*Nicoli*"What?"Nicoli blinked. Then blinked again, as if the repetition might produce a different result — might rearrange what he had just heard into something that made more sense. Almost as if fighting back what he just heard.But he had heard it. He was certain he had. No one in their right mind would just make something that outlandish, that ill-timed up, even if they were as exhausted as he was at the moment. Yet his mind simply refused to accept it. Because the very idea, itself felt so wrong for this corridor, for this day, for this particular moment with its mourning cloth and its half-hidden birthday streamers and his father's things already disappearing down the hall in crates — felt so fundamentally misplaced, like a word appearing in the wrong sentence, that some part of him could not accept it as serious.When are we getting married?Her question hung between them in the close corridor air, drifting up to entangle themselves between the black ribbons and the funeral
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