Qifrey, by no means, ever regretted sheltering you under his cloak, even if you proudly announced how grown up you already were and tisked at any chuckly response;

You were no child, you said, still you needed Qifrey to look after you—he was there reminding you to eat, making sure you’d follow a healthy sleep schedule or handling the bruises you’d get from meddling with spells way pass your current level;

Nonetheless, he adores you. Even if your red faced self claims to despise all the “dears” and “sweethearts” thrown on every sentence (because they sound “childish”), he will still soften up whenever handling you, because, at the end of the day, you deserve all his dotting;

When he took in new apprentices, you saw on them a chance to grow further—helping Tetia with the conceptualization of her “dreamily” spells; reassuring Riche about how learning the rules could make you break them more efficiently; holding the back of Coco’s hand whenever she was circling her spells…

And then there was Agott, who was painfully similar to you—for Qifrey you two acted like brush buddy, you, the older one, teaching Agott to squeak earlier and louder. But you still berated her for stuff you had done (and still did);

When Qifrey made his mind to take the 5th test and become a teacher, Beldaruit’s mutterings centered on how much of a softie he was for going down that path. Qifrey tried to disregard it, but either way, teaching young folk did spark a nice feeling in his chest—and it was when you came along.

Furrowing, taking firm steps, yet still hiding underneath his cloak when you were first introduced to you self proclaimed “grand master” Beldaruit—you set out to act like a fierce little thing over mere delays or occasional mishaps that, according to Master Qifrey, were to be expected in your age.

As winter frosts slew each passing July, Qifrey expected your mental faculties to mature. Perchance you were an early bloomer who, once reached the age designed for the misadventures you craved, would turn stationary. But the yearning to overcome you “lackings” never faded, actually, you only headed towards less fitting things.

You thighned your wrist—those calloused fingers still bothered you even after years to get used to them. You'd need to be careful so no ink would get in the bruises on your palm—bruises which were multiplying, for you thought taking time to handle those ailments meant losing moments you could spend studying. You just helf your pen tighter, wanting to use that discomfort to distracted yourself from your grounding.

Really? Getting punished simply you were skipping a few meals to study? It was not fair in your mind. Now you had to see the little ones going on missions with Qifrey as you were forced to remain inside.

As you circled another spell, you were haunted by a hair pull, which destroyed your drawing.

“Hey, stop with that-” for your surprise, it wasn't Tetia using brute force to make you head downstairs and eat (a task she had assigned herself with since they discovered your poor habit), but instead it was a grumpy Qifrey holding up a hairbrush.

“My, you didn't brush your hair today, did you…?”

You ignored him for a few seconds as you fetched a blank paper, redrawing the spoiled spell. “Is it so visible?”

Qifrey sat behind you, tidying your hair locks. “It isn't the point, dear. You could be looking like a wet brush buddy… as long as you were enjoying yourself…”

Why was he still treating you like a kid? And what about enjoying yourself? The atelier wasn't a playground.

You got up.

“Oh, may I know where are you going, little Miss…?” now you had managed to get crossed arm Qifrey out of his cage, his left foot tapping the floor.

“I’m going out to test some spells…”

“At this hour…?” he reached, pulling your wrist with a feather touch.

“Listen, I'm not a kid anymore, alright-” you proclaimed, harshly removing your skin from his hold. “I’m almost a full fledged witch! You should start to treat me accordingly!”

Still, Qifrey regained a hold of your arm, his hands traveling from your knuckles to your palm. “Oh, precisely, sweetie. However, I wonder if an almost full fledged witch should go around risking an infection on their palm, would they? Now, let’s look after those.”

You looked away burning in shame.

“You see… the girls told me you have been going out to test spells when I'm asleep.”

The clinking of glass and swirling bandages were a morbid mirage during the revelation that adorned your spine with a phantomwise chill. They told him…? But you promised to help them out with a brush buddy!

“Are you mad…?”

“What do you think?” He threw you a disarming glare, commanding you to show off your bruised palm.

“Do not harbor any mean feelings for them, darling. I swear they're wishing you the best, just like I do.”

“If you were wishing me the best you'd be letting me practice to become the best version of myself!”

“I never thought anyone would baptize a ruined dominant hand and four sleeping hours per night the early stages of a girl’s ‘best version.’”

Now, you need to give him that…

“Come here, darling…” Qifrey surrounded your shoulders with his arms, giving you a squeeze which was too much to bear without smiling like a kid.

“What will it be now…?” you began.

“I’m already grounded after all, so what? Not getting any buns from the great hall?”

He giggled. “Any allowance Beldaruit sneaks inside your pockets are hence confiscated!” you rolled your eyes.

“Just joking, darling! Just joking! Actually, we could sleep together!”

“Is it the punishment…?”

“Well, I can't have you sneaking out. What is a better way to keep an eye on you? Besides… the first day you came here you were still scared of ghosts.”

You accepted, you didn't need to get your face painted cherry red anymore for tonight, after all.

In all honesty, Olruggio lacks a variety of self-care habits. Therefore, when Qifrey became aware of you—Olruggio’s very first apprentice—he earned for you to be the one about to put some sense on that man’s head;

However, even if your presence did affect Olruggio positively, it was rather because you were way worse—leading him to rethink his own faults in order to neatly fold you into a more reasonable little one;

Olruggio thought that it was what Qifrey most likely passed through with Agott. He held back from introducing you to Qifrey’s students—just thinking of that silver haired menace giggling about how “Olly got quite the fitting apprentice”…

But after seeing how much the girls grew to appreciate you (and by also noticing how Agott herself would, at times, take you as an example of what not to do), he pretty much regretted not showing you off sooner;

To be honest, I believe such a reader would be more harshly scolded by Olruggio. Not because he isn't a softie (trust me, you’d be the apple of his eye), but because… well. He doesn't want you to grow like him, you see…

You might feel quite belittled by Olly. If he takes you out, then he's assigning a pretty “heartless” thing for you to do (think about how he told Agott to just warm up the people during the river incident)—he wants to uproot that annoying, destructive persona inside you as soon as possible.

“I’m not interested in becoming a master.” said an Olruggio of yore—one of less lilac eyebags, one of a foggy time, pictured in sepia memories long before you entered his place.

But, to the misfortune of a soul already afflicted by all sorts of worries, you turned out to claim your place with a voracious appetite for growth and twisted development.

Used up ink cartridges, a uniform with its ends so tattered by the contact with the contractions of newly found spells—you had shaped your mind into a rancid turmoil of self inflicted punishment. Each achievement pf yours was slew by the smallest mistakes you happened to commit, forcing you to go past the barriers Olruggio settled just to regain a sense of utility.

You were unbearable.

You despised the straightest lines, for they were too unnatural. You cast aside the crooked one, for they lacked character.

If you saw a spell designed by someone else, it was a masterpiece. But the moment you drew it as well, even exceeding your usual artistry, you’d focus too much on what it could've been, rather than on the work lying before your eyes.

And, the worst, you hated being called a child, even if in Olruggio’s head you'd always be his little one.

“I already showed you I can do this!”

He sighed, his face on his palms as he took deep breaths. “Listen here, I know.”

“If you do, then-”

“But you don't deserve to, not when you keep throwing tantrums like this.”

That was when you broke down. Tatrums? You were merely standing your own ground, like you had done a hundred times before. You were asserting what was rightfully yours to take—a chance to move to the next test, even if your last one had happened not even two months ago.

“Why are you rushing this bad? Do you want to get hurt? I'll never forget how you drew those terrible lines on your sylph shoes just to fly faster than anyone. What's it? Trying to show off?” that was atrocious. Now, if he saw you as a kid, you’d act like such.

Throwing your hat to the ground, you headed upstairs and wondered: showing off? Was that how master Olruggio saw you? As a prisky little girl excited to showcase the world how wonderful her magic was? It was nothing like you! You just didn't want to stay behind, to put it simple.

“Why make a big deal out of it…?” you said aloud, drying your cheeks with your knuckles and slamming your room door open.

Your discarded spells lied on your bed, you just pushed them to the floor and took your place on the mattress.

He knocked upon your door, the following silence settled between you and gave Olruggio the token he needed. With your hat on his hands, he fixed your hair just to set it atop of you again.

“A witch should never remain without their hat…” he patted your back, allowing you to nestle near. “You see, I wanted to tease you. I know you're no show off…”

“Then can I-”

“No.”

“But I didn't even finish-”

“Nuh-uh! Absolutely not! I already have in mind all the terrible things you've got under your sleeve. Also, look at this room! Couldn't you at least tidy it up?”

“Hmmm… my room looks a lot like yours…”

“Well, that's the problem!” he sighed, pulling you onto his lap for a quick scolding.

“You see, dear… when I said that about you showing off I just wanted to cut off your wings, per say. You fly too fast, even for your own good.” Olruggio caressed your back as he talked, making sure you wouldn't find it belittling—it gave you the contrary feeling, but that's alright, you were up to be a kid now.

“I could've worded it better, of course… I'm sorry, sweetheart…”

You hugged his shoulders, feeling the tension on your limbs wither.

“You haven't been sleeping or eating properly, I need to fix it. We don't want you to end like me, do we…?”

“It depends… if I…” you gulped. “If I get to become as skillful as you…”

That warmed his heart, yet still.

“Well, let's make you skillful and healthy! Remember you talked back to me? No desert for a week.”

Now, that got you blushing in the uncutest way possible.

“It’s darkening, it'll probably rain too…” he commented, pushing back the flora that surrounded your secret retreat. Blackened ebony tendons formed a living dome over your form—if Qifrey looked too much at those, the ripples on the trees would take the form of mocking smirks, a personification made exclusively to ridicule him.

He merely reached out with his hand, yet it was enough for you to retreat—not in anger, your pupils weren't dilated in that fashion. Actually, you seemed quite unquiet.

“I scared you, didn't I…” Now his usual looks were back. He sat on the grass with you and fixed your messy clothes—you had run away so eagerly just now, so they were crumbled and filled with leaves. He had pondered if it was better to leave you alone, but instead he allowed himself to be selfish and sought to slayer the weight as soon as possible.

“You did scare me, it's just that… you seemed a bit…”

“Off?”

You nodded.

“Well dear, that's quite the understatement.”

“But you didn't do anything, so-”

“Darling… some things are quite hard to let out, aren't they? But truth must be said, I didn't handle the situation like it was fit. Honey, you can tell me…”

You still hugged your knees, although now you were much more relaxed for the thighness in your grip had subsided.

“Oh, dear me.” He clasped his hands together, relishing on how comfortable you were getting. “Are you mad? Are you scared…?”

“Not anymore…”

Qifrey offered you his hand, which now you joyfully accepted. He hugged your arm, resting his face on your shoulder. At the vision of it, you flushed and turned around…

“You’re getting so warm now, hmm…? Dear, from now on that's the only kind of emotion I'll give you… perhaps we could find more overwhelming, yet pleasant ones, for you to savor…” he grinned.

So full of sorrow and mercifulness, and with such a trembling pulse, that his spells seemed to be drawn by somebody else—a much inexperienced person, possibly.

Olruggio rose from his chair, the ebony table before him adorned by crumbled ink smeared papers. His fingers tips went from his forehead to his chin as he massaged the heavy eyelids, messy beard and uncertainty away from his defeated grimace.

The moments passed swiftly and gloriously during the fleeting seconds of victory Olruggio experienced by the morning. But the forming of reddish eyebags on your face and the puffiness of your wet cheeks instantly disrupted his stillborn pride. Perchance he had used a too loud voice or cast an unpleasant remark without noticing.

Either way… it’s needless to say he should've been gentler. After all, he didn't hold himself in the highest position, you were certainly in a much adored location inside his heart. Therefore, it was enough of a reason to stop sweeping it under the mat and finally facing you.

You could only sniff after you had properly used up all your tears—chin resting on your knees as you tilted to see a small, glowing bird turning into tiny sparkles by your side. You turned back as your room’s door was slightly opened. Cleaning your eyes with your knuckles, you begun:

“Is it a new spell? It's very pretty!”

If you had met him with the expected hardness of a broken heart it'd have been much easier to remain on the lie he was dwelling in the past hours. However, you dared to glitter just like usual.

“I was planning on showing it to you, but…” he stepped fully inside—you felt his weight settling down by your side on the mattress.

“I annoyed you…” you uttered.

“No, I ended up hurting you… even though you're so kind to me, you see…” by holding your shoulder, Olruggio gently dragged you closer, turning you to face his form.

He held your hands, settling them so they'd be cupped. You looked up, wondering what was about to happen when he completed the circle of a spell unbeknownst to you—it gingerly took the form of a small hare, hopping onto your hands and oversprinkling into a composition akin to fairy dust once it laid on your nosetip.

Lord, it tickled so bad, but you couldn't help giggling both at the upcoming sneeze and how Olruggio was using fairy magic for such stuff. He was probably still working on it, therefore the terrible results of that dust.

“Why would you make it? It's so silly, certainly not something Olruggio of the Torch would craft with fire magic!”

He moved closer, kissing your cheek so strongly he had to hold onto your waist so you wouldn't crumble—actually he just wanted to squeeze you there.

“Let’s say I made it for a very lovely person…”

Although it was enough for you to understand he was sorry, he couldn't only go with that. Olruggio pulled you into a bone cracking hug, softened by his beard tickling your shoulders.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. You're too special for me to have treated you like that, do you forgive your silly Olruggio? He… I mean, I really want you back…”

You cackled, your face bursting with joyful tears. He was talking in the third person? Well… he must truly be sorry.

Beldaruit's room was the kind that mixed the gloomy with the grandiose: it was home of an exquisite type of decoration. It also had its share of masterful paintings, adorned with pearly arabesques. Either way, today was boring. He could count each glittering joy that he had collected, play with all his usual mirages, but none would satisfy that tingling feeling.

Actually, about those illusions he'd cast… he wasn't very fond of them now for he tried to use one to apologize, but your smile faltered the moment you noticed the glowing ends of his hair and the bubbles surrounding his vests.

He sighed, what a moron of an old man he was!

Wasn't the older side of any form of relationship supposed to be the mature one? The one who the younger partner would look up to and go to in search for any comfort? But it seemed like now you’d avoid his gaze to spare yourself from a trembling chin. Even the children could catch on to his change of behavior… perhaps if he hadn't been a coward.

Now, the great sage Beldaruit couldn't go like that for too long, especially not with the person he was the most fond of! It'd be a chore to find such a sweetheart like you, after all, no one could be his favorite like you were.

He wondered what you were thinking now, perhaps, given how gilt your heart was, you had already forgiven him, but he was too radiant to forgive himself like this.

You walked, circling the same area of that undersea miracle as you connected the fingertips of both of your hands, wondering, dreaming awake about the multiple ways you could go inside his chamber. Suddenly, you felt a tiny tap, a pixie-like touch to your shoulder. As you looked back, a small translucent butterfly fluttered by, following you incessantly.

It didn't lead you anywhere… you already knew where his place was, after all. But its transparent wings gained a cyan glow whenever you headed in a certain direction.

And, finally, when you found yourself a few meters away from him, the bug reached its most saturated hue, heading towards its kin that played around the sage. Beldaruit stayed still, watching a peaceful waterfront attentively.

“Oh, I'm too much of a wuss. You see…” he said, scratching his chin. “That illusion mishap… I suppose I should apologize about that first, it was more heartless than any sarcastic taunt I threw to you, my angel…” he opened his arm. “Come here? Please, don't be way too mean to me. It shows that I'd never bear to be treated like I treated you…”

You trotted towards the sage, throwing yourself onto his arms.

“My, as vivacious as a little goat!”

“Why are you here? I thought you'd be in your room!"

“Oh dear, no… no, I wanted to at least manage to show you something pretty to apologize for what I did…” he pulled you onto his chest, burying his nose on the top of your head.

“It seems like the old Bel was very mean to his favorite person! What a silly old man he is, treating a poor darling like you in such a ruthless manner…” he nodded to himself, pecking you sheepishly.

“That’s fine, Bel, I forgive you!” still, he furrowed.

“Hmm, no! That was too easy. Tell me something you want, anything!”

“Really, there's no reason-”

“Oh, hush! Do you want to fight again? I assure you I'm too old for it, I rather just spoil for the day…”

It is on a morning holiday that Easthies decide to martyr himself, feeling a sudden and unprecedented dedication to self-punishment. It was necessary to rummage through his memories, hunting in its collection for something that would motivate him to not linger in that position—with the hope of perhaps finding within it some trace that would finally prove to his core that that lethargy was not born of a naive daydream, but of a material, tangible form.

He could picture your image onto the flaring candles, you were even to blame for the static on his uncombed hair. Easthies had treated you like an outlaw, one who had stepped far enough not to be punished, but not too much to be properly handled.

His silent treatment hurt you the most. Having him daring only to look at you for an iota of a second whenever he passed by. Trying to simply greet him a good morning and being met with nothing but a quick furrow. It was painful. And he now felt failed for allowing himself to handle you with such an uncaring attitude.

That was he heard a rapping, a shy tapping upon his door. By opening it, he stared at your face for too long.

“I know you don't want to talk to me, but…” you fidgeted. “I’m sorry…”

Sorry, but for what? He was the one who had held your wrist tightly, the one who whispered quite the bitter message of how making amends was not a suitable path. Didn’t he also mention how you were holding him back from work when you stuttered to hold your point?

“I didn't want to annoy you… I won't talk to you ever again if you don't want me to…”

Well, perhaps he was actually very good at victim blaming, you even fall for it. Or maybe you just liked him a lot, didn't you? It hurt him either way, but you were hurt the most.

Easthies let you inside, closing the door behind you. He lingered still, until he allowed himself to crack that outer exterior.

“You shouldn't apologize, darling…” he massaged your face. You had never seen Easthies this bad—the last time he got this messy was during Silver Eve. His hair was still as graceful, but it was the tattle-tale of how much he was falling apart today.

“I was mean to you, wasn't I? Ignoring you like that… such a childish behavior. But I still called you a kid out of bitterness, didn't I?” He held onto your waist, pulling you atop of him as he fell onto the bed. You held yourself by playing your hands on the sides of the bedsheets that framed his neck.

Easthies pulled you further so you’d finally fall upon him. “I’m sorry, dearie… you know, I love you a lot, you're the most darling person in my life… yet I still…” his words tickled your ears, you could only giggle at it.

“Oh, smilling already, are we? I do deserve to be toyed with after that…” he grinned as you rose to then lie by his side.

“I’m not playing with you! You were tickling me by talking so close!” you begin to braid a random lock of his hair, of course he didn't mind.

“But now all I want is to be so close to you, my love…” he caressed your wrist, he still remembered how it seemed to redden when he released his grasp after that…

“That was the worst thing I could've done… now I'll only touch you like porcelain… ”

“You mean my wrist?” He nodded. “It barely hurt!”

“Whether it did or not is not our utmost goal here, love… I should never do that to whom I cherish the most, should I?”

“No…”

“Do you forgive me? Even my silence treatment…? Even you don't, dear, that's completely understandable-” you immediately hugged his neck tightly, he had to tap your back to be released and breath efficiently again.

“Of course I do! I like you lots, Easthies!”

“Oh, my darling girl. As for me, I don't ‘like you lots’, I adore you…”

“See?” he smirked proudly, painfully aware of your broken expectation. As a token of your defeat, he held it up—a tiny leaf which just so recently dwelt amidst your locks. “You’re already making quite the clumsy flower crown atop your head.”

“No, fun! I’m here getting the best out of nature and you still mock me!”

“I could never mock you when you look so cute in those vests…” his ears twitched, “My vests…”

You victoriously hit your own chest with a closed wrist. “Hehe, your attire’s so girlish you didn't notice right away, did you?” To feed you into that delicious moment of vanquishing him altogether, Qifrey clapped excitedly.

“Dear me, I'd have never noticed it! Perhaps I was distracted by all the adorable expressions you're making today! They're being nicely framed by sunlight after all!”

Your brave countenance melted into a blushing mess. For Qifrey, it was because you had just been hit by his compliments, which counted as him winning once more. As for yourself… well, the praises did play a great part in it, especially since they came right before you noticed such a mess on your intimacy.

“Don’t look at me right now, I mean-” you shook your hands in the air, taking steps backwards—an effort you put to avoid allowing him to get a look at the back of the clothes you nimbly borrowed from him.

Either way, it wasn't like much could be done when a stray droplet of blood traveled through your left leg onto the grass.

“Oh dear, what do we have here…? How precious…”

You hugged your own knees, sitting on the floor in the most pathetic pose you could strike. “Sorry… I thought it'd be funny to get your clothes, forgive me…”

By listening to the sounds you made on the verge of crying, Qifrey placed a thin index on your chin, lifting it up.

“I said it was precious, didn't I? I apologize, I should not say such about a moment of cramps and drowsiness like this one.” you sniffed, cleaning your tears away with your knuckles before he cared for you with a handkerchief.

“All dried up, you're a big girl no, so calm down…”

“What? It's not my menarch-”

“But I'll always care for it as if it was this type of great event… now princess, let's get inside, I'll carry you…”

Whispers of reassurance were everything you heard until you fell asleep. You did dare to open up your eyes for a second, gazing at the blurry picture of a warm towel being settled upon that painful spot. “Oh my, you should rest…” Qifrey said, kissing your eyelids to force you to close them back.

Each step seemed to be taken with voracious effort; otherwise, you would fall asleep right there, on the cobblestones hardened and greened by summer moss. As support, Olruggio placed his calloused hands upon your shoulders.

“Easy there, you’re ‘gonna’ fall if you move another centimeters.” You said nothing z what earned you to be comically shaken by your shoulders, you could feel your brain hitting all the points of your skull.

“Hey, what's the matter with you? You look ridiculously tired…”

“I stayed awake to train a spell…” you giggled, scratching the back of your neck. “Forgive me…?”

He merely sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose—whenever you forgot to look after yourself, Olruggio took it as a personal offense.

“Let’s go, I was planning to take a nap now myself…”

“I better do it too, I don't want to get old like you…!”

He rolled his eyes, although your teasing towards his so called old age (according to you) never made him regret having a younger partner, not a tiny bit.

You felt like it was the best thing ever, although you still wondered why you seemed so sleepy. However, you didn't have much time to question yourself—sleep greeted your mind quite early, it’s just that dreamland could've been much gentler with you, well, who wants to deal with terrible tummy aches while asleep? Especially when they dare to drag you back to reality.

“It’s alright, I can deal with it…” was what you heard when you sat still and rubbed your eyes to shove sleep away. Suddenly, you realized that that sharp pain had crossed the dream world’s gate alongside you.

“You look quite disturbed, of course it could be a nightmare…” articulated him, afraid he was allowing himself to be too soft. It was when you pulled the duvets out of your lower body that you saw it—that color competing with your cheeks for the prize of most saturated red.

“I… I didn't mean to! It just wasn't supposed to be today, so-” you grabbed Olruggio’s shoulders, your clutching was way too hard and your tears rolled down your cheeks too awkwardly—you had to ugly cry just to make it worse…

Now, all fear of being too soft vanished in an instant. Olruggio pulled you closer, cupping your cheeks and squeezing them as roughly as he could.

“Alright, alright, you ‘gotta’ stop. It's just biology, you see…” he turned his back to you, fumbling with some trinkets he had stored close. When Olruggio was back, he gingerly pressed a warm, glowing stone against your abdomen. “I know the form is too… pointy for it, but hold it still… I'll fetch a napkin to wrap it in.” You merely hummed an affirmation—it was something he had created, right?

“I made it… but don't worry, I'll fix something that's… hmm, softer, like a pillow.” he nodded to himself. “Does it hurt, sweetheart…?”

Your upturned face seemed to get brighter again. “A lot…” you said with a cackle.

“Of course, of course it does. You see… go wash yourself, I'll change the sheets… I'll warm new ones, yes, it'll be nice if it's all warm for you, right?”

He stepped forwards, kneeling close and holding both of your hands on his. “You don't need to shy away…” you couldn't help but giggle when he began to purposely scratch his beard on your neck. “I’ll bake you something, sweetie. Tell me what you want, anything for the best girl in the world…”

Your days had recently been flooded by an avalanche of insurmountable worries—spells going wrong, lines extremely irregular even by the standards of your usual annoyed self. Something needed to be done, and you were pretty sure of what. By letting out your most dramatic sigh, you drifted towards Beldaruit’s lap, getting a nice tug on your waist from the older man. The sage was quick to giggle at your behavior—adorably needy, but he'd never mock you for such an amicable behavior.

“So, how is it going, love…?” asked him, with that wrinkled smile capable of vanishing any worry out of your spirit.

“Terrible, Bel!” you whined, burying your face on his chest. You were saying that more out of dramaturgy rather than from actual sorrow, after all he had just cured you instantly with his quaint illusion and playful grins.

“My, of course the great Beldaruit could never allow you to feel like such, should I? Let's start our meeting with a bunch of cuddles-” however, you felt something was deeply wrong on your undergarment. With furrowed brows, you pushed him slightly, afraid of making things worse than they already were (probably) about to become, you slowly lifted yourself from his lip. Oh dear—that’s the most embarrassing moment of your life, not even being pecked and bullied by that baby penguin by the end of your second test could be ever as bad as it.

“I’m sorry…” you sniffed, feeling your vision blurry through every watery blink of your eyelids. “I swear, it wasn't supposed to be today-”

While you were worried, acting like a dunce with all those messy excuses, Beldaruit simply set a quick gaze at the crimson spot on his pristine clothes. He was, for sure, caring enough to understand that facing it with his usual playfulness would shame you further, therefore, he just doddled a quick small water spell, which eased the redness on his uniform to a much lighter pink—great to soothe your current mindset for a moment.

“Oh, look at me, my dear…” he whispered tenderly, gesturing for you to sit down. When his hands found your shoulders, he gave you with a quick squeeze. “See? It can be easily taken care of, we have magic after all! But, about you… is your tummy hurting, angel?” Beldaruit inquired, cleaning your tears with a ring adorned thumb. You nodded, although anything you tried to say now sounded like a bunch of foreign words.

“Shh, that’s fine… I'll look after you, I might look frail, but I'm totally able to. Come here…” he kissed your forehead, easing your furrowed brow.

“You’re my favorite girl and nothing will ever change that… now dear, I don't want my favorite struggling with cramps! Also, your robes are most likely very besmirched by now, hmm? Let's get you into my favorite ones!”

“I can't draw anymore, my fingers are trembling!” Nothing seemed convenient that afternoon. Perhaps complaining about it wasn't the best idea, considering how stressed Easthies' nerves seemed after work. But you were no subordinate, you were sometimes that could easily spark his softer side, so why not abuse your power?

He sighed, sitting close to you while he set his hat aside. “I see, darling… I see…” he buried his face onto your neck—you smelled of chocolate and goat milk. “For someone so annoyed, you made the best out of the pastries I got for you.”

“I ate them all!” You proudly announced.

“I’ll get you more…”

“Wait… really?” your hands were clasped together instantly, as if you were praying it was no mean joke. He tisked.

“I believe I hold my word quite strongly, or else I wouldn't have the role I do, would I?” You jumped closer, brushing your face against his. Holding your hand, he helped you get up.

“Come here, you're now sitting on my clothes-” it was a bit weird… was that spot always a darker red compared to the rest?

“hmm, what's the matter?”

Before he stared at your face, Easthies held your waist, maneuvering you so he could check your back—yes, as he thought…

Your eyes followed his, well, that was quite the nuisance, nothing serious at all. You could accept besmirching your clothes, you were with Easthies after all, no problem. But he mentioned you were sitting onto his… didn't he…?

All you could do was hiding yourself onto his chest—perchance the last thing one would do right now was seeking solace on the person they had just bothered with their unexpected cicle. However, you still believed Easthies held you into the high regards, after all you were his beloved (as he called you whenever he was specially sensitive).

You muttered an apologize, withdrawing when you pondered the possibility of ruining his uniform further—now with tears…

“Good grief, it was only the insides, the outer area is fully clean…”

He was mad, wasn't him? “I’m sorry, I'll wash it-” yet, you only heard the sound of fabric being maneuvering from behind you.

“This way I can still cover you without calling unnecessary attention. I believe a bit did leak to the other side, either way, it was too faint to be noticed on a red fabric.” he kissed a tear away from your cheek.

“Does it hurt?” he asked sternly, which surprised you to the point of no answer. “I asked: does it hurt…?”

When you allowed yourself some time out of the embarrassing—yes, it did. You nodded like a child about to be grounded.

“Oh, darling… alright, it won't be like this for too long. I'll take you home.”

“But your work-”

“Do not utter a syllable. I'm also getting you something warm to eat, you liked that honey buns, didn't you?”

You thoroughly calculated each step you took on that jet black darkness. With brow furrowed and the sides of your lips tilted downwards, you wondered: would Beldaruit get mad? He had asked you to practice your spells, yet you completely failed once more. You were no child (according to yourself), you couldn't keep showing him wobbly lines as if you were still a newborn out of Dadah Range.

You pulled some of your drawings out of your leather bag—it accompanied you everywhere since it was quite sturdy, Beldaruit truly didn't hold back at pampering you with well designed trinkets. You couldn't show those circles to him… circles? More like ovals dreaming of a perfect, yet unachievable, geoid shape.

You sighed, awkwardly shoving those inside your bag again, not minding how crumbly they would get by the unnecessary force you put on your fingers when maneuvering them. Thankfully you had sketched those with coal, no Silverwood ink should be wasted on your “art”. You stopped for a second—given your upturned face, one could believe you were now idle to ponder your inabilities, however, something else caught your eyes…

Trotting like a goat, glittering like a firefly yet fluffy like a whole kitten litter—a translucent dust bunny army marched close to your feet, leading the way to a hidden spot amidst the onyx maze of the underwater realm.

Your cyan robes were attacked by some little ones who annoyingly pulled you to follow the rest of them, only to dissolve after applying too much pressure on the silky vests.

Gulping (out of how embarrassing it was rather than fearing a troop of ephemeral fairy-like abnormalities), you followed them obediently. Perhaps you could get Beldaruit to feel a bit soft for your terrible wannabe-magic in case you showed appreciation for the bunnies—not that you didn't like such, it was merely because accepting that you truly enjoyed these cheek blushing moments was too much to bear.

Each blueish ember cast ablaze the figure of elven nymphs flying around, immediately being dissolved into deep blue light which wrought his form within the dark chamber.

“Oh, dear! Looks like Master Bel’s favorite has returned!” the older man beamed, clasping his hands together at your image.

“Is it you or another illusion…?” you asked, placing your hat upon the closest ebony furniture—you didn't even bother to set gaze upon his wrinkled pout.

“Oh, you're wrong this time. It's me! Rotting flesh and dismantled bones! Old little me!” proclaimed the sage with intertwined fingers upon his lap. After rolling his eyes, he went back to his natural countenance within seconds.

“Either way, dear…” begun the witch, only to be interrupted by a very stubborn you:

“Of course I'm your favorite apprentice, I'm the only one you have for the time being!” you said, the only one he had for now… it left a very bitter hint on your tastebuds—Beldaruit taking someone else in, someone more skilled than you, who’d rob his dotting all for themselves… either way, you opened your bag and fetched the more presentable sketches you had in store.

With a sigh, Beldaruit set his left elbow on his chair’s armrest, propping his face against the back of his knuckles—oh, this dreadful behavior only meant you were disappointed with yourself, rather than indicating you harbored bittersweet thoughts about him. Beldaruit gestured forward with his free hand, invitingly moving his fingers towards his own form, going from the index to the pinky.

“Let’s see it… well, yes… wobbly lines of an apprentice too eager to grow past their current abilities. Common, very common. Rest and try again tomorrow, then you'll see actual magic happening."

He analysed each drawing you handed with half opened eyes, tired from repeating the same thing he had constantly hovered on the tip of his tongue for all of your self hating moments.

“What? That's all?” You looked down, you didn't want to bother him… but…

“Look!” you brought up another set of paper, the one on which were carved the spells you hated the most. You hadn't planned to show those, but you wanted to prove to him how you were right about your supposed lack of talent.

“Oh, these are of a very tired and very grumpy apprentice. With some rest and love, actual magic will happen! Rest assured!” He swore lovingly.

Now, completely defeated, you moved towards his lap—throwing yourself upon his expensive robes and soft form. Thin fingers were quick to make their way to comb through your locks, seeking to calm down your very annoyed nerves by pressing fingertips gingerly on your scalp.

You pulled your head up just a little, only to see he had cast your papers upon his desk during your quick meltdown—your sloppy work looked even worse now that it was set by the side of his symmetrical lines and perfectly drawn circles.

“I try so hard…” you sniffed.

“Oh, dear, even way too much… come here, hop up…” the silver haired man didn't hold back, his hands aiming towards your shoulders, removing your face from the lap he was about to tap invitingly. How could you deny it? You curled upon him, face on the crook of his neck. Beldaruit’s robes felt like a warm cocoon made of pastel blue hues and fine needlework.

“I feel like taking a break…” was what you bravely whispered, twirling a thin lock of his hair around your fingers.

“Then do so… nothing good comes out of a tired mind, sweetie. Here…” the sage nicely gifted you a kiss upon your brows, which served as a sign for you to get even closer… if possible.

“I thought you'd be asleep when I came back. You're still on your chair…!”

“Darling, I spend almost half of my day on that damned bed. I want to stay away from that a little!” Before you could apologize, afraid you had been insensitive regarding his condition, he quickly cupped your face, a quick peck being given to your nosetip.

“Also, if I was to be asleep by now, just like ‘most people my age’—since you might think I'm old like a phoenix—I wouldn't be able to catch sight of my beautiful…” said him, between kisses “Gorgeous…” now it was getting embarrassingly good, ”Sweet, perfect and favorite apprentice…!”

”But-”

“No, no! No more ‘I’m your only apprentice’ talk! Now you must rest or else you'll go crazy over those tiny little bent curves.”

“It’s just that… I owe you so much… you took me in even though you couldn't…”

“Oh dear…” Beldaruit began, arms securing your waist and hair falling around you like a pristine curtain. “I did it because I could never bear to see such a nice thing like you having your memories erased, could I? Especially not when the brimmed ones had been cruel to you… so I just snatched you under my robes!” the older man said, tilting cutely.

“Truly, you're an outsider, but that's our little secret! The sage of teachings and his outsider apprentice! Worth a book, if you asked me!” He nodded as if he had came up the greatest plot, but you could only think about how the Knight Moralis would never allow such a novel.

“Either way, dearir…” continued the older witch, “You might think that you're in great debt, but you bring me much joy that, if there's someone here who should be rewarded, rest assured for it's surely you…” and, as your fingers uncurled from his hair, Beldaruit set his lips upon your cheek, giggling to himself afterwards.

“Will you ever get another student…?”

“Well, I haven't been prone to handle more than one at once. Qifrey, riliphin… I never sought for a second student while dealing with each of them. Unless… you want a little friend…?”

The way he implied that, as if you were little as well and in search of another person just as little was quite nice to hear, despite how much you supposedly hated being called a kid. If you tried to describe the harshness of being a child, you would receive a scornful chuckle or an insult to your sensitivity, because it is coherent for adults to abuse you with daily looks of disapproval, pressure in every physical touch received and the denial of the simplest desires—when cruelty is done through such casual ways, it becomes quite complicated, because it is impossible to share it without sounding pathetic. But now, being treated like a kid didn't mean being belittled, if anything, it was the total opposite.

“No, I don't want it. I want you all for myself…”

With that declaration, you fully hid your face on Beldaruit’s neck, praying he wouldn't notice the blushing of your skin by the rising temperature around your cheeks. Instead of teasing, he simply surrounded your form with a gentle squeeze.

“So all yours I shall be…”

“Is it alright if I sleep with you tonight, Bel…?”

“Bel? How over sweetly informal! You are truly still lacking some ‘witch society manners’, not as if I’d correct it out of you now! Let's see… hmm…” he pondered, hand cupped around his own chin. “I don't know which lullaby I should sing for you today… let's pick one…”

“Look!” you begun, looking behind with the naughtiest smile you had in store. “That one cloud looks like two boobs!”

As a gift, you received a long, outrageous sigh, embellished by slender fingers rising above his nose bridge. With an anemic pallor and a spectral countenance, Easthies’ face was framed by ebony locks that only served to enlighten his abnormalities: a mortuary for pagan rituals, dated by the mannerisms of an ancient count born in distant lands—a phantasm guiding you across the Styx. For you to mess with such an obelisk of a rulebook, it meant you had a fair share of dumbness in yourself—enough to be unrighteously mistaken for courage.

“Darling, you have so much time to spare for such lewdness, would you care to do something more useful with it? Perhaps spending it with me…?” given that your current surroundings were unmanned, it was no surprise Easthies allowed himself to appear a bit intimate on the outside. He moved his hand towards yours, and you giddily took his while cackling at how much he wanted to berate you, but couldn't bring himself to dare. “You’re insufferable…” said the ravenette, only to bow for a quick peck placement on your forehead, his disheveled hair tickling the tip of your nose.

“You were taking ages!” said you, using your most annoyed tone.

“My… I know, I know…”

“I thought wiping memories was quicker-”

“Don’t you…” his expression haunted you for an iota of a moment, and, if you lingered gazing at it, it was possible to blend it with the newborn navy sky through the highest crack amidst the cotton clouds; thus you pictured it a perennial and fertile ground for a phantomwise misadventure. Aware to a certain extent of his effect upon you, Easthies rapidly regained his composure. “I'm sorry, sweetie…” he cupped your face, using the sweetest sugary tone he reserved only for you—now you felt like upsetting him didn't earn you a regretful outcome, quite the contrary.

“Just don't play with those, have I made myself clear? You're way too clever, even too much, you know how to bother me very well…” he pecked your cheek. “Way too much even…”

“I won't do it again…” You would really rather not do that again even if you were clearly acting quite theatrical in your apology, perhaps it'd earn you another glimpse of his nice side…

“Now you stop your theater play.” or maybe not even a quick glance of it was going to be given to you…

“We go home now, it's getting dark.” he ruffled your hair like if you were an imp… actually you were being pretty annoying today, so perhaps out of the two roles Easthies allowed you to play in his life—either the pure pearly baby about to melt him to a shriek, or the most annoying bantling for whenever you questioned his ways—you were truly begging to play the least graceful one. You could bet why Easthies seemed to get so bothered by your so-called misbehaving was because he'd never lay an ill intended finger on you. He could wipe outlaws’ memories or give the coldest stare to those who were too close to stepping beyond the line, but if he felt like he was going too far with you, then you'd get dotted on as compensation. Needless to say it created quite the nasty habit in you.

As he guided you to his accommodations, you couldn't help but wonder how much he actually seemed to like you and how he made it quite explicit for those who bothered to know him even to a shallow level. Having Easthies supporting what he considered your most dreadful side was quite the token itself, but you could list a couple more signs without hardships.

“I missed you, really, you work a lot so… also, I'm really sorry for what I said…” Now you collected all the naivety and truthfulness your being could possibly hold and poured it forwards in the search of some extended, genuine greeting from his side. It didn't take long for his palm to cup your face, inviting you to sit upon his bed as he took of his cap.

“Really?” He asked and you nodded. “Aren’t you such a precious one?” he begun, creeping closer… closer… but you wouldn't let it be fair. Quickly, yet with the smoothness of a blushing bride, you grabbed his wrists, pushing him down onto the mattress while fitting yourself atop of him, your legs on each side of his waist. You could feel the crimson settling on your features, sweat drizzling down your forehead making it impossible to form a word but aimless syllables between ungraceful stutters.

“Ah, I see… you want to be in control for now…?” Easthies inquired, keeping his muscles entirely idle. He tilted to the left, like a cat eyeing its swinging toy. Your grasp weakened, so the man opened his arms wide, inviting you closer. “Dear, come here…” you gulped, getting closer to his face to press a quick, embarrassing peck to his lips. “Gosh, you're so untalented…” he giggled cutely.

It wasn't fair! Not to you at least. Which meant it was absolutely unfair! You grabbed a rich lock of his hair, kissing it amidst your fingers. “If I don't know then you should teach me…”

“I don't remember stating if I had taken the fifth test or not…”

“I don't care!”

“Do you think I'm fit to be your teacher…?”

“Fine!” you snapped. “I'll learn on my own!” Using all your strength, you hugged his shoulder, pressing your mouth against his awkwardly. It didn't take long for you to learn a rhythm, the knight tilting his head to get a better angle for you both. Your thoughts were drifting, especially when his fingertips started to creep towards your waist, searching for any open spot on your vests. You gasped.

“Oh, sweetheart. Too much?” asked Easthies with no condescending hints. You shook your head, giving him a clear sign to keep going.

Easthies quickly understood you were pretty distracted by your trial performance, you even put your tongue inside his mouth. It was quite sweet how you were trying so hard to please him, more than anything, when he'd usually be the one doing the pampering. He slowly sat upright, settling you upon his lap.

“I like it better with me on the top.” you joked, but it was quite true in a way.

“You’re still technically above me, dear…” he said, adorably brushing his nose tip against yours. You ignored it, you only complained for the sake of it anyway. Yet you breathe like a loon as you understood your current position above his lap.

You returned to your past activity, your hands going around his neck, his shoulders and finally to his hair—which thin locks you swirled around your fingers, feeling how they’d go back to their straight texture once you released them back. You broke the contact, a thin thread of saliva dying within the mere seconds you managed to remain away from him, only for your lips to go back in search of that dear debauchery you were truly experiencing for the first time—perhaps that's why it felt like such a great deal, worth of an Odyssey.

Your fingers ran over his scalp—you felt quite tempted to pull his hair, although you knew you'd only do so out of teasing rather than anything (it wouldn't push him further into you given your current position, after all). You refused to let go of quite the embarrassing sound from Easthies sucking on your tongue, enveloping his over yours in the aftermath of such, just to lace your fingers together as if to soften up the act he had just done. You felt a terrible need to breathe and you'd kick yourself later for it.

As you parted with him, you shamefully drooled over your own chin. Easthies’ thumb wiped it, pecking your lips nicely to ease you from the effort. You finally breathe accordingly as your blurred vision came to focus on the rosy hints upon his cheeks. “Was it nice, dear? Felt good…? I hope I didn't overwhelm you, truly.” He spoke, burying his face on your neck. Good, good he did so, for your early willingness had melted to bashfulness—you couldn't bear to look at him for more than seconds now.

“It's alright, I'm completely fine!” You patted his back as if he was the one supposed to be reassured. He noticed the counterintuitive notes of your action, his face raising back with its usual brow reserved for your worse behavios. “Did I say anything wrong?” You played, giggling so proud of yourself that he'd let it go… again. You stretched both your arms, surprisingly not to mock him.

“Now, you ruined my hair.” Complained him, his fingertips still under your clothes, massaging your flesh further.

“I’ll brush it…”

“Oh no, it's not spoiled enough for it.”

“So don't complain!”

“I mean, sweetie, that we should ruin it a bit more before caring to fix it…”