you sure you got that on camera?” I stared at the message in my copy of The Reign of Ifekonia: Search for the Sun, eyes blurred and wide.
Malakai grinned at me from across the café table and nodded. “Yes, Scotch, for the one-hundredth time, I have the film of Idan Fadaka signing your copy.”
“And the bit where she froze when I said my name and said it sounded familiar? When she said she remembers me from a panel she was on last year, because my question was so—what were the words she used?”
Malakai’s smile widened. “‘Incisive and thoughtful.’”
“Incisive and thoughtful. And then what happened? Just to verify—”
“She said you made a beautiful Shangaya.”
“Oh my God, Kai. I know I’m being annoying, but I can’t believe today happened!”
Malakai shook his head, the movement somehow making the twinkle in his eyes glint sharper.
“Not annoying. I love seeing you like this.”
“Nerdy?”
“Yes.”
I threw a sugar sachet at him and he caught it with a hand, laughed. “And happy.”
We’d been at the convention for half a day and it had been packed with panels and talks that Malakai was surprisingly engaged in, following me to every discussion that caught my interest, excitement and giddiness bouncing me all over the place. Malakai, it turned out, was the belle of the ball, his sharp beauty and height coupling well with his costume and character. He drew flirtatious stares and requests for photos, and Malakai, ever the ethereal prince, was always pleasantly game, smiling bright for each snap, accepting each compliment with grace and enthusiastically talking about his character. When I went to meet him in the convention center corridor after visiting the ladies’， another Shangaya was talking to him, braided wig flipping over her shoulder as he handed her back her phone. My stomach swung low at the sight, breath moving stilted through my throat, irritated that I felt this way. I defaulted to the sacred chants I’d been using to pull myself together recently.
Malakai and I are friends.
This is a project.
Malakai does not like me in that way.
Malakai and I flirt because flirting is part of our friendship DNA.
Yes, we had that . . . moment the other night, but it probably just happened because we were both feeling vulnerable.
I decided to evolve the lengthy, clumsy, unpoetic chants for the occasion.
And he isn’t even here in the capacity of my fake boyfriend; he’s here in the capacity of friend. We are outside of the jurisdiction of the project, and he is free to do whatever he wants.
Just because he is dressed as my literary crush and therefore the literal embodiment of many an erotic fantasy, doesn’t mean I can project.
Fuck, why is he so cute?
Malakai caught my eye and smiled, and the chants became undone, because sure, we weren’t together but did he really have to be so bold about flirting with someone in my presence? I felt like it lacked some couth, it wasn’t cute, and actually, fine, yes, I was jealous. Maybe it was because of the roles we were playing today, but how would he have liked it if I was all over another Niyo in front of his face?
My steps stuttered like my pulse did, and I slowed as it sped up. I waited until she left before forcing out a breezy smile. It didn’t feel breezy upon release, however; it felt like a fucking gale force, a prelude to a storm.