I am a shadow, I am, and I am not...

You hum, contemplating on giving him any answer at all — ultimately you concede, spilling the beans on what was bothering you: "...It seems that the 'Chicken' got to them first, again." a standard, slightly vague reply leaves your lips; the kind you offer up when you're too tired to think — let alone speak.

Pantalone clicks his tongue, "I'll say, that piece of work better learn to keep to his own coop. The more he mingles in my affairs, the less I'm willing to cooperate on those funds..." His hand moves down from your face and snakes around your shoulders instead, gently tugging you closer.

A fatigued giggle escapes you as you lean further in, resting your head against his chest. "Hm, that stubby fool is probably the least of my concerns," amusement drips from your voice, but it soon dries out when you continue, "What is weighing on my mind however, is what to gift the countess' daughter for her engament..."

"Ah yes, the picky ones, i assume?" Seeing you nod, Pantalone hums, "There was that parfum you were gifted recently, perhaps you could give them that."

You snort, "Fenya, I cannot do that! It is in poor taste!"

"Their horried taste in wines is in poor taste. I hold back the urge to gag every time i attend one of their banquets." He rolls his eyes playfully, a small smirk creeping onto his face as he feels you punch his chest lightly.

"Apologies, darling," Feofan leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple to appease your wrath, "But it is still the truth, let us not lie now." He chuckles.

"Fenya I am not regifting them that awful fragrance. I would die thrice over of emberassment if someone were to find out I did such a thing!"

"Well, I allow that to happen. We do have an opera to see tonight." He all but drags you closer, pulling you into a hug, "My, what would I do without the light of my sad, little banker life there with me?"

"Oh hush," You feign complaint as he tucks your head under his chin, "You hardly appriciate the fine arts, all you do yammer on and on about banal nonsense."

"My topics of conversation are anything but banal."

"Yes, ofcourse, gossiping is quite the important topic. I'll say how do your coworkers and subordinates deal with your ludicrouses..."

"Perfectly fine, just as you do darling." he teases, hands combing through your hair. You roll your eyes, losing all energy to bicker with this blockhead, as you press your cheek further against his chest.

Silence overtakes the cabin for a good while, the only sounds being the steady rhythm of the harbingers heartbeat, and the light patter of the snow against the window. It's nice, and it relaxes you almost instantly. The familiar warmth of this atmosphere letting you cleanse yourself of all worries.

Alas, one pesky question still weighs on your mind, "...Hey, Feofanushka," you pause briefly, snuggling closer.

"...Are we still going to dinner first? The food they served was almost as awful as the wine..." you ask, voice a bit muffled from your face being smooshed against him.

"Certainly darling, I already reserved seats for you favourite restaraunt."

ノㅤ﹕QUIN'S NOTE ⋮ i dunno how this is for other eastern europeans, but where I am from regifting stuff is kinda seen as tacky ykwim? Like you don't really gaf about the person who gave you the gift nor the one you're regifting it to. Incredible inspo ik

After triage, his chart landed under your name for fever, infected burn, observation.

The staff learned very little from his pockets. His card was sealed, the ink smudged where sweat had dampened the paper, but the name was visible.

Qifrey.

Under it sat an atelier seal for an atelier several towns away and the name Olruggio in a different, heavier script. On the back, in a heavier hand, someone had written, “If he says he is fine, he is lying. If he says he can walk, make him sit. If he asks for thornbark, ignore him.”

You sent a runner with the message as soon as you finished checking him in. The road had been damaged by a landslide two towns over, according to the courier desk. Whoever Olruggio was, it would take time to even inform them because your small village didn't have any resident witches.

The first runner came back with mud-covered knees before sunset. The bridge past Lannor was split, the lower road had sunk, and the courier desk would need another route before any message reached the atelier.

Over the next two days, during your nightly rounds, you heard Qifrey murmur names in his sleep. Coco. Tetia. Richeh. Agott. Sometimes Olruggio, lower, rougher, with a strain that made you pause beside the bed.

The names meant nothing to you, but his voice did.

Qifrey needed a lot of help—by the second night, his chart had three extra pages clipped to it.

He had a fever that refused to break, a cough that tore through him even while he slept, and a burn across his palm that looked several days old. It had been treated poorly. By himself, you guessed, after seeing how clean the bandage had been despite the infection underneath. A man used to handling trouble alone.

On the third day, you cut away the spoiled wrapping to change the bandage, as you had been doing daily since his arrival.

He stirred then, face pinched with pain.

“Can you hear me, sir?”

His hand flexed in yours, his voice rough from disuse. “Mm. I hear you.”

“You are in St. Gillian’s ward. You passed out at the door.”

“That seems… inconvenient.”

“You picked a good door.”

A small breath left him. It might have been a laugh.

You washed the wound, set herbs to draw down the swelling, and fed him medicine by the spoon when his fever didn't let him swallow easily.

By fifth morning, Qifrey’s fever had settled into a stubborn heat rather than a blaze. He woke while you were changing the water at his bedside.

His visible eye opened first—clear blue, tired, and assessing.

He looked at the ceiling, the window, and the medicine tray, then at you.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice rough but better than before.

You stared at him for half a second.

Most patients woke up confused, angry, frightened, or all of it. Qifrey woke as though he had been invited to a formal breakfast. “You remember where you are?”

“A clinic?”

“Hospital ward.”

“Ah. Better funded than I feared.”

You sat on the stool beside him and checked his pulse. His skin was still hot. He watched your hand as though your work interested him.

Once you were done, he gave you a mild smile.

You looked down at his pulse before your face gave you away.

“I sent word to the atelier listed on your card,” you said instead. “Someone named Olruggio was mentioned. The roads are caved in next town over, so a reply still may take a day or two.”

His face changed from smiling to serious. “Did the message say I was stable?”

“I sent it when you arrived so it said you were under care.”

His fingers clenched in the sheet. “That will make him angry.”

“Concerned?”

Qifrey looked toward the window. “With him, the two travel together.”

You took his temperature and pretended that answered anything.

For the rest of the day, he slept between treatments. By evening, he could sit up against pillows, so you brought tea because the ward broth had been rejected with such gentle sadness that you had felt bad for him.

He accepted the cup with both hands carefully. “Thank you.”

“It may taste medicinal.”

“I have survived worse things.”

“You say that as if you mean it.”

Qifrey’s eye lowered to the steam. “I do.”

You shouldn't have pried, should have gone back to the desk, finished your chart, and taken your meal before it went cold.

“What went wrong?”

“I misjudged a cough.”

“And the burn?”

“Misjudged a flame.”

“Careless for a Witch Master.”

He smiled into the cup. “You wound me.”

“You arrived wounded.”

“A fair correction.”

You chuckled before you could stop yourself.

He looked pleased, though he hid it by drinking.

The next evening brought more improvement. He could walk from the bed to the chair by the window with your hand under his elbow. His hair bobbed in uneven waves, white and soft from fever sweat. You washed it for him in a basin because he lacked the strength to lift both arms.

He endured the indignity with great dignity.

“You may complain,” you said, working soap through the ends.

“I am trying to decide how.”

“Most people start with the water temperature.”

“I hate water.”

“That may be the fever talking.”

“No, I just hate it in general.”

You poured clean water through his hair and watched his shoulders loosen. “You talk around everything. It’s like you are deflecting.”

“I talk through things. Around them takes more effort.”

“Do you have family?”

The question came out because you had spent the afternoon thinking about Olruggio’s name on that card. Because Qifrey said it in sleep with the same exhausted care people used for loved ones. Or maybe because you were a fool.

His shoulders stilled for a breath.

Then he said, “There are people waiting for me.”

“That was also around the question.”

“Yes.”

You should have taken the answer for what it was. Instead, you felt his silence settle between you and chose the safer thing. “You have students.”

“I do.”

“Those names you said in your sleep?”

A small smile touched his mouth. “My apprentices.”

“You worry them?”

“I am afraid so.”

“You seem habitual at that.”

His laugh came out soft and tired. “One of my oldest habits.”

You dried his hair with a towel. He sat patiently, head bowed. The back of his neck looked vulnerable. You moved your hands with professional care, and your chest did the foolish work of skipping a beat.

That evening, you brought tea again. He asked about you.

It wasn't anything new, patients asked out of politeness all the time. Qifrey listened as though each answer fitted into a private ledger.

You told him about the hospital. About training under a surgeon who threw instruments when angry. About the old woman in room four who lied about her sweets. About your rented rooms above the bakery and the landlord’s whiskercat who had claimed your spare chair.

Qifrey laughed at that. “A whiskercat recognizes vacant authority.”

“He bites doctors.”

“Then he recognizes false authority as well.”

You looked at him over your cup.

“You would get along with him.”

“High praise.”

“It was a warning.”

He held the cup near his mouth, smiling.

The next day, his fever broke.

You found him awake before dawn, sitting at the side of the bed with his coat folded across his knees. His hand shook when he tried to fasten a clasp.

You leaned against the doorway. “Planning an escape?”

He looked up, guilt neatly arranged into charm. “Need to perform an assessment.”

“Of the hallway?”

“Of my general readiness.”

“You are terrible at being a patient.”

“Many have said so with greater volume.”

“Olruggio?”

Qifrey paused.

Then he gave a helpless little smile, fondness slipping through before he could tuck it away. “Most often, yes.”

“Your next of kin has strong opinions.”

“He has earned the right.”

Your heart did a small flip because Qifrey looked at you with such warmth after. Then again later, when you brought him lunch, he mentioned noticing that you seemed to dislike thornbark. Then again at tea, when he asked whether you ever left the ward before the lamps were lit and when you said rarely, he told you you were allowed to be cared for without becoming less productive.

It sounded rehearsed in the sense that he had probably said it to children before. Children, friends, himself, perhaps.

You adored him for some reason after that.

By late afternoon, the senior physician cleared him for a few hours out of bed. The hospital had a small courtyard used by staff during breaks. You took him there because he asked for air and because you had poor discipline where he was concerned.

He walked slowly, tried to hide the weakness from you and failed. At the bench, he sank down with a controlled breath.

“You see?” he said. “A flawless expedition.”

“You are sweating.”

“An atmospheric detail.”

“You made it twelve steps.”

“Thirteen. You miscounted.”

“You counted?”

“I needed a victory.”

You handed him tea from the kitchen pot, thinned with milk to spare his throat. He held it between both palms and watched the courtyard gate.

“Will Olruggio be upset when he comes?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“You sound pleased.”

“I would rather face his anger than his fear.”

That was the first honest answer he gave you without deflecting.

You sat beside him. “What is he to you?”

Qifrey turned the cup slowly. “My person.”

The words came with care.

“Family?”

“Yes.”

The courtyard seemed smaller after that.

You looked at your own cup. “I almost invited you to dinner.”

“You still may.”

You glanced at him, startled.

He met your gaze with an expression so gentle it hurt.

“Or not,” he added.

There it was again. The step back. The offered dignity. The chance to recover without being seen.

You took it because he gave it willingly. “Then I am inviting you to dinner tonight at the staffroom table as a patient who owes me for ruining three sets of sheets.”

His eyes crinkled with a smile. “I accept with gratitude.”

Dinner happened in a quiet manner because Qifrey tired faster than he admitted. You brought rice, broth, pickled vegetables, and a small cake from the bakery below your rooms. He ate slowly like a man who had learned to make small comforts last. You talked about ordinary things because ordinary things had become precious with him.

He asked about the town. You asked about teaching.

He told you about a girl who loved picture books and questions, another who spoke with boldness she had earned through fear, another with an eye for beauty in small work, and another who needed rules to push against before she trusted them.

“You seem to love them a lot.” You smiled.

He looked down at his plate. “I try to be worthy of them.”

The answer made your throat tighten. “You are.”

“You have known me only a few days.”

“I have cared for you. That speeds judgment.”

His laugh loosened, warmer now.

You thought of saying it then—so please write to me or some adult version with a chance for refusal and less humiliation.

The words rose, reached your mouth, and died when footsteps pounded down the corridor.

Someone shouted at the front desk. A man’s voice, rough with fear. “Where is he?”

Qifrey stood so quickly his chair scraped back.

His face changed.

Every soft, evasive line vanished. He looked shaken open.

You followed him into the hall.

A man stood at the far end, travel cloak hanging off one shoulder, dark hair loose, hands clenched as if he had been holding himself together. His eyes found Qifrey, and the anger you had expected was there.

So was terror.

“Qifrey.”

“Olruggio,” Qifrey said.

Olruggio crossed the corridor before anyone could stop him. He caught Qifrey by the shoulders, then checked him with furious, trembling care—forehead, pulse, bandaged hand, face.

Qifrey let him. In fact, he more than let him. He leaned into it for half a second, small and human in a way he had hidden from you.

“You sent a card?” Olruggio snapped. “A card? I got ‘under care’ and a hospital mark, and the road was out. Do you have any idea how worried the kids were?”

“I am sorry.”

“You are a complete idiot.”

“Yes.”

Olruggio groaned in frustration.

Qifrey smiled at him, tender and tired. “You came quickly.”

“I know.” Olruggio’s hands froze on Qifrey’s sleeves. His voice dropped. “You scared me.”

Qifrey lifted his bandaged hand and rested it against Olruggio’s wrist. “I know.”

You stood by the staff room door, and the ward clerk came up beside you and whispered, “Is that his husband?”

The word sank through your chest with force.

Husband.

You looked back at the two men.

Olruggio had turned halfway toward the desk, still keeping one hand on Qifrey as if the floor might swallow him. “Who treated him?”

You stepped forward because your muscle memory knew work even when your heart lagged behind. “I did.”

Olruggio crossed to you. Up close, he looked exhausted. “Thank you for keeping him alive.”

“It was the ward, really.”

“It was you.” His voice softened. “He is skilled at making people underestimate how bad things are.”

Qifrey, from behind him, said, “I can hear you.”

“Good. Hear it and improve.”

You managed a smile. “He needs rest for another few days. The fever broke, but the infection needs watching. His hand should be cleaned twice daily. He should avoid travel until the physician clears him.”

“I will make sure of it.”

Qifrey’s mouth curved in a wider smile. “You say that as if I am difficult.”

Olruggio turned on him. “You are sleeping.”

“In a bed, yes.”

“In a bed where I can see you.”

The intimacy of it had no flourish but domesticity—it stood in the hallway with muddy boots and a travel bag. It belonged there. They belonged together.

You handed Olruggio the written care instructions.

That night, you sat with tea that had gone cold on the staffroom table.

Qifrey came to find you before settling back into bed. Olruggio hovered far away at the corridor turn, pretending to inspect the wall while watching every breath Qifrey took.

“You didn't come for your nightly round,” Qifrey inquired.

“I was giving you time.”

“That is kind.”

“It is practical.”

His expression gentled. He understood more than you wanted him to. Perhaps he had understood from the first cup of tea.

“I owe you dinner,” he said.

“You owe me rest.”

He looked at you for a long moment.

“You are very easy to speak with.” He said it gently, and with that same small step back he had offered every time you reached too close.

“That sounds impulsive, coming from you.”

“It may be.”

“Then keep it for your husband.”

Qifrey’s eye lowered. He accepted the small hurt because you had earned the right to.

“I will,” he said instead. “And I will remember your kindness.”

You gave a short nod.

Behind him, Olruggio called, “Qifrey. Bed.”

Qifrey sighed with theatrical patience. “You see my situation.”

“You seem well taken care of.”

His smile faded into gratitude. “Yes.”

He returned to Olruggio. The other man scolded him under his breath the whole way back to the bed, one hand firm at his back. Qifrey listened with his head slightly bent, smiling as though each complaint was a love letter.

You went to the staff dining room and cleared the cups.

The cake sat half-eaten on the plate. His fork had left a neat mark through the icing.

You washed everything by hand, slower than needed.

In the morning, you would check his fever, teach Olruggio the bandage fold, and write the discharge notes as usual. Tonight, you scrubbed icing from the fork until the silver squeaked.

Down the corridor, Olruggio’s voice rose again. “You are laughing? You think this is funny?”

Qifrey answered, too soft for you to catch.

Then Olruggio said, lower, breaking around the words, “Do that again, and I swear I will lock your boots in the oven.”

Qifrey laughed then, small and real.

You closed your eyes.

You had wanted to ask him to stay.

Someone else had already crossed blocked roads and broken bridges to bring him home.

A/N: This one hurt me a little because the reader isn’t wrong for catching feelings, and Qifrey isn’t cruel for being gentle. Qifrey and Olruggio kind of remind me of Gojo and Nanami, and this anime has me by the throat.

I’m still figuring out how I like writing Witch Hat Atelier, so if anyone has Qifrey, Olruggio, or atelier-adjacent thoughts, please come yell in my inbox. I want to write more plot-heavy fluff (even with reader inserts), but I’m empty of ideas rn, so send some my way.

Masterlist

༄ kafka:

✣ who wins: "you."

she knew what you were up to the second you slinked into the living room. there's never a time in kafka's life where she won't indulge your whims though, so she pretends to be distracted with some sheet music. when you finally pounce on her, she lets out a fake gasp and asks how her baby could be so cruel. it's nearly impossible to actually hit her with how evasive she is, but she's good at pretending just to make you happy. with a few twists, you'll find yourself in her arms and your legs around her waist as she peppers your face with kisses. she'll gush about how brave you are before asking you to join the stellaron hunters with the most teasing grin on her face.

༄ blade:

✣ who wins? blade.

the moment you initiate any sort of playful combat, a sort of sleeper agent activates inside blade. years of instinct nearly threaten to take over and put you down quietly. his hand twitches for a second before his brain takes over and he moves it to the small of your back. he'll ask with a deadpan expression what in elio's name you're doing, and sigh when you tell him you're going to beat him in a fight. he knows that you know such a thing is impossible, so he speeds up what will be a losing battle and simply pins you underneath him on the floor — making sure you're aware that he's one utterance of his name away if you ever do truly find yourself in a fight.

༄ gepard:

✣ who wins? you, just barely.

gepard doesn't even try to fight back. he's still as a statue, petrified of causing you the slightest bit of injury. unfortunately for your golden retriever of a boyfriend, he is built like the walls of belobog's fortress. regardless of what he does, you bounce back ungracefully from trying to push him over and fall flat on your ass, bumping your hip into the coffee table in the process. he freaks out and bends down to try and help you, and you turn it into an opportunity to fake him out and pin him to the ground. he could get up with zero issue and completely overpower you, but instead he's content to lay on the group with pink cheeks and congratulate you on your win.

༄ jingliu:

✣ who wins? nobody.

as somebody who treats your safety with deadly seriousness, jingliu doesn't exactly take lightly to your foolishness. would you actually use such obvious methods if you were trying to ambush somebody? has any of her training rooted itself in your brain? all you've managed to do is convince her that you can't be left alone for more than five seconds. no matter how much you whine that you were just trying to play around, she's coming back to this exact moment when you ask her to please leave her sword at home during the grocery store run.

༄ luocha:

✣ who wins? you.

look at him. he's a healer. while he might have muscle from carrying around that coffin all the time, he's usually tired and overworked to some extent. even with your rambunctious nature, luocha used to have the tendency to treat you like a doll. with every one of your surprise attacks on him though, he's starting to see you're more of an untrained and curious puppy. he rarely has the energy or willpower to fight you back, and will just let you take him out to satisfy your craving for chaos. once he's down, he'll just run his fingers through your hair and ask if your nonsense is done for the night. this is usually followed by him shaking his head and asking himself what he's going to do with you, but the adoration in his eyes is a clear sign he'll let you keep getting away with it.

༄ aventurine:

✣ who wins? aventurine.

you know how much he loves you right? remember when he bought you your own mini spaceship? he is so competitive that it doesn't matter how much he loves you at that point, so please disregard the fact he will body slam your ass just to win. he really doesn't have that much physical strength so the sudden burst of energy surprises you. you have no choice but to chalk it up to some sort of adrenaline rush or such because you sincerely thought you'd last longer. he's not even sorry about it — just giving you his signature smug look and trying to butter you up so you don't make him sleep on the couch. couldn't he have at least pretended to put up a fight to make the silly moment last longer? you're more mad about that part than the actual losing, so he says to try again the next day and he'll show some restraint. it plays out exactly the same.

༄ dr ratio:

✣ who wins? not you.

he's halfway out the front door before you can even finish the thought. he is literally so tired. do you know what you're doing? do you enjoy making him miserable? the look he gives you is so devoid of soul that it sort of does convince you that he'll either kill you or himself if you try anything. even when you say you promise you're not going to do anything stupid, he doesn't believe you for one second. between you and aventurine, he has zero tolerance for tomfoolery by the end of the night. proceed with caution. he will lock you out of the bedroom if you piss him off enough.

༄ sunday:

✣ who wins? it's a tie.

sunday thinks you're cute. he loves to observe you and how you treat situations. when you're in a playful mood while relaxing in the party car, he easily follows your thinking and let's you have your moments of fun. he should've known a bout of cuteness aggression would latch itself onto his brain, as is usually the case when you do just about anything. what was an easy win turns into his wings fluttering against your face while he nips at your cheek. only one of his hands is needed to restrain both of yours, and he asks with a lovelorn look on his face if you have any idea how difficult it is to hold back when you're so endearing. you think he's over-exaggerating, but the affection is much appreciated.

༄ mydei:

✣ who wins? up for debate.

no matter what you do, moving him in any way is completely impossible. he doesn't try to fight back even a single time and you still can't put a dent in him. hitting, biting, kicking - it's all futile. when you inevitably tire yourself out, he'll let you curl up against his chest before asking if your little temper tantrum is done with. his fingers will hold your chin and tilt it up so very slightly, eyebrow raised as he informs you that if you want his attention, there are easier ways than acting like a brat ; not that he'd ever want you to stop acting like a brat.

༄ anaxa:

✣ who wins? nobody.

much like ratio in the sense of not having time for your bullshit, but anaxa is substantially more of an asshole about it. despite this, he actually will usually let you just float around whatever area he's working in for the day solely to keep you in his eyesight. yes, he's distracted and doesn't say much during this, but being so close for hours fills the gap. it's only when you get too wily that he has to step in and put a swift end to that behavior. he is busy, he is irritated, and you being a problem child is doing nothing to help. you don't even get to creep up on him fully before he's scolding you. ignore his warnings will usually end with you tied up in a chair, wriggling and whining while he ignores you. please, just behave for five minutes, would you?

Along the horizon, past hills of tall, wind-swept grass, you could see where the blue sky became blanketed by grand, darkened clouds. The haze below them signalled rain, and the visibility beyond that cloak of water was minimal.

That wasn't the only storm brewing. Something felt uneasy.

The cabin you called home was right between the open plains and the Forest of Thristas. It was the only non-mountainous part of the ring that separated the canopy of decaying Silverwood from the rest of the peninsula and the main passage which animals, humans, and occasional witches used.

No one should be in the forest, and yet, you had this sinking feeling someone had passed your gates right into its murky maw.

An inkling wasn't good enough grounds to endanger yourself, especially not with the encroaching gales.

But if someone were out there, you were their only hope.

A quick look, just to ease your conscience.

Your shawl was thrown over hastily. A compass clutched in one hand and the trusty lantern that had seen you through the misty forest so many times before in the other.

"Not sure if I'd rather be right or wrong." Muttering to yourself as you began entry through the treeline, the wind nearly snatched your shawl straight from your shoulders. The storm would be upon the forest in the next hour, if not sooner. You would have to beat it.

It was only a few paces down the trail you'd beaten out from years of travel that a feather caught your eye.

Pure black, pearlescent sheen…nothing native to these parts. The effects of the decaying Silverwood trees poisoning any water and soil in their rotting graveyard caused most wildlife to avoid the forest. Not only that, but a quick examination of the feather revealed holes in the calamus, some filled with broken thread.

The feather belonged to a clothing article. Someone was most definitely present.

"Hello? If you can hear me…it's unsafe to be out here. A storm is coming!" There was no echo within the woods; the silt below your feet was already enough to absorb sound.

For a moment all you picked up on was the squelch of each step you took and the whistling of wind as it forced its way through branches.

And then a faint cough.

You stopped, cupping the back of your ears to try and hear any better over the wind.

Another cough, somewhere to your left. More like a choked gasp for air than anything else.

Pushing through the thicker brush of the off-trail, it only took a few paces to find a hunched-over figure, a mask obscuring their face and hand held close to what you would assume was their mouth.

"Are you okay? Do you need help?" Shoving your compass into your pocket, you reached out a hand.

The coughing got worse, this time jolting them enough to reveal their black-stained hands. They reached out, and you closed the distance by firmly taking hold of their calloused hand.

"I'm sorry, there's a storm coming, and we have to go. Can you still breathe? I can help you better when we're home." You squeezed their hand, and they squeezed back. You caught a nod, dramatized by the pointed cap on their head. The texture of the ink on their hand told you it was crude woodcruor, and if you had to guess, they'd gone and gotten themselves poisoned.

When you pulled, they kept pace with you, steps surprisingly well-footed and cautious despite their illness.

That was good, because the clouds were overhead and small droplets of water were already starting to fall. The two of you were lucky enough to make it under the roofed porch of your home moments before the downpour hit, safely inside the warmth of your home by the time the thunder rumbled overhead.

"Come now…" Pulling a chair out from the table, you urged them to sit and reached for their cloak.

The fabric was heavy, likely worsened by taking in some of the rain. You hooked it onto your coat tree in the meantime, turning back to the stranger.

"Did you ingest some of it? The woodcruor? It's poisonous to us humans—and witches, you know." Though you were frustrated with their actions, you needed to be far more focused on their survival. You brought a glass of water to them, ready to remove their mask to help them drink, only for their hand to grab your wrist.

They opened their mouth to talk, though a cough bringing more black ink to the corners of their mouth stopped them. Instead, they shook their head.

"You don't want to show your face? But—" You bit your tongue.

Witches worked in mysterious ways. But witch or not, you wouldn't want to cross any boundaries and cause mistrust.

"Here, just…" You moved their hand to the glass, making sure they were holding it tight before turning around. "Drink it and I won't look, okay? I'll get a cloth to help you clean up."

Striding back to the sink, you got the stove going under the kettle and grabbed a clean wooden bowl.

While the water boiled, you searched your cabinets, grabbing a large jar of powdered herbs made exactly for this situation. You were the frontline of the forest, and it'd be stupid not to have a remedy for woodcruor on hand at all times.

"That water is just to dilute whatever is already in you. I'm making medicine right now, though. That'll stop the coughing and hopefully stop any serious symptoms." Your hands worked, fast, pouring the boiling water over a paper liner filled with the herbs. Just enough to get the essence out. The other half of the cup was filled with fresh milk.

"I'm turning back around."

"Okay." Their voice was raspy, but you were pleased they could at least manage a word.

Taking the water from them, you replaced it with the steaming mug. They held it with both hands, enjoying the warmth soaking into their frigid fingers.

"It's like milk tea. The milk will help soothe the burning sensation and further dilute the woodcruor. The mixed herb tea is full of ingredients that directly neutralize its poisonous effects." You were going to turn around to give them privacy, though they brought the cup to their lips before you could.

Pale skin showed through the tassels falling from the eye of the mask. They looked to be about your age, but you couldn't discern much else from the glimpse.

"I was lucky you found me, wasn't I?" They sounded a whole lot better, the warm drink doing wonders for them. Your shoulders finally lost their tension, relieved they were likely to make a full recovery.

"Yes, very." Pulling a freshly washed cloth from a drawer, you mixed some of the boiled water with cold water until it came to a nice, warm temperature. "I don't know how you witches function, but there was no good reason for you to be out there alone."

Pushing the cloth into the water, you let it soak as you brought the bowl to the table, pulling a chair out in front of them.

Iguin watched you, though you couldn't tell, as you wrung the cloth of as much water as possible. Not just water, they noticed. There were bubbles of something oil-based on the surface.

"Could I see one of your hands, please?" You held yours out, unstained and skin soft enough to tell them you were no one magical. They relented, holding the cup in one hand and letting you guide the other towards the bowl.

The cloth passed over their palm, oil and water wetting the skin it passed over. At first it looked as though nothing had happened, but as the water began to evaporate and the oil permeated into the skin, the ink began to lift. Each pass of the cloth brought more ink out, slowly staining the clean water with a purple-black wash.

Their hands were stain-free for the first time in forever.

When they finished the tea, they offered you their other hand, which you gave the same treatment. Not only were their hands pristine, but the oil and gentle scrubbing of the cloth fibres softened their skin.

"I've never seen them so clean." They brought their hands close to their mask, observing them.

"Well. I'm glad I did a good job! Unfortunately I can't pull the stain from the nails. Keratin is a whole other ordeal." You got up, bringing the dishes and cloth to the sink to clean everything up.

Iguin remained seated, watching your back as you moved along.

From what they could gather, you thought they were some kind of novice witch. The thought was amusing, and they enjoyed playing along. Had you not been so entertaining, they might not have remained so docile.

Well, they were somewhat glad to have managed their temper. You'd genuinely managed to delight them with your kind gestures.

"You can stay here tonight. Between the storm and your state, I just wouldn't feel right sending you out there." They hummed, tilting their head to the side. If they wanted to leave, they could just stand up and teleport. Make you forget everything, too.

But the idea of playing dollhouse was too endearing.

Their gaze followed curiously when you reached back for their cape, folding it over your arm and passing them to open a set of stained glass doors. You opened both, whispering a brief 'ta-dah!' under your breath.

On the other side was a living room, walls lined with shelves of all sorts of books and scripts. There was a fireplace on the back wall, lit up in a humble flame.

When you urged them to follow, they stood up from the chair to join you. There was a grand wooden desk with all sorts of bottled ink and papers you'd clearly been writing on, all comfortably situated below a large window overlooking the divide between the forest and the plains.

"This is where I spend most of my time. And where you'll be sleeping."

A velvet couch faced the fireplace, with several quilts thrown over the back and arms of it and enough throw cushions to last several lifetimes. There was an armchair at its side, facing towards the coffee table between them and the fire. Most of the colours in the room were different, and yet each was complementary.

"I hope the couch is okay. I'll set you up with some proper linen…" As you spoke, you sorted the cushions and removed some of the quilts, tossing them onto the armchair to make more room.

"That would be appreciated. Thank you kindly." Iguin gave a curt bow, a laugh bubbling out of you in reply.

"Too formal! Much too formal! This is what I'm here for, technically." Sitting on the border. You were technically employed to stay here and keep watch. Not dissimilar from a lighthouse keeper or fire watcher. "I've done this before. Dealt with poisonings."

You sat on the armchair, pulling their cape over your lap as you held a needle and thread in the other.

"And I do have a guest room for these sorts of things. It's just—well, the last person who stayed here was an apprentice. A spell went awry…and, well, I'm still repairing what's left of the room." Iguin let you speak, watching as you mended a few of the holes in their cape.

You hadn't been asked, and yet you did it as if it were the only sensible thing to do.

The witch sat down on the couch, hands grazing the velvet fabric of the sofa cushions. They watched you closely as your hands made quick stitches along areas torn by their time in the woods.

"Magic sure has a tendency to bring about destruction, even when it doesn't mean to, doesn't it?" You spoke it so casually, and yet the smile on your face said you weren't upset with that.

"I would argue magic has always been destructive, a vibrant chaos which we use as a tool to do our bidding." Iguin leaned forward, a lilt to their voice that was nearly too obvious about their playful nature.

You pulled a thicker thread through the already hole-punched feather you found, attaching it to its original home along the collar of the cloak.

"Well, I suppose so." You cut the thread, taking the ends into your hands to begin a knot. "That's why I am glad witches go through such rigorous testing."

"Makes sense it's so guarded. Or at least, I'm glad it is. If anyone could use magic…" The knot was pulled tight, securing the feather in place. Grabbing a match from its box, you struck it alight to use its fire to singe the edges of the thread until nothing stuck out.

Iguin reached over, pinching the match flame with their own two fingers until it was smothered out.

You slapped their wrist.

"Be careful! You could burn yourself!" A sigh escaped your lips, playfully tossing the cape at them. They caught it, holding it out to admire your repairs.

"I could have done it with magic. Save you the effort." The stitching was near perfect but still left an obvious line. They caught your frown from the corner of their eye.

Right. You hadn't thought to consider your repair was crude compared to what magic could muster.

"But I do prefer it this way."

When their head tilted your way, you were able to catch a glimpse at their smile.

You couldn't help but smile back. It was reassuring to see that they were doing okay now and that you'd been able to find them before the storm. Having company out here wasn't so bad, even if you tended to enjoy time alone.

Hell, nobody that lived all the way out here wouldn't be a fan of being alone.

"Well, I'll leave you to rest. If you need anything, I'll be in my room. Bathroom is that door by the entrance we came in." Pulling yourself from the armrest with a stretch and an exaggerated inhale, you gathered your sewing supplies to put them away.

"Feel free to explore the shelves if you can't sleep, too." You were closing one of the doors, moments from closing the other before you peeked back in at them.

"Sleep well, strange witch!"

The door closed, leaving Iguin alone in the living room.

They were able to hear you in the kitchen for a moment, blowing out candles and ensuring the front door was locked. You only left when they could see all the lights had gone out on the other side of the glass, presumably to your room to sleep.

Iguin pulled the pointed hat from their head, lying back into the comfort of the cushions.

Their breath evened, relaxing to the ambient sound of rain and the fire crackling.

"I brought you those linens I mentioned—" They immediately jolted, slamming a cushion over their face so you wouldn't see it. The sudden movement brought on a coughing fit from the poison they'd already forgotten.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't see anything! I'll leave it by the door—so, so incredibly sorry!" You nearly slammed the door shut this time, the rushed footsteps back down the hall signalling your retreat.

Iguin's sigh eventually turned into a low laugh.

'Goodnight, strange girl.'

Author's Note ── Honestly I am more in a state of 'I want others to write this character, too' just because it is sooo hard to personify someone who, despite being a main character, has revealed so little of their identity and personality.

This could be viewed as a prequel to my other work about them, Cognitive Dissonance.

Wind rattled the pane of the window in its socket, adding to the static racket of rain as it hit the metal roof.

Living in the hills outside of the town was nice when the weather was forgiving, but with no city walls to protect you from the torrential downpour, your home was forced to take the brunt of nature's rage.

You were lucky that you loved storms. Anyone else might have been afraid the house would blow away, but you were too busy thinking about what good the rain would do for your garden. Oh! And the rain barrels would be full, which meant you wouldn't have to go to the river for at least a quarter moon!

Striking the match along the abrasive strip, you quickly used it to light a candle and tossed the rest of the match into the hearth. The flame exploded into a flurry of sparks the moment it met the bundle of wool and wood shavings serving as kindle between the logs.

There was an additional serenity that came with storms. No one expected you to leave your home in this weather. You could stay in and take a moment to yourself.

Knock knock.

The sound of thunder rumbled through your bones, the sound expected after the bright flash of light filled the living room. It was so loud you were almost certain it could have been roaring right at your—

Knock! Knock!

This time you were certain of it, turning to the door, which was fighting against the wind and its locks.

Someone was outside? In all this rain?

Pulling the quilt from your lap, you were quick to push off of the couch, rushing to the door. If someone had come from town, then it must have been an emergency, or someone had gotten lost, and your home was the only shelter for kilometers.

The moment you unlocked the door, it swung open, forced by the wind, which hit hard enough to steal your breath.

The rain was practically sidewise, hitting your skin through the door.

No one was there.

Wasting no more time in an attempt to prevent your house from earning itself a puddle, you pushed the door back using your entire body weight until the lock slid back into its holster.

"That was rather pointless…" Your voice trailed off, looking down at your—now soaked—legs.

"I wouldn't say so." A voice from behind you pulled a scream from your throat, immediately turning to press you back against the door.

Someone stood not a meter away from you. A brimmed hat on their head and tasseled eye hiding their visage. The feathered cape hanging off their shoulders was ever strange, though the fact that they were perfectly dry was stranger.

"Who are…How did…" Something in your head felt heavy, and your heart was beating so fast you were certain it couldn't be healthy. "Iguin? You're home already?"

Behind the tassels, a smile grew, their arms opening to accept you into a hug. All the heavy fabric they wore was like a comforting blanket you just wanted to sink into. They were warm, too. So warm you didn't notice your wet clothes were suddenly dry.

"It's hard to stay away for long." Their head cocked to the side, letting your hand smooth along their jaw to cup their face.

"Had I known you'd be back, I would have made dinner or tidied up at the very least." Letting go of you once you started to part from the embrace, they watched as you opened the kitchen cabinets, searching through what you had available.

"No need to worry about such things, my darling. I stopped to eat right before I arrived." Right as you were about to point, they reached into their cape. "And of course I brought you something, too."

Unwrapping the parchment paper in their hands revealed a powdered-sugar-dusted pastry, which rapidly caught your attention.

The way you practically bounced back towards them was a treat in and of itself. Your eagerness in something as simple as baked flour and yeast comes from a kind of innocence the witch lacked. Something they wanted to just bottle up and keep all to themself.

Though, one could argue they were already doing that.

"Can we have it now?"

"There is no 'we.'" Iguin set the wrapped pastry into your hands, closing your fingers around it and sealing it with a kiss on the back of your hand. The fabric tassels tickled your knuckles, leaving your cheeks rosy.

"Please, Iguin! I shouldn't have this all to myself. Pastries are a delicacy." Your hesitance to accept the gift was shown with how you kept your hands extended, not yet accepting the treat as your own.

"It is truly the least I could do. You earned it for being so patient, didn't you?" This time they turned away, pulling the cape from their shoulders as they neared the couch by the fireplace.

Watching them shrug off all that fabric truly changed their appearance. It was so bulky that it broadened their shoulders and gave them a far more intimidating appearance than they needed. After all, your Iguin was nothing short of a sweetheart.

"I suppose...Thank you." Bringing the sweet along with you, you found your spot on the sofa, shuffling until you were comfortable on the cushions. Their weight on the other side made everything sit perfectly.

"Ouph." The air escaped you when they blanketed their cape over you, nearly drowning you in the feathers along the neckline. You laughed between blowing the feathers away from your mouth. "I might boil between this and the fireplace."

"I sure hope not. Whatever would I do then?" You could hear the smile in their words, prompting you to kick a foot at them. They caught your ankle before you made any contact, to which you begrudgingly pulled your leg back with a huff.

Underneath, you were able to grade your hands along the inner lining of the cape, feeling the ribs and ripples of corduroy.

It smelled like them. Old books, crisp air, and metallic ink. It was heavy, so heavy you weren't sure why they chose to wear it all the time. It seemed like more of a pain than anything.

"I can barely move, you know." You slowly hid your face in the folds of fabric, muffling the end of your sentence. In some way you were trying to prove that your words were only playful.

"Perhaps I put it there so you couldn't escape, hm?" Iguin chuckled as they lifted a book from the side table, flipping back to where they'd left off.

You remained silent for a moment, watching them with a gaze of fondness.

"I wouldn't run from you, Iguin."

The witch paused their reading.

"Is that so?" Though they tried to play off the effect of your words, it took them a noticeable moment to get back to reading.

That heft of the cape had become a comfort. Like layers of fabric holding you down to your bed, begging you to stay in their hold and drift off to sleep. The rain had become background noise, mixing with the crackle and pop of the fireplace. Your partner was by your side, a book already propped open in one hand while their other rested in reach of you.

It wasn't worth fighting back the weight of your eyelids, which lowered with the slipping of your consciousness. You were fast asleep in no time, curled up below the cape with the parchment-wrapped pastry still cocooned in your hands.

The book closed with the tensing of their fingers, placed on the side table so they could lean over your resting form.

"Pulchritudinous. Beyond compare." Iguin hummed, their voice lower than a whisper in fear of waking their beloved.

Seeing you bundled under their clothing was such an endearing sight. While they hadn't planned on staying here long, it felt too cruel to take the comfort away from you now.

It was only when the fire began to die out and darkness sunk into the room that they finally took the chance to move you. Not in any way detectable; you were on the couch one moment and on your bed the next. Their cape was replaced with two of the larger quilts available, and your treat was left on the coffee table for tomorrow.

Iguin remained a moment longer, floating over your chest, listening to your light breathing and occasional shuffling.

Leaving paradise with you meant going back to their busy schedule on the peninsula. Back to the real world, where plans were quickly unfolding and they could only keep time waiting so long.

One last kiss, pressed to your temple, and they were gone in a cloud of thick black smoke.

Their thumb pressed the cork back into the top of the globe, re-inscribing the seal that protected it from breaking.

Inside was your cabin, miniature and protected, the fake rain having settled since they'd kept the globe still for so long during their visit. You were safe in there, where no one could find or save you.

Iguin gave the orb a gentle shake, stirring up the crystals that form the rain, restarting the cycle of rain befalling your home. You'd have no reason to leave so long as the storm raged.

"Sleep well, lover." They kissed the side of the globe as one last sign of admiration and slipped it back into the corduroy-lined pocket of their cape.

Author's Note ── No one asked for this but I wanted it, so...yknow. It is so hard writing for a character that I both adore and know so little about. I really hope we see more Iguin in the manga.

The room went quiet. You blinked. Qifrey looked up from the tea kettle. Olruggio sat down in his chair.

"…Yeah. I guess."

Tetia blinked. "What do you mean?"

Olruggio shrugged. "We’ve known each other for a long time. Long enough that we stopped needing to ask for things."

He pointed lazily at you. "She knows how I take my tea."

Then pointed at Qifrey. "He knows what she likes for breakfast."

Then he pointed at himself. "And I know where he hides emergency sweets."

Qifrey immediately turned toward him. "…Olruggio."

Olruggio grinned. The girls giggled. But you had gone quiet. The words echoed in your head. Then suddenly. A small image flashed in your mind.

A younger version of yourself. Three figures sitting together beneath a tree. Books scattered around. Someone laughing. Someone complaining. Warm sunlight. You blinked.

"…[name]?" Qifrey’s voice pulled you back.

You looked up at him. "Hm?"

He looked concerned. "Are you alright?"

You hesitated. "…I think so." Your brows furrowed. "I just…" You paused. "I think I remembered something."

Everyone immediately perked up.

"Really?!" Tetia gasped.

You nodded slowly. "It wasn’t much." You laughed sheepishly. "Just a feeling."

You looked toward Qifrey. Then toward Olruggio. Then smiled.

"But…" Your gaze softened. "…I think we’ve always been happy together."

The room became quiet. Qifrey froze for half a second. Then smiled. Almost relieved. Olruggio leaned back in his chair.

"…Yeah." He yawned. "We have."

And although the memory itself had disappeared once more, the feeling remained. Like home.

Later that afternoon, Olruggio decided to restock on tea leaves. The atelier had nearly run out after the last few weeks. Not that anyone was surprised. Between Qifrey’s worrying, your recovery, and the girls’ endless chatter, everyone had been drinking more tea than usual.

You volunteered to come along. The walk itself was quiet. You and Olruggio had never really been the type to fill every silence with conversation. Eventually, Olruggio crouched down and began clipping leaves into a basket.

You did the same. For a while, there was nothing but the sound of rustling leaves and distant birds. Then you spoke.

"…Olly?"

"Hm?"

You hesitated. Then smiled sheepishly. "Can I ask you something?"

He glanced over. "…Go ahead."

You plucked another leaf. "…What were we like?"

Olruggio blinked. You looked down at your basket.

"I know everyone keeps telling me stories...But…" You frowned. "I want to know what we were actually like."

Olruggio stared at you for a moment. Then sighed. "…Chaotic."

You laughed. "That’s it?"

"Mhm." He clipped another stem. "You and Qifrey are the reason I have gray hairs."

You burst into laughter. "You two were always coming up with ideas and I’d always somehow get dragged into them."

You smiled. "…Did I really do that?"

"Constantly."

Then his expression softened. "But you were....are dependable." He shrugged. "Both of you are." He glanced at you. "You never leave people behind."

Your smile slowly faded into something softer. "…Really?"

He nodded. "Really." Then he smirked. "You were also stubborn."

"I still am."

"You absolutely are." You both laughed.

Then your expression turned thoughtful.

"…What about me and Qifrey?"

Olruggio immediately looked away. "…What about you two?"

You shrugged. "I don’t know."

You fiddled with a leaf between your fingers. "Everyone keeps looking at us strangely. Like there’s something obvious that I’m missing."

Olruggio snorted. "…There is."

Your eyes widened. "…What?"

He looked at you for a moment. Then smiled to himself. "…You always found your way back to each other."

You blinked. "…That’s all?"

"Mhm." He clipped another branch. "No matter where life took either of you. Your jobs. Your travels. Your responsibilities. You’d always come back." He glanced at you. "…Some people just fit together."

Your heart skipped. Again. That familiar sensation. The one that kept happening around him. Around Qifrey. Around the atelier itself. Like there was a thread connecting all of you.

Then another memory flickered. Three younger witches walking together. One in front. Two behind. Laughter. The Silver Night Festival. Then. Gone.

You stopped walking. Olruggio noticed immediately. "…Another one?"

You nodded.Small. "…Another one."

He hummed. "…Good."

You looked at him. "…Good?"

He shrugged. "The memories are coming back." Then he smirked. "…We’ll just annoy you until then."

You laughed. "…That sounds about right."

Olruggio grinned. "…See?"

"You do remember us a little."

And for the first time since waking up…You realized something. Even if the memories never fully returned…The love was still here. Just waiting to be rediscovered.

It was late afternoon. The atelier was unusually quiet. The girls were busy with their studies upstairs. Olruggio was somewhere in his workshop.

And you were alone in the living room lost in thought. At some point, without even realizing it, you had unconsciously slid off the couch and onto the floor.

Your back rested against the cushion. Your head leaned back. Eyes fixed on the ceiling. A habit your body apparently remembered before your mind did.

You sighed. Your hand slowly rested over your chest. That feeling again. That incessant nagging feeling. You were beginning to think you knew what it was.

But…You were scared to call it by its name. What if you were wrong?What if this wasn’t love? What if what you were feeling wasn’t affection but guilt? Guilt that you couldn’t remember him. Guilt that he remembered everything while you remembered nothing. Guilt that someone who seemed so important to your life had become a stranger.

You sighed again. Then suddenly. A tuft of white hair blocked your view of the ceiling.

"What’s gotten you thinking this hard for?"

You blinked. Then your face immediately grew warm. Like you’d been caught doing something embarrassing. You sat up slightly.

"Oh." You laughed awkwardly. "Just trying to recall some memories, that’s all."

Qifrey smiled. Then sat beside you on the floor. Your shoulders brushed together. Your heart immediately skipped. Again. There it was. That feeling.

Your fingers instinctively tightened around the fabric of your skirt. Qifrey noticed. But said nothing. Instead, he leaned back against the couch beside you.

"You don’t need to rush."

You looked at him. "Huh?"

He smiled softly. "You don’t have to force the memories to come back."

The room became quiet. The fire lamp nearby crackled gently. You looked down at your hands.

"…I know." Then your smile faltered slightly. "But…" You hesitated. "…I feel bad."

Qifrey turned toward you. "You do?"

You nodded. "You’re the only one I don’t remember.” Your voice grew quieter. "I remember pieces of everyone else. Little feelings.Little moments, but when it comes to you…" you laughed sadly. "…It’s blank."

Silence. Then, without warning—He leaned his head against your shoulder. You stopped breathing. Your entire body froze. Your eyes widened.

Qifrey simply closed his eye. Comfortable. Like this was the most natural thing in the world. Then he smiled.

"…That’s okay."

Your heart was beating so loudly now. You were sure he could hear it.

He continued. "If you don’t remember those memories…" He opened his eye and looked ahead. "…I’ll remember them for you."

Your breath caught. Then he smiled again. Softly. The same smile that somehow always made your chest feel warm.

"All you have to do is ask."

The room became quiet again. You stared at him. At the white strands of hair brushing against your shoulder. At the person who somehow always made your heart race. And then, that strange feeling inside your chest shifted.

Not guilt. You were beginning to realize that it had never been guilt at all because guilt didn’t make your heart beat faster. Guilt didn’t make you seek someone out. Guilt didn’t make you want to sit a little closer.

You slowly smiled. "…Okay."

Qifrey looked up at you. You looked away, suddenly shy. "Then…" You laughed softly.

"…I’ll ask you about them one day."

Qifrey chuckled. "You can ask me every day if you want."

Your face immediately warmed and somehow the idea didn’t sound bad at all not one bit.

Dinner that evening was loud. Very loud. The girls were talking over one another while Qifrey occasionally reminded them to chew their food first before speaking. Olruggio looked one second away from falling asleep into his soup.

You laughed softly. Maybe this was why you liked being here so much.

Then Tetia suddenly gasped. "Oh!"

Everyone looked at her.

"We should all go to the Silver Night Festival again this year!"

You blinked. The Silver Night Festival. For some reason, hearing those words no longer felt unfamiliar.

Your lips slowly curved upward. "…I’d like that."

“…”

“But I don’t know why.”

Olruggio’s heart sank. His eyes widened slightly. The relic. An exchange. It took something precious. Of course.

It had taken him. Your memories of Qifrey. He rubbed his face in disbelief.

Then sighed. “…What did you wish for?”

You blinked. “My wish?”

He nodded. You frowned. Then thought. Nothing. Your expression slowly shifted into confusion.

“…I don’t remember.”

Olruggio froze. “You don’t remember?”

You shook your head. “No.”

Meanwhile, the room had gone quiet. Qifrey was still standing near the door. Tea untouched. Hands frozen around the tray.

He quietly walked over and placed the tea on the nearby table. His movements were precise. Almost robotic.

Then he offered a smile. Small and polite. “Excuse me for a moment.”

And he left. The door gently clicked shut behind him.

Qifrey leaned against his bedroom door. Then covered his face with both hands. He exhaled shakily.

“…This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

His heart ached. More than he thought possible. He knew he should be happy. You were alive.You were safe.

But somehow this felt worse. Because you looked at him the same way strangers did.

He froze. His hand slowly moved toward his missing eye. Something was wrong. Something was missing.

The familiar sprout poking out his eye socket. Gone.

His breathing stopped. He immediately hurried toward the bathroom. He stood in front of the mirror. Then slowly removed his glasses and lifted his hair.

He stared. Then reached toward his face. His fingers trembled.

“…This can’t be.”

He leaned closer to the mirror. Still unable to believe it.

“…No…She couldn’t have known.”

Then a memory surfaced. That night. His office. Olruggio sitting across from him. The silverwood. The memory erasure.

Something else. At the crack of the door. The edge of a familiar cloak. Your cloak.

He remembered pausing. Thinking he was imagining things. Thinking perhaps you’d simply walked by.

His eyes widened. “…No.” His breath hitched. “She heard.”

He slowly covered his mouth. Then his thoughts began racing.

You heard. You knew. You knew. And you never said a word. Not once.

Then another memory surfaced. Your confession.

“I have loved you, Qifrey.” Your sad smile. “I’m sorry.”

His knees nearly gave out. Because suddenly everything made sense. You hadn’t reunited the Basiliskos to stop the Brimhats.

You hadn’t done it because you were curious. You hadn’t even done it for yourself. You had done it for him.

And in exchange…The Basiliskos had taken him away from you. Qifrey slowly sat down on the bathroom floor.

He was healed. His eye is restored. The silverwood is gone. At the cost of the person he loved forgetting he ever existed.

He laughed once. Softly. Disbelieving. Then lowered his head into his hands.

“…You idiot.”

He wasn’t sure whether he was talking about you or himself.

The doctor from Kalhn arrived not long after. He ran several examinations. Checked your eyes. Your pulse. Asked you a few simple questions. The doctor scribbled something down. Then nodded.

"Everything appears normal." Everyone immediately looked at him. "Physically, she's perfectly healthy."

Then he looked at you. "Continue monitoring her. If anything changes, contact me immediately."

Everyone thanked him before he left. The girls, however, immediately swarmed you.

"Do you really not remember Master Qifrey?"

"Do you remember us?"

"What about your adventures?"

"Do you remember your favorite tea?"

Questions flew one after another. You laughed nervously. Qifrey smiled softly at them. Then looked toward Olruggio.

"Olruggio."

He immediately understood. "...Yeah."

The two quietly left the room. The kitchen was silent. Qifrey stood by the counter. Olruggio sat at the table. Arms crossed. Waiting.

Then Qifrey slowly removed his glasses.

Olruggio froze. Qifrey lifted his hair. Then looked at him. The chair creaked beneath him.

"...What?" Olruggio stood up immediately.

"The silverwood is gone."

"What are you talking abou?"

Qifrey recalled the night he had to erase Olruggio's memory and explained his connection with the Brimhats and about the Silverwood seed.

"So she heard...and she didn't say anything..." Olruggio aggressively ran both hands through his hair.

"Seriously?!" He threw his head back dramatically. "Both of you just..." He gestured wildly. "I've been watching you two dance around each other." He pointed towards Qifrey.

"Then somehow you escalate it into stealing ancient relics, breaking into Brimhat hideouts, using forbidden wish artifacts and sacrificing your memories?!"

He dropped his hands onto the table. "I can't with you two.You are both idiots."

Olruggio sighed and slumped into his chair. "...So." He looked at Qifrey. "What now?"

Silence. Qifrey stared toward the ceiling. Toward your room. Then he smiled softly. The same smile he'd always had whenever he talked about you.

"Now..." He chuckled quietly. "I suppose I make her fall in love with me all over again."

Olruggio stared at him for a moment. Then scoffed. "...As if she wasn't already in love with you for years."

Qifrey's smile faltered. His chest tightened. Olruggio leaned his cheek against his palm.

"Honestly. You two have spent so much time loving each other that neither of you noticed." He shook his head. "Then she goes and sacrifices her memories for you."

He pointed at Qifrey. "So don't waste this."

Qifrey was silent. Then he looked down at his feet. "...I won't."

Olruggio sighed. "Good." Then he narrowed his eyes at him. "And for the love of everything, don't wait another ten years to confess this time."

That earned a small laugh from Qifrey. "...Noted."

Olruggio grumbled. "I'm serious."

"I am not surviving another ancient relic catastrophe because the two of you can't communicate."

Qifrey laughed quietly again. Then his gaze drifted back toward the stairs. Toward your room. His expression softened. "...This time, I'll tell her."

A few days had passed since everything happened. Life at the atelier slowly settled back into its familiar rhythm. The girls resumed their studies. Olruggio returned to his usual routine.

You had a report to make. No matter what happened, it was still your responsibility. That morning, you and Qifrey headed toward the Great Hall together.

Qifrey was already planning to visit anyway. He had paperwork to submit regarding his apprentices' studies and some progress reports. The walk there was peaceful. Every so often, you'd glance at him.

Something about him still felt strangely familiar. Like a song you knew but couldn't remember the lyrics to. But whenever you tried to hold onto the feeling, it slipped away. Eventually, the two of you reached the Great Hall.

"I'll meet you back here," Qifrey said.

You nodded. Then headed toward Beldaruit's office. The old witch was already expecting you.

"...Master Beldaruit."

He looked up from his desk. "You've returned."

You nodded. Then quietly placed your notes onto his desk as well as a bag full of the relics you have studied. He looked at you as if he already knew everything. The kidnapping. The Brimhats. The Basiliskos. The wish. The relic's disappearance.

He folded his hands together. "...I already know."

You froze.

He sighed. "A pre-pact relic was activated. You were involved. You used it."

He looked at you but there was no anger in his eyes. No disappointment. No disdain. Only understanding. As though he already knew why. As though if he had been in your shoes…he might have done the same.

You lowered your gaze. "...I'm sorry."

Beldaruit shook his head. "I am not here to judge why you did what you did...but rules exist for a reason."

The room grew quiet. Then he spoke.

"You will be stripped of your position."

Your heart squeezed but you nodded. "...I understand."

Truthfully…you had already accepted that outcome the moment you made your decision inside those ruins.

Beldaruit nodded once. "You must also understand how fortunate you are."

Your eyes lifted. He stared at you.

"Many witches would have had their memory erased."

You froze. A chill ran down your spine.

Then Beldaruit sighed. "...But no such punishment has been decided." He glanced toward the window. "As far as I am concerned, you have already paid a price."

Your chest tightened. Then he gently waved a hand.

"You are dismissed."

You stood up. Then paused.

"Oh." Beldaruit looked back at you. "...Say hello to Qifrey for me."

You blinked. Then nodded hesitantly. "...I will." You left his office and immediately found Qifrey waiting outside.

He looked up the moment he saw you. "How did it go?"

You smiled softly. "I was relieved of my duties."

His expression immediately shifted. Concern filled his face. But you shook your head before he could say anything.

"It's okay." You laughed softly. "I expected as much."

He was quiet. Then nodded. You looked down at your hands.

"Oh. Beldaruit said hi."

That earned a small chuckle from him. Both of you started walking. You fidgeted with your fingers. Suddenly feeling nervous.

"Qifrey?"

"Yes?"

You looked up at him. "...Can I stay at your atelier for a while?"

He blinked. You quickly continued.

"I just...I don't really know where to go right now...or what to do."

For the first time in years your future was uncertain. You no longer had your title. You no longer had your job. You no longer had the path you had built for yourself.

Qifrey stared at you for a moment. Then he smiled. Warm. Gentle. The kind of smile that, for some reason, made your chest feel less heavy.

"You can stay for as long as you want."

Your eyes widened slightly. Then you smiled back.

"...Really?"

He chuckled softly. "Of course."

Then he looked ahead. Toward home. Toward the atelier. Toward a future neither of you quite understood yet.

"...There's already a place for you there."

You blinked. "A place for me?"

He nodded. "You've always had one."

Your footsteps slowed ever so slightly. Always?

For some reason that word made your chest tighten. Like there was a memory hiding just out of reach. Something warm. Something precious but before you could grasp it, the feeling slipped away.

You looked over at him. He was smiling softly and somehow you found yourself smiling back.

"...Thank you."

Qifrey chuckled. "No need to thank me." Then he adjusted his cloak and continued walking. "Besides…"

He glanced at you for a brief moment. "It would feel strange not having you there."

Your heart skipped a beat. Again. You frowned slightly. That was happening a lot lately around him. You weren't sure why but you didn't dislike it and that answer alone was enough for now.

By the time the two of you returned to the atelier, the girls were already home. Laughter echoed from upstairs. Somewhere in the distance, Tetia was trying to convince Coco to sneak an extra dessert before dinner.

"...Qifrey?"

He turned around. "Yes?"

You fiddled with your fingers. "What can I do to help?"

He blinked. You smiled awkwardly.

"I don't want to feel like a freeloader."

He stared at you for a moment. Then smiled. "...A freeloader?"

You nodded. "I'll be staying here for a while now." You looked around the atelier. "It's only fair that I help out somehow."

Qifrey hummed thoughtfully. Then he rested a finger against his chin.

"Well...You could help the girls study."

You immediately nodded. "Easy."

He smiled. "You could also help tend the garden."

"Done."

"Cook with me."

"Gladly."

"Organize books."

"Sure."

He chuckled. "You seem very eager."

You laughed. "I'm serious. I don't want to just sit around doing nothing."

Qifrey stared at you for a moment. Then his expression softened.

"You know...You've already been helping."

You blinked. "...I have?"

He nodded. "The girls adore you. They're more excited to study. They've become curious about relics and Olruggio has complained less."

A moment passed. Then he added, "...Slightly."

You laughed. "I don't believe that."

"Neither do I."

Both of you laughed. Then he looked around the atelier. The place felt full. Comfortable. Lived in.

Then he looked back at you. "...Truthfully, you don't have to earn your place here."

You blinked. His smile was gentle.

"If you want to help, then help because you want to. Not because you think you owe us something."

Your heart skipped a beat again. That weird feeling. That same warmth that kept appearing whenever he spoke to you. You placed a hand over your chest.

"...Right." Then you smiled. "Then I'll help because I want to."

Qifrey smiled back. "Good."

Then, before either of you could say anything else, the girls came running downstairs.

"Master [name]!" Tetia grabbed your arm. "Can you help us with our homework?!"

You laughed. "Looks like I already have my first task."

Qifrey chuckled. "Seems so."

And somehow without realizing it the atelier had already begun to feel like home again.

Days passed quietly at the atelier. You slowly settled into a routine. In the mornings, you'd help prepare breakfast. Then help the girls study.

Sometimes you'd organize books. Other times you'd help Olruggio tend to the greenhouse. It was peaceful. Strangely peaceful. Almost as though you had done this before.

One morning, you walked into the kitchen still rubbing the sleep from your eyes. A cup of tea was already waiting for you. You blinked. Qifrey stood by the stove.

He looked over. "Good morning."

You sat down. "Good morning."

You stared at the tea. Then at him. "How did you know this was my favorite?"

Qifrey paused. Then blinked. "...I did?"

You nodded. He looked at the cup. Then smiled sheepishly. "I suppose I answered that without thinking."

You laughed. "That's impressive."

He chuckled. "...I guess it is."

A few days later, the two of you found yourselves reorganizing books together. You handed one to him. He took it. Then smiled.

"When we were apprentices, you used to complain about how heavy these books were."

You laughed. "I did?"

"Mhm and then you'd make Olruggio carry them."

You burst into laughter. "That sounds exactly like something I'd do."

He laughed too. Then he paused.

"Actually. You'd usually apologize afterward."

You smiled. "Good."

He looked at you for a moment. "...You've always been kind."

You felt your face warm. "...Thank you."

Another day, the girls had run off to play. You and Qifrey sat in the garden watering flowers. Neither of you were speaking. Yet somehow. The silence wasn't awkward.

You looked over at him. Then frowned. "...Can I ask something?"

He smiled. "Of course."

"Why do I always look for you first?"

He blinked. Then his expression softened. "...Do you?"

You nodded. "When something happens. When I'm confused. When I want to tell someone something." You looked down. "...It's always you."

Qifrey stared at you for a moment. Then smiled. A little sadly. "...I don't know." Even though he did. Very much so.

You smiled anyway. "...I don't mind it."

And for some reason. His smile grew a little bigger.

Later that evening, everyone sat around the dinner table.

"Oh!" Tetia gasped. "Master Qifrey always saved your seat!"

Qifrey nearly choked. "Tetia."

Coco perked up. "And Master Qifrey worried every time you went on expeditions."

Richeh added, "And he smiled differently around you."

Qifrey covered his face. "...Richeh."

You blinked. Then looked at him. "...Really?"

He slowly lowered his hands. His ears were slightly pink. "...The girls exaggerate."

Olruggio just rolled his eyes and kept eating while Agott just kept quiet.

The girls immediately protested. "We do not!"

You laughed. His embarrassment made your heart flutter. There was that feeling. That warmth. That familiarity. Like there was a thread connecting you to him. One you couldn't see. Yet somehow always felt.

You stared at him for a moment too long. He noticed.

"...What is it?"

You smiled. Then shook your head. "...Nothing."

After sifting a comb through his hair to clear out any knots, you set it down and stroke his hair one last time before getting up. Thinking you were both about to head to sleep, Jamil looks up at you, confused. “Where are you going, baby? Washroom?” 

You fight back the smile threatening to appear on your face and maintain a neutral look, eyes meeting Jamil’s inquisitive ones, “Hm, no. I think I’m gonna head back to my dorm tonight.” Jamil cocks one eyebrow, but sighs, “It’s late. I’ll walk you to your dorm." Huh, that was easier than you thought. Still, you’re mildly disappointed that he accepted your excuse so quickly…

Nonetheless, you move on to the second phase of your plan! “No, it’s alright, I’ll call you if I need anything.” You move to gather your things, and slowly move to the door, waiting for his response. Looking from where he’s lying on his bed, “If you wish. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” 

You set your hand on the doorknob, and bid him goodbye one last time, “Okay, I’m off Jamil!” 

“Mm, take care. Quiet on your way out, you might wake Kalim.” He stands up from the floor to move to his bed, getting himself ready to sleep. However, you aren’t satisfied with his response, because you couldn’t even execute the last part of your prank! “Jamil, I’m going now.” 

“Are you forgetting something?” Oh, is he falling for your bait? You turn around and meet his eyes once again, “No, I think I have everything I need.” Despite your words, Jamil switches his gaze to his table, where your phone is lying. “You have no more need for your phone then?” He smirks, amused by your forgetfulness. You, on the other hand, are utterly…flabbergasted. No way I actually forgot something?? So he didn’t fall for anything then???

You still make an effort to look composed, but Jamil notices how red the tips of your ears are getting, “Ah, that, I didn’t need it, but thanks for reminding me.” He chuckles at your indifference, “So, how were you planning to ‘call me if you needed anything?’ Did you plan to send me a message by pigeon?” Jamil smirks at you teasingly, his handsome features making your heart skip a beat…but no! You mustn't lose sight of your goal! 

“Aha! I was just testing you, you know…” you walk over to grab your phone from his desk, “Okay, I’m going for real this time. See you tomorrow Jamil!” You send him a little wave bye, before facing the door yet again. “Be safe, see you.” This is the third time he’s telling you goodbye, and his usual “I love you” is missing. Pranks aside, you feel like you’re the one getting tricked because he genuinely just forgot to say it three times…or so you think. 

Deciding to give up on teasing your boyfriend, you fold, saying, “‘Kay see you, I love you Jamil!”

“Yes, sleep well. Don’t run into trouble on your way out.” 

“Mhm, love you~.“

This time, he doesn’t say anything, and only hums in response. Now you just feel like you played yourself. You’ve already said it, so why isn’t he saying it back! 

“Jamil, why aren’t you saying it back?” You walk to stand in front of where he’s lying on his bed. Your boyfriend sits up, his face holding a neutral expression. However…you notice a mischievous glint in his eyes when he speaks, “Hm? Say what back, baby?” 

Ugh, he knows! 

“How did you find out?! I literally just thought of pranking you minutes ago, right before I faked my exit!!” Exasperated, you violently sit yourself at the edge of his bend, arms crossed. Jamil is tempted to push your buttons a bit more, but decides to end this. “Prefect, I knew the moment you stood up that you were up no good. Might I remind you that you have no choice but to sleep here, since Grim blew up Ramshackle the other day?” Thanks to your blue-flamed cat, Ramshackle had to be closed down for repairs for a few days, and Jamil offered his room for you to stay in for the time being…so…how’d you overlook that vital fact again?

“Blah, blah, just say you don’t love me anymore!” You huff, move your head away from him in an over-the-top manner, playing up the theatrics to cover up your embarrassment. When you peak an eye out to look at him, he’s already sitting next to you. “Don’t act angry with me now, you started this. Now that you’ve had your fun, let’s go to bed, hmm?” 

You look away, continuing to ignore him, but the hand on your chin forces you to meet his gaze again. He sighs, clearly tired from the day's events, but still chooses to indulge you, “Won’t you come to bed now, baby? I love you~” he teases, crooning into your ear. 

Hm. You can always try pranking him next time if it ends like this. 

You: Jade, are u there?  I wanna make truffle pasta, do u have extra?

Jade: Hello, Prefect.  It appears I do have some at hand. If you’re free, I can drop by your dorm and give it to you tonight. 

You: YAY  You’re a lifesaver Jade!!

Jade: Fufu, it is no problem, my dear.  I’ll see you later, I love you ~

Seeing his last reply, an idea pops into your head. It’s rare for him to tell you he loves you in words, but the opportunity to prank him has already presented itself…is it so wrong to plot against the master schemer? 

You close your phone and begin prepping the ingredients to cook the dish. Unbeknownst to you, your phone buzzes. 

Jade: Prefect? 

It’s unusual for you to leave him hanging, seeing as you usually return his affections without another thought. It‘s no matter, Jade thinks, if you’ve forgotten, he’ll just have to get a response from you in person. 

He smiles to himself, thinking of the adorable expression you make whenever you tell him you love him. He finds that he looks forward to hearing it from you again. 

At the appointed time, Jade prepares the mushrooms and makes his way to Ramshackle dorm, unaware of the little scheme you’ve made against him…

Your plan was simple, pretend to forget to tell Jade “I love you,” and act clueless towards his affections. It shouldn’t be too difficult if you set your mind to it, you’ll just have to somehow muster the resolve to defend yourself from his attacks…(read: one pout from your eel and you fold).

Hearing him knock on your door, you welcome him in as usual, “Jade! Thank you again for the mushrooms–I can try a new recipe now, hehe.” Seeing as he makes no move to come in or be on his way, you tell him, “Well, I’m sure you’re busy, so I’ll see you later.” You stand on your tiptoes to plant a kiss to his cheek, leaving him stunned. 

Eyes wide open, Jade composes himself and sets a hand to his chin. “My, Prefect, you’re acting rather bold this evening. However, there is one thing you’re forgetting,” he muses, taking a step towards Ramshackle’s lounge. “It seems you’ve left our last exchange…unfinished.”

Smiling to yourself, you look at him with innocent eyes, “Hm? Is there something I missed? I’m sorry, I got caught up with cooking the pasta…” 

“It is quite alright, it only presents me an opportunity to hear it from you now, fufu.” Jade hides behind his hand as he chuckles, looking at you expectantly. You didn’t expect him to be so direct, but that’s Azul’s right hand for you, you guess. “Hear what exactly? Do you want me to sing you something? Lalalalala–” you begin, but your boyfriend quickly presses a finger to your mouth. 

“Oh, how you wound me, my dear. It seems that you haven’t picked up your phone, I presume?” He takes a step closer toward you, “I love you, dear Prefect~.” 

“Aw Jade, that’s so sweet of you!” you smile, moving away and entering the kitchen, “I’m not sure what you want, but would you like to cook with me tonight?” you offer, placing the mushrooms on the counter. 

Somehow, Jade winds up at your side, acting as your sous chef for the evening. Using his skills from managing Mostro Lounge, you find that the truffle pasta is done without a hitch. Setting the food on the table, the both of you sit down to enjoy your masterpiece. However, by the way he’s looking at you, it seems like this eel still wants something…

“Prefect, wouldn’t you say that we’ve done quite a wonderful job this time? I myself am looking forward to tasting the fruits of our efforts. Don’t you think so?” 

“I know, this looks so good!” you twirl your pasta around your fork and feed it to Jade, “Here, try some!” Used to your antics, your eel opens his mouth to try the dish.

“Mm, I might have to tell Azul to add this to Mostro Lounge’s menu, fufu. As always, I do love your cooking, Prefect.”

“Hehe, I’m just glad you like it!”

“I must say, I also love the way you look tonight. I find you in your loungewear utterly adorable.” You don’t know how he’s saying this was a straight face, but it makes your heart race a little…

“And Prefect,” he adds, “I do have an appreciation for your skill. It seems I find myself falling in love with you more after this evening.”

You respond with a very elegant, 

“AHAK–” choking on your pasta, you look up to see Jade smiling down at you, leaning on his palm. Why is he being so honest this evening, did Azul make him drink a truth potion?!

He gently pats down on your back, handing you a glass of water, “My dear, are you quite alright? I apologize if I have burdened you with my confessions…I just simply love you, is all.” He makes an apparent effort to look pitiful, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes downcast, but you know better than to believe his act. 

Gulping down the glass of water he offered you, you breathe out, “Jade? Is there something you want to tell me?” you meet him in the eyes, and he smiles at you politely, “Why are you being so sappy all of a sudden?” 

His eyes crinkle up in amusement, “Oh, it’s nothing, my dear. It just seems that you’ve been forgetting something this whole time…” 

The jig is up, you think. Admitting defeat (or victory, seeing as how far you pushed him?), you sigh out, “Okay, okay. I love you too, Jade.” Hearing your words, his face visibly lights up, his smile widening by 0.676767 millimeters.

“Well I’m glad to hear that you still return my affections, Prefect,” he takes an obvious glance at the lounge’s grandfather clock and sees that it’s already half past ten, “It seems that I may have overstayed my welcome, I believe I should be on my way.” Standing from his seat, he smoothens out his uniform and gives you a little bow, “I shall see you tomorrow, my dear.” 

So, this whole time…Jade was stalling long enough to hear you say “I love you” back? And successfully baited you into it as well?! 

No fair…well, at least you know how desperate he is to hear those words from you, despite how collected he seems on the outside. 

Before he takes a step out of the lounge, you wrap your arms around his middle, “Jade, you always tell me this, but between the two of us, you’re the one who’s cuter here~” 

“I have no idea what you’re referring to, my dear,” Jade turns to you and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “Goodnight, I look forward to seeing you in the morning,” he smiles. He opens your door and makes his way back to Octavinelle. 

As soon as he steps out of your gate, however, his phone lights up. He looks at it to see a message from you:

I was just kidding the whole time, I love you too Jade! 

𑣲⋆ 𝓻uggie bucchi

𑣲⋆ 𝒸 ater diamond