The blush that spreads across my transformed cheeks feels hotter than usual—the particular flush of someone whose new Fae nature apparently processes embarrassment with increased intensity. The pink of my skin deepens toward rose, the shimmer intensifying as blood rushes toward my face in response to implications I'm only beginning to grasp.
I huff, one hand rising to push his face away with the particular indignation of someone who recognizes they're being teased and refuses to participate in their own torment.
"And what does that entail with that look?" I grumble, the words carrying accusation that's undercut by the breathlessness I can't quite hide.
His chuckle vibrates through the minimal space that still separates us—warm, amused, carrying the particular satisfaction of someone who has achieved exactly the reaction they were aiming for.
But then his expression softens.
The teasing light in his eyes dims into something more sincere, more tender, more aligned with the vulnerability we shared just moments ago when he was crying in my arms.
He leans in again.
This time, the kiss is different.
Soft. Tender. The particular gentleness of someone who wants to give rather than take, who is expressing care rather than demanding response. His lips press against mine with pressure that feels almost reverent, touch that treats me as something precious rather than something to be consumed.
Oh.
The sensation steals my breath in ways the teasing brush hadn't quite achieved.
This is Nikolai being genuine.
This is the person beneath the masks, the one who just trusted me with his tears, now trusting me with tenderness that feels equally vulnerable.
The kiss ends too soon.
He pulls back with obvious reluctance, his eyes meeting mine with warmth that makes my chest ache in ways that have nothing to do with sadness.
"I'll be fine," he assures me, the words carrying certainty that feels less like performance and more like genuine assessment. "And we can talk with Professor Eternalis to determine if this—" He gestures at my transformed appearance with one elegant hand. "—is going to be permanent or not."
Permanent.
The word carries weight I hadn't fully considered.
This might not be temporary.
This might be who I am now—golden hair and pink eyes and shimmering skin and ears that announce my Fae heritage to anyone who looks closely enough to notice.
Before he can begin whatever spellwork he's planning, I make a decision.
My hand catches his, fingers intertwining with his in grip that demands attention. Then I lean in, closing the distance he'd created with the particular determination of someone who has decided to take action rather than simply receiving it.
My lips meet his.
The kiss is firmer than his tender offering—carrying intention, carrying purpose, carrying the particular energy of someone who wants to contribute rather than merely accept. I pour into it whatever magic is building in my transformed form, whatever power has been awakening since this Fae heritage decided to stop hiding.
I feel somethingtransfer.
Energy flowing from me to him through the connection our lips create, power finding pathways that physical touch makes possible. The sensation is strange but not unpleasant—like giving away something I have too much of, like sharing abundance rather than sacrificing scarcity.
I pull back just far enough to whisper against his mouth.
"If you need a boost, don't hesitate to ask."
The words emerge shyly, contradicting the boldness of the kiss that preceded them. My transformed cheeks flush deeper pink, the shimmer intensifying with embarrassment that my new Fae nature apparently broadcasts rather than hides.
His grin spreads across features that still carry traces of recent tears, humor and warmth and something that might be affection all competing for dominance in his expression.
