Florasuno

“the lying, qifrey… the secrets—!” 

at the rise of your tone, qifrey swiftly brings a hand to cover your mouth, and the thought of waking the girls from their sleep quickly reels you back. it hits you that he’s close like this, and you almost wish you could pause time. to be able to feel the heat on your skin not from the fire, but from his own skin. the almost-wish aches your being. 

you pull his hand away from your mouth but don’t let go. qifrey doesn’t either. and your tone is still just as hard as before when you whisper,

“i can tell something is going on. i just do not know what. i can see that it is eating away at you, qifrey. i want to help. we want to help. please, won’t you tell us? me?”

the more you push with your words, the more you lean into his frame, your face now mere inches from his. it seems that your pleas might’ve struck a chord within the white-haired man, as his hand softens against your cheek, your own palming over it.

the saturation in his eye glistens, yet he defeatedly looks away from your persistent gaze. the definitive action makes your skin prickle.

a man as kind as him would be equally as stubborn. his tender hands have always felt so heavy in more ways than one. with what weight, you truly didn’t know. he wouldn’t let you know. you feel a sting in your nose, a sadness in your chest as a tear slips from your eye. it trails down to where your finger overlays his on your cheek.

at the sight, qifrey inhales audibly through his nose. he looks so torn that it haunts you, makes you close your eyes in dejection—

—just as you feel two soft lips press onto yours. 

your eyes blow wide open at the sensation, his kiss stifling the noise of surprise that tries to leave you. 

qifrey gently brings his other palm up, cushioning your face with both hands, but he only keeps his lips pressed onto yours—unmoving, firm. you squint your eyes in surrender as you return the kiss with equal pressure, tasting the salts of your shed tear.

this is unlike him. unlike you. after all these years, the line between friend and something closer has never felt more blurred until now. he’s never spoken of his feelings. you’ve never spoken yours. but maybe, this was the confession you needed, through all the worry and uncertainty he’s caused you.

the realization could make you cry, because it could never be any more than this.

the hearth crackles. 

it pops with every fiery splitting of the wood, with every step qifrey takes forward, and you backwards. he pushes and pushes and pushes, his stride gentle and unrelenting as always. but there’s a particular desperation to the way his hands cradle your face—rigid fingers that yearn to melt into your skin, yet hold back. the way that he doesn’t pause even as you both draw away with each needed breath taken, his lips moving forward to capture yours again after every inhale.

it makes you tug at his shirt, the tight black fabric that adorns him silk underneath your fingers. qifrey pushes, and you pull. the gasp that escapes him when your tongue dances with his only fuels you further—makes the desire swell low in your gut.

you want him closer. closer. to crawl underneath that skin-tight fabric of his and live in between his ribs. to revel in making him gasp and chase without this sudden fear that he’ll pull away spiking in your bones. his lips are warm, mingled breaths hot as your hand reverently travels up his chest, feeling his body tremble at the intimate touch. 

your fingers come to pull at the hair at his nape, then urge his head closer—his mouth deeper, unknowingly reaching for his cheek to hold him like he holds you.

sinking. you think you’re sinking, and that qifrey might be too, when suddenly, he draws back in alarm. his hand snatches your hovering wrist and forcibly pins it to the wall behind you, restricting any movement. your eyes snap open to meet his own that swarms with horror.

you’re speechless. not even a wonder of how you two got to the wall crosses your mind, just pure defenseless overtaking every thought. completely taken off-guard by the anxiety seeping from qifrey’s gaze and the hard set line of his lips that was just on yours a second ago. the temperature in the room drops astronomically despite the fire going—chills traveling up your spine at the almost cold look marring his features.

“… qifrey?” you ask quietly, tentatively, unable to tear away from his eye contact. his face towers over yours, close and almost frightening. you’ve never felt so close, yet so far away from him.

qifrey blinks once, twice, then loosens his iron grip on your wrist. your arm barely moves from its position, rigidly breaking off the wall and suspended in the air as if still registering the lightning-abrupt motion.

in fact, you’re still registering what just happened.

“w-what’s wrong?” you attempt to gather your thoughts. “are you—?”

“i apologize,” he says. the statement makes your heart sink to your stomach. 

“…what for?”

“we cannot do this. i apologize for my rash behavior.”

you’re not sure what kind of expression twists over your features. confusion? anger? disappointment? all of the above? whatever it is, and try as you might, you can’t hide how gutted you feel. and you guess it satisfies qifrey in some sickening way because he smiles.

qifrey smiles sorrowfully, with a lifetime full of grief you can never come to understand. you feel another pang hit your chest as his beautiful azure eye shines down on you, his eyebrow downturned miserably. you want to smooth out the wrinkle—to take away his pain.

because underneath the witch’s cloak, you know what kind of man he is. someone who is soft, kind. someone who you wish you could embrace and protect just as much as he cares for others.

what wills him to deflect like this?

from this angle, his shadow completely encases you, no longer a fiery glint reflecting off the gold rims of his spectacles. 

you really can’t stop the urge when you ask, quiet and heavy,

“are you not tired of running away?”

qifrey cocks his head just slightly, his white hair swaying with the motion, but never revealing his right eye. it never does. his left eye pins you frozen to your spot.

and longingly, he whispers, “i…”

hope courses through your veins as qifrey reaches for your face again, only to pause right before making contact, fingers twitching as if you were something unattainable. as if touching you was something he wasn’t allowed to do. you want to tell him it is possible. you wait and wish for him to take the plunge, for him to push again. 

he doesn’t.

qifrey pulls away, and in an unsettlingly light voice, he responds, “as long as you keep looking at me that way, everything will be fine.”

what way? in pain?

how in the world would that make everything fine?

your body is still tight with tension as qifrey slowly backs away, the light of the fire finally brightening your vision. words die in your throat, and you can still feel the tingle on your lips.

(oh, how hopelessly in love you are with him.)

qifrey speaks again. just as soft. just as defeated. “i apologize. i cannot give you an answer to your questions. for your sake—”

he’s quiet, but you hear his final words as he walks away. it makes you bite your lips in helplessness, face dropping to the ground as hot tears run down your cheeks.

“—and for mine.”

the hearth burns, anguishly.