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You woke up when the rain stopped. Head aching just as much as your bones. You groaned and rolled over on the soft bed beneath you, it creaked softly with the sudden movement. You grimaced, a sharp pain in your side drawing your attention. The room you were in was dark, a circular window to your left let in soft moonlight filtering through rain droplets casting shadows across dark hardwood flooring. You blinked a few times, feeling the sharp pain in your side, expecting the wetness of blood or bruising but whatever the pain was it slowly ebbed away to nothing but a dull ache. You sat up, throwing your legs over the side of the bed, cold feet meeting even colder flooring. It woke you up a little as you adjusted to the darkness of the room. The room was warm in its decorations, oakwood shelves full of casting spell books and the art of spell books and art of cooking books. Your brow furrowed. There was a viney plant stretching impossibly across the ceiling and pots of ink and paper on the desk a few feet from your bed. You pushed to your feet, the soft blanket around your body falling back on the bed. The flooring creaked softly beneath your feet as you moved across the room. Propped beside the desk was your broken sword and tattered clothes. You suddenly looked down at the clothes you were wearing now, a simple tunic and baggy pants. Someone changed your clothes. You reached for your sword, the damn thing was broken, just a few inches of sword before it chipped off to nothing. 

What the hell happened? Where the hell were you?

You placed the sword back down and ran a hand through your hair, pulling it back out of your face. Your memory was… spotty to say the least. You remembered igniting your blade in the forest, you think maybe you were fighting someone but nothing comes to you. You sigh a little and turn towards the doorway and startle. There's four young girls crowded in the entrance, not walking past the threshold. They’re eyes wide and observing you as though you were some strange animal on display. You sucked in a breath.

“What… uh…” You stuttered and at the sound of your voice the pink haired girl gasped, grasping onto the blondish green haired girl. Her eyes widened in fear when your eyes met hers. Your memory jumpstarts messily in quick flashes. 

You were tracking her, sword in hand. 

“She looks… human.” The blue haired girl whispers tonelessly and the black haired girl’s eyes sharpen. 

“She is. Mostly.”

“Who are you?” You asked, stepping back, head throbbing. The girls all startled and stepped back away from the door.

“Don’t try for sympathy.” The black haired girl called to you. “We are not foolish enough to think you don’t remember us.” She tried to sound brave but you heard the tremor in her voice. You stepped closer and they all fumbled over each other to step away, terrified of you. 

“I’m not acting. My memory is… hazy.” You say, two of the girls soften. One of them stepped closer to the door as the black haired girl grabbed at her. 

“Coco, careful, don’t pass the threshold, Master said-”

“I know.” Coco responds softly and turns to look at you. She clears her throat and sucks in a slightly shaky breath. “Do you remember me?” You look at her for a long moment. You do but you can’t place why. Your head hurts and you make a face, unsteadily grabbing for the desk chair behind you, you sit. 

“I think so.”

“If you did, I think we’d be having a different conversation.” She says softly, you rub your hands over your face and look at her through your fingers. Another flash of memory, rain beating against you as you grabbed her arm in the dark, yanking her back, pressing your sword to her throat.

“I hurt you.” You say after a quiet moment. Coco shakes her head fast, denying.

“No… no… I mean… a little but I’m okay. Actually… you saved me. I think that's why the master brought you back here.” She says, much to the dark haired girl's detriment. 

“That’s enough.” She seethed, grabbing Coco’s wrist and pulling her away from the threshold. Coco ignored her. 

“Are you hungry, miss? You’ve been asleep for days.” Your stomach suddenly twisted at the mention but you were hung up on her words. You’d been asleep for days?

“She doesn’t deserve to eat.” The black haired girl hisses, yanking Coco another step back. Coco whirls on her. 

“Agott! Don’t talk like that.” She pleads kindly. “She's probably starving.”

“Good.” Agott growls. “You think for a second she had good intentions saving you? She probably just wanted to turn you into the Brimmed Cap’s herself.” 

The Brimmed Cap’s. 

Your head slams with memories. You were sent to track down Coco, given a half assed description of her. You were desperate to prove yourself, to gain power for selfish reasons. You’d played by the rules your entire life and that got you nowhere. You were desperate which so happened to be a perfect personality trait for the Brimmed Cap’s to swoop in and entice you into joining their side. You were no good. No good when you entered that rainy forest with murder on your mind. But one of the others found Coco and when you saw her… she was just a child. You hadn’t known she was going to be a child. 

“Miss… are you hungry?” Coco breaks through your thoughts. Now you remembered all but how you got here.

“Where am I?” You ask a tad forcefully. Agott stepped in front of Coco, such sharp angry eyes for a young girl. 

“That’s none of your business. Coco asked if you were hungry.” She says through gritted teeth. You cocked your head. 

“It’s none of my business where I am?” You ask and revel in the anger it brings the young girl. Yeah… you remembered who you were now and exactly why these girls were so fearful. Agott doesn’t step closer, her hands shaking at her sides. You rise from your chair. “Where’s your master?” You ask in an eerily calm voice. The girls were silent. “He’s not home?” You ask and they flinch. That was answer enough for you. But it couldn’t be so easy that you could walk out of this room, they were fretting about the threshold for a reason. There must be some kind of spell cast over this room that made it more of a prison than anything else. 

“What’re you doing?” the pink haired girl asked, voice wavering.

“You know… I am quite peckish.” You say, eyes looking around the room. The bottles of ink on the desk catches your eye. 

“You are?” Coco asks carefully. You nod your head. 

“Yes.” You say and try to soften your voice but it comes out wrong. No matter what you do you’re scaring these girls. The pink haired girl grabs Coco, they’re all practically holding onto one another as though that would ward off your evil. 

“We’ll go make you something then.” Coco says kindly as she starts to walk away and the girls scurry after her. You wait until you can’t hear their footsteps anymore before sweeping off towards the desk. You grab up the first bottle of ink and sigh. Completely dried out. You grab the next and sigh even louder. Also dried. You place the bottle back down. Your pen was conveniently missing and you attributed that to the master of this place. You walked towards the window, it was still dark out but you had no idea what time it could be. Asleep for three days.. The moments leading up to being brought here were foggy still. You remembered seeing someone capture Coco, she was screaming and crying and scared and just a child. You had raised your sword to the other Brimmed Cap before even realizing what you were doing.

“Traitor!” He had yelled as you ran him through. Then your memory stalled. 

What happened after that? You groaned and sat back on the bed, running a stressed hand through your hair. How did your sword break? And how come your clothes were so tattered? And how did you end up a prisoner in the same place as Coco with no master in sight.

“Miss?” Coco’s soft voice called from the doorway, it startled you. You hadn’t even heard her steps. You sat up. “Would you like hot tea?” You look at the young girl, she must’ve slipped away from the others for them to let her come up here alone. 

“How did I get here?” You ask, hoping with her being alone she’d be less wary. 

“Master brought you here… he said you’d die if we left you out there in the forest.” She explained, fiddling with her fingers. Slowly you nodded your head. 

“Because… I got hurt?” You guessed and she nodded her head. 

“Yes you… you got hurt.” She said smally, as if it was her fault. “You were trying to save me.” You looked at the young girl, something like guilt was eating her up. You weren’t bigheaded enough to think it was all directed at you but at least some of it was. 

“You don’t have to seem so sorry. I’m the villain here.” You said and her eyes snapped up to yours, she started to shake her head no but looked down at her hands instead. 

“I think… you’re a good person… deep down. It showed in the forest. Even my master must think so since he brought you here.”

“He trapped me here.” You point out and she sucks in a breath. “Though it’s definitely better than I deserve.” You laugh softly, shaking your head. She looks up quickly at the sound of your laugh, almost like she was surprised you could make that sound. You sigh into your hand. “Who’s your master?”

“Master Qifrey.” The amusement on your face died in an instant. 

You joined the Brimmed Caps when you were only a child. It was the same sob story as most others that joined probably. Your parents wanted perfection but you never had a steady hand. You failed the second test and that was the first time your father hit you. You had run away later that night to go to your grandma’s house near the edge of the village when a man approached you. He looked scary and called himself Iguin. He took one look at you then casted a spell, healing the bruise on your cheek. 

“Are you alright, young lady?” He asked, his voice scared you. Practically everything about him scared you. You couldn't see his face, just this eerie mask with a giant swirling eye staring at you. You felt dissected.

“I’m… alright.” You answered smally, pressing a hand to your cheek, it didn’t hurt any longer. He laughed and you wondered, scared if you had said something funny. 

“If you were alright you wouldn’t be out running scared this late at night.” He did a little movement with his hands and suddenly a sweet bun appeared in his palm. He offered it to you. “For you.” He offers and slowly you reach out and take it, taking a scared step back. “That’s your favorite, right?” You nod your head and shakily take a bite. It’s perfect, light and airy with peach puree in the middle, just like your grandma made them. You smile. 

“Thank you, mister.”

“Tell me… young witch, what would you do with unlimited power?”

“Unlimited?” You echoed and the masked figure nodded his head, procuring a book from his cloak. 

“Magic without restraints. Without pressure. Without fear.” He offered the book to you. You looked at the leatherbound thing in his hand and foolishly reached out and grabbed it. You never saw your family again after that day, nor did you ever make it to your grandma’s house. Over the years leading up to today you had faced a lot of the Pointed Cap witches and the only one that ever stood out was Qifrey. He seemed desperate for information the times you faced and lost to him. The last time you faced him was… muddy to say the least. But he wasn’t someone you felt comfortable trapped within their grasp. 

“Miss?” Coco’s voice snapped you back into this moment. You blinked a few times. 

“Qifrey, white haired witch?” You ask and the girl lights up a little bit. 

“Yes miss.” She answers with a little smile. But you had nothing to smile about. Iguin had warned you about this man and here you were, a prisoner in his home. 

“Do you have something stronger than hot tea, young Coco?” You asked and she furrowed her brows, not understanding, you sighed. “Hot tea will do.” 

“Yes, Coco, go fetch our guest some hot tea.” Both you and Coco startled when Qifrey appeared just behind her, all soft smiles. You looked away in an instant as Coco greeted him and padded down the stairs leaving you two alone. “I trust you aren’t trying to corrupt my apprentices.” He says and when you look back over at him that jovial smile from a moment ago has disappeared completely. It was a chilling sight. You cleared your throat. You were supposed to be the scary one here. You were the Brimmed Cap witch, you needed to act like it. 

“The night’s still young.” You answered with as much composer as you could muster. Qifrey cocked his head a little, one eye surveying you, you wondered why the other was covered up, wondered if there was even one there to begin with. 

“How is your head?” He asks. Surely he was speaking of your memories and not the constant pounding. He stepped past the threshold and it took everything in you not to move away from him. He showed you no fear. He treated and talked to you like an old friend. It was unnerving.

“I’m remembering, slowly.” You offer cautiously. 

“I meant pain. One of your fellow Brimmed Cap’s hit you rather hard. That could be why your memory is spotty.” He says and your brows furrow. So someone knocked you over the head, huh? You felt around your head until you pressed the base of your skull and gasped in pain, white hot pulses shooting through you. He wasn’t lying, someone did clobber you good. “Take it easy,” His voice was soft, you heard one of the girls call for him at the door and the rattle of a tray being passed from one hand to another. You blinked, eyesight blurry as Qifrey pulled the bedside table close to you and placed the food on it. “Eat. Slowly as to not make yourself sick.” He directs. Your head is still pounding but it is better than it was a few seconds ago. 

The wooden tray in front of you consists of some type of creamy stew, fluffy bread and a cup of steaming tea. Shakily you grab for the spoon and slowly stir it around the stew for a moment before spooning out some and bringing it to your lips. You paused. Delicious. Utterly delectable. “Is it alright?” He asked, sitting in the desk chair across from you. You cleared your throat awkwardly, not speaking but just nodding your head. The headache caused by hunger slowly subsided as you finished the stew and dipped your bread in the remainder of your broth. 

“Do you recall your name?” 

You spoke your name to him in between bites. 

“And how you got here?” He asks. To that you shake your head. 

“I remember…” You trail off. You were in the hands of the enemy, the more you spoke the more of a traitor you were becoming. You swallowed dryly and reached for your tea, now lukewarm. “How did I get here, witch?” At the sudden shift in your body language Qifrey responds in kind. 

“Ah.” As if he knows you're slowly shutting him out. “Well… one of your… team members, though I don’t suppose you can call him that now, saw you save my apprentice. Saw you kill to save my apprentice.” He emphasises. You flinch at the accusation in his tone. 

“I did no such thing.”

“I know Brimmed Cap’s lie but this is beneath you and frankly a waste of breath. I saw you save her.” He says and your eyes snap to him. He saw everything. Of course he did. And of course if he didn’t his little apprentice would tell him everything.

“I wanted the bounty for myself.” You lie. He sits back, closes his eyes and crosses his arms, as if tired of this conversation. 

“Then why didn’t you take her to your master then and there? Why did you whirl around and ask about her wellbeing? These are very contradictory actions as you can see.” He explains calmly. You glared, clenching your jaw but his eyes were still closed. Whatever ward he placed on this room kept you from using your magic, even the spells carved on your skin were useless. “You know… maybe you remember me before or maybe you don’t but I remember you. We’ve fought… three times, correct?” At this he opened his eyes to meet yours and smiled a little, as if recalling fond moments. You stared at him, not giving an inch to how rattled you were. “I beat you once, twice and… that last time… I beat you but only because… you hesitated.” 

You swung out your sword of fire, it sparked as it hit the brunt side of Qifrey’s blade, rain pouring like mad. You kicked out your booted foot, hitting Qifrey’s leg from beneath him as he thudded harshly to one knee and you swung your sword hard enough to cleaver him in half, his sword raised to meet yours, the force of your swing sending him sprawling back to the wet dirt. This is what Iguin talked about as you stalked the prey beneath you, that overwhelming taste of power, of beating a foe stronger than you. You stomped on his hand that held the blade hard enough that he gasped and dropped it, his wrist pinned beneath your muddy boot. You pressed your blade to his throat like you had with so many other foes. But instead of finishing the job, you hesitated. Qifrey broke loose and won back the upper hand just in time for the other Brimmed Caps to come to your aid. Outmanned Qifrey retreated but you had lost once again. 

“That’s a very… hopefully deluded outlook.” You said slowly, the memory dancing around your head like a jester taunting royalty.

“How would you describe it then?” He asks.

“Lack of bloodlust.” You say and a small smile grows on Qifrey’s lips, it was a scary sight. You tensed when he stood up. 

“Still hungry?” He asked, gathering up the things on your tray. 

“If you think kindness will get me to sell out my people then you are wrong.” You say sharply, hoping to break through that carefully crafted wall Qifrey hides behind. You sense he isn’t as happy go lucky as he likes to present. But he doesn’t take your bait. It was cheap bait anyways.

“You’re people left you bleeding out in the mud.” Qifrey says without missing a beat. Your eyes snap up to him as he turns to walk out of the room. “I’ll make you another serving.” And with that he sweeps out of the room. Unfortunately you weren’t as closed off to bait as he was. You blew out a breath and walked towards the threshold. He walked over it with ease so you reached out your hand to test it, you felt the power emanating from the invisible air, crackling like lightning waiting to strike. You pulled your hand away and stepped back. Just one touch would probably send you flying across the room and you were already not in the best of shape. You walked to the circular window and reached out, feeling that same crackling of power, there wasn’t one inch of wall that he missed. You sighed and sat back on the bed just as you heard stairs creaking and Qifrey walked back into the room.

“What kind of spell is in this room?” You asked as he gently sat another tray in front of you with fresh steaming soup and hot tea, this time with two slices of bread. Your stomach lurched at the sight and you were reaching for the spoon in seconds. 

“A simple protection spell.” He says. You doubt it’s that simple. 

“Protecting me from what?” You asked, mouth full. 

“Protecting them from you.” He corrects and your eyes find him again. You were the villain, something you didn’t feel like getting fed in a prison on your own making. You felt more like a fool in a bear trap. 

“I’m not the trump card you think I am.” You say, getting back to your food. “I know you're desperate for information about the Brimmed Cap’s, my master told me so.”

“You’re master?” He asks and he’s unable to keep the interest out of his voice. You’ve ensnared him. 

“Yes. He taught me all that I know.” You look down at the bowl, you can’t remember having food this good in so long. “He carved my first spell into my arm.” Qifrey flinches, that placid look on his face faltering. You look back up at him, elated at having rattled him. You reach for your sleeve, start to pull it up when Qifrey moves across the room in the blink of an eye, hand grasping your wrist to stop you. The sudden movement upsets the table in front of you as your stew tips over into your lap, hot and stinging. You gasp as Qifrey stares at you, almost fearful for a moment. “You could’ve just closed your eyes, witch!” You growled, yanking your hand out of his grip. 

“Apologies.” He breathes out unsteadily. “Are you hurt?” 

“It’s fine, just stings.” You say and suddenly Qifrey sweeps out of the room as fast as he had moved to stop you from showing your arm. You stare after him, confused, then look down at your lap. It was silly to be upset over spilled stew but you wished that witch would stub his toe wherever he was going. You pushed to your feet and pulled off your trousers, using them to clean up the small bit that made it to the ground. Your thighs were fine, the trousers were pretty thick so it saved you from any last burns. When you pushed back to your feet Qifrey walked back into the room and paused at the sight of you. In one hand he held another bowl of stew, the other a spare pair of trousers. His eyes slammed shut, a furious flush spreading across his face. 

“Here.” He shoves the pants your way. Your hand brushes against his as you take them and he shivers, stepping back. You watch his expressions as you pull them on. He was clearly embarrassed. It was… amusing to see him this way. Then your gut slams. He’s your enemy. You grab the bowl of stew out of his other hand and his eyes peek open. Once he deems it safe he blows out a breath and both of you sit back down. “Are you sure you’re alright?” He asks and you glare at him and get back to eating your stew.

“What led to me being imprisoned here?” You ask and Qifrey takes a breath, whatever strange state you saw him in a moment ago was smoothed over. 

“You’re not our prisoner.” 

“Oh I’m not?” You ask, almost laughing as you dip bread in the broth and take a bite. “So I can walk right out of that barrier?”

“Yes.” He says and you actually do laugh. 

“Yes… it will send me to my early grave as well?” You finish and Qifrey nods his head. 

“I only had it up while I wasn’t home to protect the girls. I am home now.” He says simply, not threatened by you, he was right not to be. Not only were you weak, your special sword was broken on the table. You shove to your feet, the bowl rattling but not spilling.

“Shall I test it?” You ask and he makes a gesture like be my guest. You walk over to it and pause. This was clearly a trick but if he wanted answers out of you then he’d have to bring you back from the dead. You walk forwards and flinch as you pass right through the threshold and… nothing happens. You turn back and Qifrey is smiling a little.

“Do you believe me now?” He asks, crossing his legs and leaning back nonchalantly. 

“Foolish witch.” You say before darting down the stairs. You were in some… cozy house. You spot the front door and rush to it, throwing it open and running outside into the pouring rain. You made it down the path when finally the moments that led you being taken here slam into your mind. The final piece of the puzzle. 

Qifrey sits calmly in the room and waits. He hears the front door open back up and squelching as you make your way back up the stairs, drenched from the rain. Qifrey stands, pulling out his paper pad, casting a spell that dries you right up. You don’t meet his eye as you shiver and make your way back to the table of food. Qifrey walks over, grabs a blanket and tosses it over your shoulders. You don’t bid him thanks because you have made a proper fool out of yourself. It wasn’t some random Brimmed Cap that busted you over the head. It was your own master. He’d seen you save Coco, he’d seen you betray him and he was the second one that day that called you a traitor. Qifrey didn’t have a protection spell over this room when he got home because he knew once that memory of yours jogged you’d remember that you have nowhere else to go. Iguin would be looking for you. He’d want to finish the job. All the Brimmed Cap would be on the same page. You were just as much a wanted person as Coco was, though for very different reasons. Very different deadly reasons. 

“I’m useless to you, Witch.” You say, absentmindedly stirring your soup. Qifrey furrows his brows. 

“How so?”

“One of the things you give up for unlimited power just so happens to be autonomy.” You explain. “I can’t speak his name. I can’t write his name. I can’t lead you to him. I can’t talk about our cause or where our base is because the moment he saw me as a traitor those facts must’ve been simply… plucked out of my head.” You say with a heavy sigh. “I’m no more use to you than my broken blade over on the desk.” Qifrey’s eyes move to the discarded blade, the very same one you had pressed to his throat months ago. 

“Blade’s can be fixed, reforged. Everything has uses, even broken things.” Qifrey says, reaching out and grabbing the hilt. It was weird seeing him hold it, he turned it around in his hands, traced the blade until it broke off at the end. “You told me a little. You may not be able to speak his name but you recalled that he was your master. That he carved into your arm, that he taught you all as you said.” You nod your head. “He wiped enough but not everything.” You laughed a little and he furrowed a brow at that sound. 

“It’s not really a wiping of memory. It’s a spell… or rather a curse. One that I agreed to when I was too young to know its purpose.” You explain as Qifrey sets your blade down. 

“What do you mean?” He asks as you get back to eating, not wanting the stew to go cold. 

“You never raise a hand to your master, never speak his name to hurt or uncover him lest you face death.”

“You’re saying this curse… if you speak his name you will die?” He pieces out. You nod your head and stuff a piece of bread into your mouth. Three days without food felt more like a week. Qifrey looks frustrated, he was finally seeing just how useless it was to risk his neck bringing you here. He took the biggest gamble. Bringing you to his atelier of all places. You could’ve been pretending to be on his side to reveal Coco’s location, playing double agent. You weren’t of course but still… risky move on his part.

“Sorry witch, it must sting to go through all this trouble for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” Qifrey responds absentmindedly, his mind was on something else entirely.

“It was.” You insist but he shakes his head, running a stressed hand through his hair.

“You’re alive, that was the purpose.” He says and pushes to his feet. You make a face, shaking your head. 

“Are you listening?” You ask. “I offer nothing. I can’t help you.”

“Fine.” He says. “That is fine. Although I wouldn’t say you offer nothing. You are an incredibly skilled witch, not only with spells but fighting style.”

“I can’t help you fight them.”

“But you can help me train my apprentices.” You freeze at his words. 

“Are you mad?” You ask incredulously, voice a little high pitched. He looks at you as though what he said was normal.

“I’m not mad.” He answers nonchalantly. 

“I think you might be. Maybe you're the one who was dealt a hefty blow on the head.” You say and when he says your name your heart stutters. 

“Coco likes you. She tended over you as you slept. Agott is enamored with your blade. Richeh… well it’s hard to know what she finds enthralling about you but she was in here just as much as Coco and Tetia. They might be scared of you presently but I think you have a chance to do some good. Witches shouldn’t solely rely on magic, sometimes learning basic combat skills and bladework will do good.” You look at him as though he sprouted another head. 

“I haven’t casted a spell normally in… in-- I don’t even know… over probably ten years at this point.” You stuttered. 

“It’s easy, you're adaptable.”

“And you are a complete fool! This is why the Brimmed Cap’s are outsmarting you regular witches! You’re too-- trusting! Too--- kind!” You huff, running a stressed hand through your hair. Qifrey stands and sits beside you on the bed. You stiffen at his proximity. 

“Yet you relied on my kindness after running away then coming back. Does that make you a fool as well?” He asks and it stings because it’s true. You had nowhere else to go. Walking into the forest to be tracked down and killed wasn’t enticing so you turned back, back to the warmth of this atelier. You didn’t deserve its warmth but still you came back. Living in the cold so long it was hard to pull away from that warmth. You bit your lip. 

“I’m… I’m not good with kids.” You say foolishly and Qifrey laughs. 

“Kids are wonderful, and very forgiving.”

“They know what I am. They’ll just fear me.” 

“Yet they made sure to watch over you as you slept.”

“You just have a counter for everything I say don’t you?” You shoot back and turn to look at him. He’s a lot closer now, he’s smiling a little, his eyes crinkled. You blinked at him. 

“Will you do it?” He asks softly. It wasn’t like you had anywhere else to go. Your eyes looked over his face for a moment and when your cheeks burned you looked back down at your food. “I can offer things to you. Things that your old master could never do.” That draws your attention. 

“What do you mean?”

“Protection. As long as you are in this atelier you’ll be safe from anyone that wishes you harm.”

“And outside these walls?”

“I will protect you myself.” He says and you look at him skeptically. 

“You’re full of it.” You say but some weak part of you trusts his words, or just craves something stable. He saved you once to no advantage and that didn’t sit right with you. It was hard to grasp why someone would stick their neck out for you only knowing you are their enemy. 

“I swear to it.” He lowers his head a little to meet your eyes at level. There was no trickery or deception in that look, none that you can tell at least. 

“You’re asking a viper to train mice.” You say and he nods his head. 

“I know.” He says foolishly. “Would you rather I beg and plead? I can.”

“You really are mad.” You blush, shaking your head unbelieving but he slides to the floor on his knees in front of you. Your eyes widen, cheeks burning. “Qifrey-”

“Ah. So you do know my name.” He smiles. Your stomach twists sickeningly. “Please… help me train my apprentices. I need them to be ready for what’s surely to come. I offer my protection, food and shelter to you in return. Please, I beg you accept my offer.” You could barely speak because your heart was effectively taking up space in your throat. You felt less like the viper and more like the mice. A blushing, foolish mess of a mouse. You had to look away, to cover your mouth. 

“Fine.” You answer and Qifrey breathes out in relief. 

“I was prepared for more pleading but thankfully you had mercy on me.” He smiled up at you. You felt sick. 

“Coco, straighten up a little,” You directed as Coco flushed, the wooden sword in her hand wavering in the wind. She straightens but her stance is still wide open, and her grip on her sword is practically floundering. Agott moves in, that girl took your lessons to heart, she was as flawless with a sword as she was with a wand. You were quite impressed. Coco raises her sword halfheartedly to stop Agott’s blow but the force of it cracks the wooden blade and it splinters in half. Agott smiles to herself, sensing an opening and juts her sword forwards right towards Coco’s stomach. You sigh and move in, catching Agott’s wooden blade in a flash before it can strike young Coco. Agott gasps, both girls impressed by your quick movements. 

“Miss?” Agott’s impressed look grinds into annoyance. “Why’d you stop me?” 

“Because we're just practicing, Agott, no need to go for a killing blow.” You say, letting her sword go. She steps back, huffing. You reach out and ruffle her hair. “I’m impressed with your tenacity. Your footwork has improved quite a bit.” You praise and watch in amusement as Agott flushes, trying to keep that annoyed twist to her face. You turn to Coco, her sword broken useless in her grip, she looks positively disappointed. You had been working with Agott a lot longer than the others and although Coco had only been at this for a little over a week, she sure beat herself up over it. You walked over and grabbed another practice sword. 

“Take this.” You say, keeping a softness to your voice. Qifrey had sat in on one of your first lessons with the girls and one of the only things he told you after you ended up making Tetia and Coco cry was to try talking to them softer, nicer. You hadn’t been around kids very much so it was a bit of an adjustment. It was hard not to lash out and berate them because that’s the way you were taught. But after that disaster of a first lesson you tried Qifrey’s way and was happy to find that you really were able to get through to them easier if you talked to them kinder… who would’ve guessed? 

Coco cautiously takes the intact practice sword from your hand as you toss away the broken one.

“Can you show me your ready stance?” You ask and step back. Coco slowly moves into a shaky stance, immediately your mind works at all the openings in her stance, the loose grip on her sword, her elbow extended a bit too much. You heard snickering behind you, Coco’s face fell a little and she flushed in embarrassment. You turned, eyes glaring. Tetia and Agott straightened as if caught. “You two go spar.” You say and they nod their heads quickly and fumble for their swords. Your eyes find Richeh who was currently inspecting ants in the grass. “Would you like to join us, Richeh?” You ask, she just shakes her head. You leave it be. That one was hard for you to figure out. You focus back on Coco, she looks dejected. “Don’t look so gloomy, Coco, you’ve only been at this for a week.” You say as she deflates even more.

“I know, Miss. But I just can’t seem to get the hang of it.” 

“May I ask what you were doing before studying to be a witch?” You ask as Coco lights up a little, nodding her head. 

“I worked in a fabric shop with my mother.” She says fondly. You nod your head. 

“You have to be rather precise while cutting fabric, am I correct?” You ask and she nods her head. “You have to hold the shears a certain way to keep them steady?” 

“Yes, miss.” 

“Think of the hilt of your sword like shears. Your swings will be messy and predictable the looser your grip. But the better your grip, the truer your strike.” You say and her face lights up, she liked your analogy it seemed. “So, show me your grip again.” 

The girls ate happily later that night, their chatter fluttering all the way up to your room where you poured over one of Qifrey’s spellbooks, your stew sat cold on the side of your desk. It had been years since you casted spells that weren’t used for harming others. Mundane spells, like how to heat up water or to shut a door from across the room. It was just busywork, also an excuse to keep a wall up and keep to yourself. You enjoyed teaching the girls but beyond that you weren’t really sure what your place was beyond these walls. What happens when Qifrey’s kindness ran out and you were turned out onto the streets? If the Brimmed Cap’s didn’t snap you up then surely the Knights Morales would. You needed more spells in your roster. Concealment spells, spells to keep food fresh for years on end, all spells you could use on the run. You were hoping one day you would work up the courage to ask Qifrey what spell he placed on your room the first night he brought you to this Atelier. Now that would be a useful spell. 

“Your food is getting cold.” Qifrey’s voice says from the threshold. It startles you but you don’t show it.

“It’s been cold.” You say, flipping to the next page of the book. 

“May I come in?” He asks, lingering at the door like a vampire. You shrug your shoulders. 

“Be my guest.” You say noncommittally. 

“Such pleasure.” He says and you hear his steps approaching you at your desk. “What’re you lost in now?”

“Nothing particularly gripping.” You say and he reaches over to your food and you don’t see him cast the spell but suddenly your food is steaming again. 

“I was thinking we could eat together, since you always eat up here alone.” He says, you turn to see he had his tray in his hand. You furrow your brow. 

“I don’t need company.” You turn back to your spell book. You weren’t one of his apprentices and you surely had no idea how to act around him. This all was too good to be true and in your experience things that were too good would always come to a swift end. 

“You might not need it but… I would like some.” He says and sets his tray next to yours, pulling up a chair. You feel how close he sits, your hair standing on end. You slam the spellbook shut and clear your throat, turning to glare. He’s so close, smiling so softly. “Ah, done studying? Perfect.” He says, pushing your tray towards you. So he wasn’t going to leave this alone. You sigh, relenting. Today’s meal was a pot roast you assumed, you weren’t much of a connoisseur and you sure weren’t picky either. Food was food. But also Qifrey had a gift for cooking, it was unnerving just how good he was at most things. 

“Is it to your liking?” He asks as you eat a spoonful, nodding your head with a full mouth. He smiles. “I tried some different seasonings.” He says and you give him a strange look. It was weird to be talking so casually like him. Months ago you had been moments from taking his life. Now he’s chatting to you about seasonings. Strange. 

“It’s… good.” You say, filling the air. He turns to you at your words. 

“That’s high praise from you.” He beams, you look away, that smile is too bright. “Oh! Almost forgot!” He says, pushing to his feet. “I need to grab something.” He sweeps out of your room and you watch after him, confused. He peeks his head back in a moment later. “Will you shut your eyes for me?” He asks and you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“What're you planning, witch?” You ask as you turn away, covering your eyes.

“Nothing nefarious, you have my word.” You hear him draw closer and your skin ignites. “Alright, you may look.” Slowly you turn around. The first thing that catches your eyes in the glint reflecting the light, it takes a moment for your eyes to understand your looking at your blade that had been hopelessly shattered the night Qifrey brought you here. Shattered no more, the blade was fully intact and beautifully sculpted. You sucked in a breath, slowly pushing to your feet. Your eyes bounced from the blade back to his eyes. Words failed you. “Here, take a closer look.” He offers it to you. Slowly you reach out, your cold fingers brushing the warmth of his hand as you take the blade offered to you. It’s hefty, a little heavier than what it was before but it felt entirely better made. You run your finger across the blade as a small sliver of blood blooms. Qifrey gasps and fumbles to grab a cloth from his tray for your finger. 

“It’s fine.” You dismiss, lost in the beautiful intricacies. The leather on the hilt had been replaced with something thicker and easier to gasp. You turn it over in your hand. Qifrey clears his throat. 

“It’s quite sharp as you can tell.” And you can tell he’s inching to take care of your wound. But really it is nothing. 

“Yes. Very.” You smile, meeting his eyes. He’s utterly awestruck at your expression, his breath catching. His cheeks burn impossibly red as you ignore him and look back at the blade. “Who fixed it?” You ask, looking closer at the small details. 

“It uh-- it was um…” He clears his throat. “A swordsmith in Kalhn.” 

“This blade is magnificent.” You beam, you couldn’t remember the last time you had seen something so beautiful. 

“Ah… so that’s what true praise sounds like.” Qifrey mumbles but your mind was entirely elsewhere. 

“What do I owe?” You ask, eyes darting up to him. His brows furrow. 

“Not a thing. It’s a gift.” He says. You shake your head in an instant, offering the blade back to him. 

“I can’t accept this, it’s too fine a blade.” He reaches out and gently pushes it back to you.

“You can accept it because it’s a gift.” He says. You shake your head as he’s nodding his. 

“Witch-”

“Qifrey.” He corrects with a slight smile, you glare. 

“Qifrey,” You say slowly, appeasing him. “I cannot accept it.”

“Why?”

“Why would you fix it for me?” You ask sharply.

“Does everything I do have to come with such close scrutiny?” He asks back. You don’t know how to answer that, not without sounding like the paranoid mess you were.

“No one does anything without wanting something in return.” You say, eyes just as scrutinizing as he described. “I don’t want your charity.” Qifrey sighs, he nods his head and thinks about your words, as if he’s mapping out how to talk to you without offending you. 

“This isn’t charity.” He says. “That blade means something to you, doesn’t it?”

“And what business do you have looking after my happiness?” You say, shoving the blade back towards him. “Do I walk around this Atelier like a wounded dog? Something you need to fix?” His eyes snap to yours. God… you so wish you could anger him into something truthful. You’ve sensed something simmering in him but he is so awfully careful with every aspect of himself. It's unnerving. You’d much rather anger, that’s real and tangible. More so than his false kind words and empty gestures. His breath catches, he’s measuring himself, thinking before he speaks. You strike before he can tailor a response. “What is your plan, witch? Hmm? Once I whip these girls into fighting shape, what then?”

“What? You think I’ll turn you out like a used good?” He asks, his voice wavering. You were getting to him. Good. You needed the truth.

“Yes.” You say. “Yes I do. Am I wrong?”

“Of course you are wrong.” He denies, shaking his head, his white hair moving then falling back into place as though a spell was keeping it perfect. “I have no secret ambitions hidden from you. I have been rather upfront with you from the start.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“That is fine. I don’t expect blind belief. But have I done anything to warrant disbelief in the slightest?” 

“Yes.” You’ve managed to anger yourself into feeling foolish. Attacking someone not worthy of your ire but something about him irked you to your soul. Maybe it was because you just couldn’t figure him out. Couldn’t read him like all the others. He set you off. He kept you on the edge. Your soul squirmed. He raises his brows as if to tell you to list examples. You annoyingly couldn’t think of anything and managed to annoy yourself enough that this conversation felt pointless. Breath wasted in the endeavor to push him over the edge. You wanted to make him squirm, wanted to irk him as much as he irked you. But it was unfair and frankly rude to attack without warrant. You pulled the blade back close to you. You looked at the glint of the steel. “Forget it.” You relent. “I accept if you still want to give this to me.” You say and Qifrey nods his head. 

“Please.” He says and you bite your lip. 

“Excuse my manners. It appears I haven’t any.” You say, placing the blade on your bed.

“I expected as much. Come, let us eat.” He offers, sitting back down, this time you see him cast the spell to warm up both of your stews. 

In the morning you wake to Coco milling about your door arguing with Agott. Their voices bring you annoyance at being woken. You weren’t an early riser. You pushed up, glaring. 

“Does my threshold look like the best place to argue?” You call out to them. The two jump at the sound of your voice, looking startled. 

“Apologies, miss.” Coco says quickly. You sit up, hair a mess, barely awake. You yawn, blinking slowly. “It’s just that… it’s almost past ten and Master Qifrey is still asleep and we're…”

“Hungry.” Agott finishes. You stare at the two of them. 

“Hungry?” You echo. They both nod their heads. “And you’re incapable of… remedying that yourself?”

“Well… Miss… you see…” Coco stutters. “Master Qifrey does all the cooking so we never really had to… learn I suppose.” You yawn again, bigger this time and it pitters out into an annoyed groan. 

“I’m not a skilled cook either.” You say. 

“You made us breakfast that one morning… the meat and runny eggs?” Agott offers. Bacon and eggs, you meant to cook the eggs fully but they ended up liking them. You groan, pushing the covers from your body. 

“Fine. I’ll be down in a moment.” You say and Coco breaks out into a bright smile. 

“Much thanks! We’ll prepare the ingredients.” She says, zooming out of the room. 

“Agott,” You call out, Agott pauses in the door. “Qifrey is still sleeping?” You ask and she nods her head, she can’t keep the worry out of her eyes. 

“Do you think he’s sick?” Agott asks. You think he might be. You never known a morning where Qifrey slept past six am. Sometimes you would still be awake when he’d stir, whistling as he readied breakfast. That was your cue to sleep when you’d hear his merry tune. It lulled you asleep most mornings.

“I’m sure he’s fine, go help Coco.” You say with a soft smile, Agott smiles back, nodding her head as she turns and leaves your room. You quickly brush out your hair, braiding it back out of your face, changing into something comfortable by not sleeping. You wash your face and clean your teeth. You rush downstairs, put on a jovial face and cook breakfast for the girls. You plate their meat and eggs, fixing each one of them something to drink before slipping back upstairs. You peek towards Qifrey’s door. You had to check on him. You swallowed down your nerves and knocked once and waited. You knocked twice and waited. 

“Qifrey?” You call through the door and wait again. Nothing. Your heart plunges to the depths of your stomach. “I’m coming in. Please god be decent.” You mumble the last part and twist the knob, pushing the door open. The room is dark, slivers of light dancing across the carpet from the cracks in the curtains. The room is warm, stagnant. You pad towards his bed, spotting his shape. The way he’s positioned it looked as though he barely made it to his bed before passing out. “Qifrey?” You say softly, gently reaching across the expanse, your hand is mere inches from his shoulder when his hand suddenly shoots out, grasping your wrist. You gasp in shock and his wild eye shoots to you. There’s a moment, a tense moment where you think he has no idea who you are then his grasp slackens. 

“I apologize, I didn’t harm you did I?” He asks, looking close at the part of your wrist he grabbed you at, his thumb gently sliding down a particularly visible vein on your wrist. You yank your hand away. 

“Are you alright? It’s nearly ten.” You say, rattled. His eyes widen, he shoves the covers from his body and pushes to his feet. He falters dizzily at the quick movement and falls forwards a little. Your hands shoot out instinctively, one hand bracing his shoulder, the other on his hip, fingers accidentally slipping beneath his black compression shirt. His skin is clammy under your touch. “Qifrey,” You admonish, pushing him back towards the bed. “Sit.” You say sharply. He does without argument and blink warily. 

“I don’t feel well.” He says, stating the obvious. 

“Yes, I see that.” You press the back of your hand to his forehead. It’s hot to the touch. He moves close to your touch, capturing your wrist. 

“Your hands are so cold.” He states, relishing in the cold as he presses your hand against his hot cheek. 

“Cold hands, cold heart.” You recite, his eyes shift up to yours. 

“Hm?”

“Something my father used to say.” You say and Qifrey’s expression drops. 

“You are not cold hearted.”

“It was a joke. Mostly.” You say. “Lie back.” You guide him back against his pillows, he still hasn’t let go of your hand. He’s quite clingy.

“What’s the diagnosis?” He asks. You pull your hand away and he pouts. 

“I’ll fix you some medicine and something to eat.” You say. “Can you manage a cold bath? It should help you cool off a bit.” You say as he nods his head. “Do that then. I’ll be back in fifteen.” You turn and he catches your wrist again. 

“Thank you.” He says and the warmth in his voice burns you all over. You were berating him just last night. How kind of you. 

“I’ll be back.” You say, pulling out of his loose grasp. You find your way down stairs, whipping up a recipe your grandma taught you years ago and something plain for him to eat so it wouldn’t upset his stomach. 

“Is Master Qifrey alright?” Richeh asks, startling you. You hadn’t heard her approach. 

“Ah… yes. He’s feeling a bit under the weather but I’ll have him fixed up in no time.” You smile down at her. 

“No doubt.” She says and smiles a little back at you before fixing another plate for herself. When you walk back up stairs you push open his door and falter. He’d just got out of the bath, a towel wrapped precariously around his hips. You startle enough that you just about drop the tray in your hasten to turn around. 

“Christ- my apologies.” You say quickly. 

“It’s alright. Not much to look at.” He tries to be funny. You didn’t see much but it definitely wasn’t ‘not much to look at’. You shake those thoughts out of your head. You can’t help the blush, can’t shake that away. “I’m decent.” You slowly turn back. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, red faced and pale. You walk over to him, feeling his face. He feels even hotter than before. 

“Did you take a cold bath?” You ask and he hums yes. You set the tray down. You grasp the medicinal bottle, handing it to him. “Down the whole thing.” You say, he takes it, doesn’t even question what it is. Just does as told. He makes a face. 

“It’s sweet.” 

“No doubt my grandma made it that way so she could trick me into taking it as a child.” You say as he moves closer to you. 

“Ah… family recipe?” He asks and you nod your head, handing him plain chicken broth, he takes it gratefully and sips at it. You watch him, his movements a little sluggish. 

“What happened? You were just fine last night?” 

“I… I'm unsure. It was quite sudden.” He says, popping a cracker in his mouth, chewing slowly. He got a little color back as he ate but his cheeks were still quite red. When he finished his food you took the bowl from him. 

“Alright, lie back.” He does as told as you turn, dipping a washcloth in cold water, ringing it out and turning to dab it on his cheeks and forehead. He settles, making a contented noise, relaxing entirely under your care. 

“You’re skilled at this.” He says. 

“My grandma got sick a lot.” You divulge. His eye squints open, as if he can’t believe you gave him something about yourself.

“Is she..?”

“Surely.” You say. “I’m… unsure though. I sort of… left in a hurry.” He knows what you meant. You had told him how you ran away and joined the Brimmed Cap’s.

“She could still be alive.” He says and you laugh a little. 

“Sure.” You pull back and redip the cloth, ringing it out again, you roll it up and place it on his forehead. “Rest. I’ll come check on you later.” You push up, yet again he catches your hand. 

“Wait-- the girls-”

“Fed. I’ll exhaust them in training. They’re fine.” You say, his hand slides to your fingers. 

“Thank you.” He says yet again. 

“Get some rest.” You say, pulling away yet again.

When you pop in to check on him later he’s fast sleep, the rag on his forehead has fallen off so you walk softly across the room and gently grab it. You feel his face and sigh in relief. He’s not hot to the touch any longer. You fix the covers over him and place the rag on the side table. Your eyes drift back to his face. Looking at him like this, unguarded, felt incredibly intimate, so much so you felt your face flush. He looked peaceful, wholly unguarded. Without thinking you reached out and brushed his hair off his forehead. His cheeks still had a bit of blush to them. Your thumb traced the curve of his jaw, when he stirred a little you yanked your hand back, heart stuttering. He swallowed dryly and his eyes fluttered open. You were standing away from him at this point, pretending to fix him something to drink when in reality you’d rushed to get away from him. 

“Ah… hello.” He greets, his voice rough with sleep. You fix him with a second dose of medicine and some honeyed tea. 

“Sleep well?” You ask, back to him. You hear him pushing up to a sitting position. 

“Yes… I feel… much better.” He says, you turn back and hand him the medicine. He doesn’t question a thing, just throws it back. Then you hand him the tea.

“I suspect the sudden illness was exhaustion.” You say and watch him slowly bring the cup to his lips, taking a sip. He savors it, breathing in the warmth wafting. 

“Yes, I’d agree with that.” He says.

“Have you not been sleeping?” You ask and he nods his head. 

“Not well enough it seems.” He offers a weak smile. 

“Remedy that.” You say at that fake smile. “You worried the girls.” The smile on his lips dies. 

“Oh… yes. I didn’t think of that.” He says, studying the inside of his half empty cup. “You told them I just needed some rest right?”

“Yes.” You say, gathering up the tray to leave. 

“Wait,” He calls to you, you pause at the door. “Can’t you stay? You don’t need to rush off.”

“I have to cook the girls dinner.”

“They are perfectly capable of cooking, they’ve done it time again.” He says. You furrow your brow slightly.

“But they said…” You trail off and he raises a brow. You sigh, setting the tray by the door. “Your apprentices are some tricksters.”

“Ah… did they tell you differently? It’s possible they just wanted some comfort since I wasn’t awake.” 

“I’m sure.” You say. He beckons you closer. You suddenly remember your thumb tracing his jaw when he slept, you didn’t walk any closer. His hand drops back to his lap, he swallows, clears his throat then speaks. 

“I can’t thank you enough.”

“You have. Three times now.” You say and he smiles at that. 

“You’ve kept count.”

“It wasn’t hard.” You roll your eyes and he smiles again, not that fake weak smile from before. A genuine smile and the way he looked at you that made you squirm in your skin. He looked at you the way your mother used to look at your father before times got hard. That blindly adoring look of love. “Is there anything else you need?” You say in a rush, eager to end this moment. 

“Yes,” He says, sitting up more. 

“What?”

“Come… sit with me for a moment.” He beckons you again. You bite your lip hard and walk across the small expanse of his room, you sit at the edge of his bed, he could reach out his hand and brush you with the tips of his fingers if he wanted. “How is the blade faring? Did you practice with it today?”

“It’s slightly heavier than my last one.” You say and he cocks his head. “The smallest bit of weight difference is easy to tell when you use a weapon your entire life.”

“Does that affect the way you use it?”

“No. Just that my swings have a bit more power than before.” You say. “It isn’t a bad thing.” He smiles at that. 

“We should spar.” He smirks, you roll your eyes. 

“I would wipe the floor with you, Witch.”

“I meant when I was better.” He laughs warmly. 

“I know what you meant.” You say and meet his eyes, his eyes light up at your tease. 

“I believe our scoreboard is two to one at this point.” He says and that makes you laugh. 

“I yearn to tie then break that tie.”

“So that’s what you yearn for? To best me?” His voice is rich. The room felt smaller at this conversation. He leans a little closer. 

“That’s my life's goal.”

“You wouldn’t have to do much to best me.” He says softly. When had he gotten so close? 

“Is that so?” You ask and he slowly nods his head. 

“You're rather distracting.” 

“What do you mean by that?” You ask and he reaches across the short distance between you both and tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. You freeze. You were the distracted one. 

“You muddle my brain.” He says. “It’s hard to think properly.” You felt that. You were aware of your breathing and how much you hoped it sounded normal and not as irregular as your heartbeat. Your legs longed to bolt but your body stayed bolted to the bed.

“Once you feel better the fog will lift.”

“It has nothing to do with sickness.” He says and his eye dips down to your lips, he savors the sight, as though he was never allowed to look at them before in such detail. “Though maybe it’s some kind of other sickness.” You freeze again. You dig your nails into your leg and will yourself to get a damn grip. You felt like the hazy one. You had no quips to give, no sharp words, you had nothing. You watch as his eye raises back up to meet your eyes. He doesn’t look caught out or embarrassed that he took his time studying you.

“And… What sickness would that be?” Luckily your voice didn’t sound as shaken as you felt. This time he’s the one that looks away, almost bashfully. 

“One that’s indescribable." 

“How mysterious.” You note, slowly reeling yourself back together. But then he says your name and you feel yourself unraveling. “Hm?”

“Don’t you feel it too?” He asks. 

“The sickness?” You clarify and he quickly nods his head, there was a kind of foolish hope in his eyes. You weren’t sure what you felt but it wasn’t something you’d let yourself explore. You shake your head. “I don’t feel a thing.” You say, pushing to your feet. “I’ll come check on you in the morning.” He catches your hand.

“Just… stay. Please.” He pleads, pulling you back towards the bed. You sit back down, cursing your traitorous legs for not carrying your wanting heart out of this room. It’s quiet, his hand is still holding yours. He speaks your name again before pushing up the sleeve on your arm, exposing warm, carved up skin. You flinch as his finger traces the spell etched into your skin. He’s not looking at it with fear or disgust, not flinching away from it like before. His touch is reverent and you let his touch you, unable to speak. He brings your arm close to him and presses his lips to the scar. You jolt, yanking your hand out of his grip. You burn all over, the soft press of his lips to your arm felt sickeningly good. You were sick. Likely with the same thing that ailed him. 

He speaks your name again then his hand is sliding on your hot cheek, thumb caressing you like you had done to him. You part your lips to admonish him but the thought dies when those gentle lips press against yours. Your heart topples out of your chest, you grip the blanket on his bed so as to not touch him as his lips slide against yours. You can’t stop him. You didn’t want to stop him. He cracked your lips apart and deepened the kiss, stealing away your breath and the last bit of your sanity. You grip the covers so hard that it was starting to hurt, you held onto your restraint like it was the last thing you owned. But it was all done in vain because you were kissing him back, you were making little embarrassing sounds to match his. His hand slid into your hair and he trailed kisses from your lips, turning your head as he trailed his kisses down to your neck. He breathed unsteadily against your neck as your eyes fluttered shut. 

“Shall I stop?” He whispers against your skin.

“No.” Your answer was quick. Too quick to pretend and hurt yourself in the endeavor to keep your hands to yourself. He pulled you to him on the bed, you lost your grip on the covers, your cold hands flying to his face and hair as you pulled his lips back to yours, he laid back on the bed and coaxed you on top of him, his hands sliding to your hips as you straddled him, bodies pressed together as his tongue slid cleverly in your mouth. You pressed him into the comforter as the kiss grew from gentle and exploring into desperate and cloying. Hands touching anything they could as he mapped out your body, sliding beneath the hem of your shirt. God everything was warm about him, his touch and the way he made you feel. This was wrong, you should’ve been able to show more restraint. Has he really bested you for the fourth time? Well really you were on top so maybe this was a win for you? You tug at his shirt.

“Raise your arms.” You direct and he does as told. He was always a good listener. You yank the useless thing over his head and toss it aside. His hands are already pushing up your own shirt and you let him pull it up over your head. He showers your exposed skin with kisses and flawlessly kicks off his pants, you hadn’t even noticed him doing it until he started working on your own.

“Lift your hips for me, please.” He pleaded and you were just as good a listener as he was. He pulled them off, likely tossing them in the same place as his. His fingers traced the outline of your underwear, his free hand coming up to pull your lips back to his. Your hips moved against his and he made a strangled sound against your mouth. Most unclothed and feeling foolishly hot just moments ago you said you didn’t feel anything. He called you on your bluff so flawlessly you hadn’t even known you were in a trap until it was too late. His arms wrapped around you, surprisingly strong. 

“This is a horrible idea.” You say against his mouth.

“You think so?” He asks. “How horrible?”

“Astrnomically horrible.” You lie. “I hate you.”

“Do you?” He questions, back to kissing your throat. 

“Yes… yes I do.” You groan, he sits up so your chests are practically pressed together, his bright eyes looking up at you adoringly. He worshiped you with kisses.

“How much?”

“How much… what?”

“How much do you hate me?” He asks breathlessly against your collar bone. You're unable to answer for a moment. “Hm?” He hums as you tug his hair a little and his hum breaks off into a whimper.

“So so much.” You lie again. “Sometimes it's all I think about.” 

“Yeah?” He mewls, hands cloying.

“Don’t you hate me the same?”

“Not one bit.” He answers quickly he’s on top now, burying you into the mattress, showering you with kisses. He’s unable to verbally spar with you anymore and you the same. He speaks your name like a litany and you hate that you don’t hate him at all. No… you like him more than anyone you’ve ever known. Though the word ‘like’ wasn’t nearly a strong enough word but thinking past that made your head hurt and right now it was muddled enough. Neither of you let the other leave the bed the entire night and when you woke in the morning, a soft light casting across the room. Qifrey laid pressed against you, his shirt had ridden up a little in the night and the clothes you had thrown back on to sleep in were rumpled. You were tangled with him beneath the covers, his chin laid against the top of your head. You let him soak up the last of the cold inside you and listened to the soft rhythmic sounds of his breathing. You moved a little and he stirred, his arms tightening around you, pulling you impossibly closer. 

“Almost can’t believe you're still here.” He says softly against the top of your head. 

“It’s not like you're giving me much space to leave.” You throw back and feel him smile against you. “You seem moments away from casting that spell to keep me trapped in your room again.” 

“Don’t tempt me.” He speaks warmly, his voice a little deep from sleep, his accent soft on his tongue. 

“I should leave. Before the girls wake up.” You say and his arms tighten around you.

“Don’t go. Not yet.” You remember all those months ago walking up alone and confused in his room, a spell casted to keep you in. There didn’t need to be a spell now, you didn’t want to leave. But you also didn’t want to scar little witches. You push up and he pouts and groans.

“Someone has to be the mature one.” You say, warm feet hitting the cold hardwood flooring. You gather the rest of your clothes and walk towards his door. Qifey follows and gently stops you before you can slip away. 

“This… meant something to you, right?” He asks nervously. You almost laugh. You kissed him back. You pulled his clothes off. You stayed in his bed in his arms until morning. What about any of that made him think you didn’t care? You weren’t the best with words but you felt your actions were pretty clear. 

You felt your thighs clamp together tightly in an attempt at soothing the sudden ache his words spurred from your body. You weren’t sure if he realized it or not, but this was all you really wanted from him.

“Yeah? You like that, do you?” Sweat begins to build up against the smooth planes of his skin and he’s nearly irritated by it. So much so that he finally slips up and drops that gentle, kindhearted act of his, “Oh, I bet you do.” Your lips smooch down against his swollen base as he holds you in place—the faint tuffs of a white happy trail tickling your skin. “Tell me then, tell me how much you like having your mouth properly fucked. Come now, let me hear it.”

“Mmmph!” You mumble around him, batting your eyes up rapidly at him.

Qifrey chuckles. He did quite enjoy it when you tested him, and that feeling only doubled down when he saw you like this, “Still putting forth your best efforts even when—nngh… y-your mouth is all full of me. How cute.”

Your partner—never boyfriend, for reasons you’re entirely unsure of—gains that different shaded glimmer in his eyes all of a sudden. You relish in the feel of his dick drooling something pleasantly nasty down your throat and he seems to be delighted by the sight of it. That, and the sexy way in which you squirm in between his legs like you wanted him to be meaner to you or something.

“Slow, my love.” He tried to warn you, tried to apply pressure to your head and steady how quickly you sucked at his cock. “S-Slow down, I’m close.”

His voice was so delicate even as his orgasm approached and you found yourself moaning around his shaft as his tone wavered and pitched in reaction.

Then your hands met his legs and you gripped at him, lifting your gaze back up and swirling your tongue across every reachable vein he had to offer you. He wanted you to slow down again, but just like the last time, you refused to do so and proceeded to suck faster ‘n harder.

Things click for him right then.

“Ah? You want me to… oh.” His cock was throbbing all against the constricting walls of your throat and he knew you felt it. Even so, you still swallowed him in deeper and ignored how gags threatened to interrupt your actions. Qifrey found himself grinning, “You’d like to swallow it, would you?”

Naturally, you nod.

The witch before you was many, many things—but a complete pushover for you was not one of them. If you were going to actively disobey his orders of slowing down just to get what you wanted, then he was going to only allow your desires to come forth on his own terms.

Which is exactly why he holds your head as he pushes himself up to stand. You try to pull back as if you needed to breathe but your mouth is rapidly clogged by the length of his cock pushing forward in one, mean thrust.

His balls smack against your chin and he feels you whining around him as he grunts, “Naughty girl.” Qifrey readjusts his hands to the sides of your pretty face before letting out a soft sigh. Though, his calming exhale was rather opposite to the vicious look in his eyes as he began having his way with your mouth, “I do hope this-, hah… satisfies your fantasies well. Mmgh.”

You somehow gain the bratty nerve to try and wiggle your head away from his steeling grip and he seems to find that most humorous.

Cocking his head to the side and narrowing those rude eyes at you, “Still—keep still,” He groans, rolling his hips forward more thoroughly so that you could feel each inch of his cock twitch around your mouth. To his surprise, you manage to stop your squirming, and for that he smiles and says, “Goooood. Now swallow.” before cumming directly down your tongue.

When he soon pulls out of you, he’s left to watch gallops of saliva and his cum string between his tip and your lips. The sight should’ve been seen as disgusting, given how wet and sloppy it was. And yet he was still hard, still twitching in front of your face even as he panted to catch his breath.

It really was unfair how gorgeous of a partner he’d obtained.

He couldn’t help but want to fuck every drop of his frustrations out into you—especially when you were peering up at him with those glossy eyes of yours, looking as though you wanted to go again and again until he had his fill of you.

You move to wipe at your mouth, “Qifr—“

“Actually,” He’s cutting you off rather sharply, taking his dick into one hand and shuddering from the sensitivity of it before his feet shift his body closer to you. Then his other hand finds the top of your head and he’s glaring at you like you’re nothing more than some toy for him to make use of, “I quite enjoyed that.”

You blink once.

Qifrey had a tendency to focus on your pleasure most days, claiming that doing so is most enjoyable for him too. But you knew there was another side of him he wasn’t showing you quite yet, and apparently this was it.

His fingers disappear into your hair and his palm is nearing the back of your head. You knew he was about to absolutely ravish your throat based on the way he was holding onto you.

“Let’s go again, shall we?” Serves as the only warning from his plush lips. Then you watch him move his hand from his dick and to your jaw, tipping your chin up before he swipes a thumb over your cheek in awe. He hates water but it would be quite the sight to see it falling from your face all because of him, “Preferable until you’re crying… and after that, you’ll keep quiet about this. Understood?”

Qifrey had to make sure your silence was a given these days, seeing as you’d created a small habit of hinting at the intimate nights you experienced with him. And to make those matters worse, he’d found out that you shared these vague details with Olruggio of all people.

Hence why you’re pouting, “Not even—“

The witch cuts you off by nudging the hardened edges of his cock in between your lips all unevenly, letting his shaft gloss over your wiggly tongue and deep down into the back of your trachea—easily causing you to gag.

“You will tell no one about this.” He orders, yanking your head back so that only your lips are left to quiver around his tip, “Not a soul. Now nod if I’m understood.”

Obediently, you do.

Then his cheerful grin returns, despite that darkened look remaining present in his eye. “Good girl.”

Gulp.

It really wasn’t. Coco had just been excited to try one of your newer spells, one that shot bright bursts of light into the sky. The spell truly is meant to be harmless, but one misaligned arrow was how you found yourself tenderly nursing a deep cut on your side.

You groaned in frustration. 

It meant so much to you that your spells were harmless. You were a combative witch afterall, used to wielding your magic as a weapon. That’s why it was so imperative that you could slow down and enjoy the ‘gentler magic’ as Qifrey once put it. 

 His brow quirked up at your pout.

“Does it hurt terribly?” You faintly registered his fingers drawing back to just barely ghost the skin of your ribs. Just as quickly as he had drawn back you suddenly found yourself craving for the warmth of the pads of his fingers back on the skin of your side.

You shook your head ‘no’, partially because it was true, but mainly because you wanted him to continue nursing you to health.

Being babied didn’t feel so terrible.

“No it doesn’t hurt. I’m just cross with you.” You lied only to keep the conversation going.

Qifrey hummed, not at all put off. His hand found solace back at your waist, steadying you as he dabbed gently at your now stitched wound.

“Why are you cross with me?” He murmured, once again leaving you as he discarded the cotton he had just used.

 You shifted on the table you were perched comfortably on as Qifrey pushed his chair back, leaving from where he was situated between your open thighs.

“Where are you going?” You complained. You realized how childish you must sound right now as your voice adopts a low whine. But who could fault you? You just suffered a nasty blow.

Still, you immediately want to kick yourself from embarrassment before Qifrey looks up at you with a fond expression. You pause, looking down at his lovely face. There was a small divot still in between his brows from worry when he had scanned over your injury. With little thought you reached your hand out to gently flatten the harsh lines. 

You felt him still under the featherlight touch of your soft hand.

“Why are you cross at me?” He echoed his previous question, in a breathy whisper.

“Where are you going?” You whisper back, brow raising in challenge. 

 He smiled, head tilting to brace against his arm on the table. Whisps of silky white hair fell over his face, loosely. 

“I asked first.” He teased, only to rile you up.

You couldn’t help but reach out, brushing strands of white away from his soft blue gaze. Your fingers lingered on the peak of his cheek bone, tracing under the shadow of his shut lashes.

Qifrey’s eyes fluttered shut at the contact, just barely leaning into your touch.

What would the girls say if the saw the pair of you in this moment? You shuddered to think what Agott would say. Probably something sharp out of mock annoyance. You felt a smile involuntarily bloom on your face at the thought of the girls.

Qifrey couldn’t help but mirror your expression, bringing his own hand up to poke at your cheek.

“What would Tetia say if she saw us like this?” He mused, almost as if he had read your mind.

You huffed out a laugh, biting at your lip in thought. 

What would she say? Probably insistent that the pair of you were star-crossed lovers. 

Your face flushed at the thought.

 Qifrey pulled his chair back in between your legs, decidedly abandoning whatever it was he was going to get up for. Absent-mindedly he rested one arm against your thigh, leaning his head flat against it to get a closer look at his stitches. 

Your heart thudded against your chest. You knew he was only being so touchy because of how absorbed he was in his work. Not that he wasn't touchy usually. 

Who were you kidding? He was very touchy with you. As a matter of fact he was only this touchy with you. Everyone in the Atelier knew it– save for you, clearly.

“Gosh I don't want to even entertain that thought.” You groaned, half heartedly, thinking of all the crazed stories Tetia would surely come up with. 

“Let her keep her focus trained on Coco and Tartar.” You finish, grinning at the memory of the two, sneaking around.

Qifrey prodded at your wound, experimentally.

The smile from your face dropped, as you hissed in pain, face contorting into a wince. You tried, unsuccessfully, to school your expression but Qifrey had seen the flash of pain.

He cooed in sympathy, drawing his hand away from your side instead resting on your thigh drawing light circles against the flesh with his thumb in an effort to pacify you.

He stared at you with a tender look, as if the moment he tore his eyes from you, you’d disappear, slipping right through his fingers. You sat in the silence, unusually unbothered by his prolonged soft stare. In fact, you basked in it now, feeling yourself getting tired under the warm rays of his affection.

“Are you going to finish fixing me up?” You question, half-joking as you gestured your head to your exposed stitches.

The second you asked you regret it, realizing this would only shorten the sweetness of the moment.

Qifrey smiled to himself as if he knew some secret you didn't, and that only made you melt all the more. 

He pushed his glasses up his nose from where it had tilted, turning to grab a long bandaid. With nimble hands he peeled the sticky wrapping off the back.

You allowed your mind to wander as you observed how diligently he worked on a task so menial. How everything he did seemed to receive so much of his care and his affection. How strong and steady his arms looked even while holding something as delicate as a piece of fabric.

“Lean back.” He hummed, eyes once again trained onto you.

You rested both your hands on the table beneath you, slowly easing yourself back. You winced at the stretch of your torso and the subsequent stinging on your side.

Qifrey moved quickly, flattening the bandage against your skin. Gingerly, he laid his palm flat against the fabric, moving his other hand to brace your back, pushing his palms together to ensure a tight stick.

You couldn’t help the groan that escaped you, though Qifrey was quick to soothe you, tracing small shapes and swirls into your skin.

“There, done.” He murmured, assuring you that the worst of it was over. His hands remained resting around your waist, kneading you into a mound of clay in his expert hands.

You sighed, contently, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his shoulder.

His hands moved down to press against the the curve of your hips as he leaned his head against yours, ever so slightly.

Your voice lowered to a hushed whisper, as if you were telling him a secret.

“I’m cross with you because you care too much.”.

You felt his ministrations pause briefly before he continued on, humming, thoughtfully.

How could he fault them? He too was enamored by you.

But still, he couldn’t help the slow heat curdling in his stomach at the sight of just how close the pair of you were. 

Perhaps it was the way you were responding to the man just as passionately, laying a hand over his arm in your own excitement. Or maybe, it was the way your head would tip back in delight at a joke he had said. Not Qifrey, him.

Qifrey leaned against the stone pillar, arms crossed tightly in front of him. He felt his lip curl at the sight of the man leaning in to whisper something in your ear.

Truthfully, Qifrey had no right to be upset. It wasn’t as if the pair of you were exclusive. 

He shook his head.

It wasn’t even as if the man you were talking to was making any advances towards you. He was just an Unknowing, infatuated with the idea of magic. How could he blame him for that?

Qifrey breathed deeply in attempts to compose his firing thoughts. 

Regardless, Qifrey was only here in town to support you. The girls had run off to replenish their supplies with Olruggio and how could he leave you all alone? What would you do if you found yourself stuck in a dreadful conversation with no one to save you?

The sound of your bright laugh pulled Qifrey out of his thoughts. He couldn’t help the slow smile that spread onto his face at the sound before he remembered who had drawn that sound from you.

Perhaps it was him that needed saving.

You laughed again, a tinkling sound as you looked away from the man, bashfully. The man grinned at the sight pointing back to your latest invention. 

Qifrey wondered what he was saying to make you so shy. Presumably complimenting the sheer brilliance of your mind.

He snorted, childishly.

He knew you were brilliant far before any Unknowing did. Is that what you wanted to hear from him? Because he would tell you day in and day out just how brilliant he found you if it meant you would look at him as sweetly as you were to him.

He shook his head, looking down towards his slightly scruffed Sylph shoes. 

Qifrey was being unfair and he knew it. 

He wasn’t going to say that there was nothing between the two of you because that would be a blatant lie. But had the two of you ever talked about the buzzing tension between you? Had anything been acknowledged? 

If you asked any of the other inhabitants of the Atelier you would get a resounding no. Honestly, Qifrey was starting to think that your little back and forth dance might be entirely too much tension for poor Tetia.

Still, an embarrassingly large part of Qifrey couldn’t help but revel in the feeling of your fleeting gaze meeting his teasingly, or your lingering touches, or your waggling brows when you whisper a slightly sexual innuendo to him, so close to prying ears.

But officially, the pair of you were nothing more than house-mates– co-workers, even.

Qifrey looked up from his idle feet to find your eyes already trained on him. 

He blinked. 

Almost as if you had read his mind you gazed across the courtyard at him through narrowed eyes and a sly grin. The man from before was still talking spiritedly to you, seemingly undeterred by your lack of attention.

Qifrey smiled back, cautiously. He knew that grin. That was the face that greeted him right before he found a broken vase or children running wild in the Atelier.

That was the smile he saw when you were about to tease him.

You turned away from him to look back at the tall man in front of you, though this time, Qifrey could tell you held no interest for what it was he was saying, spurred by a new task.

You nodded, idly, smiling with mock shyness as your hands moved to rest at the curve of his bicep. 

The man almost inflated under the heat of your affection, puffing out his chest as he kept talking, face resting in a ridiculous smirk that Qifrey would love to just wipe off.

“You’re really not going to do anything about that?” 

Qifrey jumped at the sound of Olruggio’s drawl to the left of the pillar he was leaned on. 

He clutched his chest, in shock, “Where did you come from?”

Olruggio shrugged, still staring at you and the man, amused. “The Starry Sword.”

Qifrey looked down, scanning the ground for four busy-bodied girls.

“They ran off somewhere.” Olruggio supplied, simply. 

He nodded his head back to you, casting a sidelong glance at Qifrey, “Now, what are you going to do about that?”

Qifrey leveled him with an unimpressed look, turning back to face you. In the absence of his attention, the man’s hand had traveled to rest at the junction of your hip and waist. 

Qifrey felt his teeth grit together. 

“They’re a grown witch.” Qifrey grumbled, almost against his will.

“They’re your grown witch.” 

Qifrey’s eyes widened, cheeks flushing as he rounded on Olruggio.

“They’re not my anything!” He spluttered, face reddening.

It was true. You weren’t his. But gosh did he wish you were. 

His flush deepened at his own accusatory thoughts. 

Qifrey could practically feel Olruggio’s blasé look aimed at him as he allowed a low, annoyed groan to escape him.

“The two of you are hopeless.” He deadpanned, turning to walk back towards the market, “Come find me when you finally come to your senses.”

He paused before turning back to glance at Qifrey once more, “And Qifrey? There’s something special about them. Make sure you act fast before someone else beats you to it.” 

Qifrey stared at the back of Olruggio’s retreating form, contemplatively.

The two of you were nothing, right? 

He wrapped his arms around your waist, sitting his head atop yours, “See anything you like?” 

Your eyes glistened, “Where do I even begin,” You giggled. 

“Pick out as many as you like,” He kissed the top of your head, “I’m going to check out the non-fiction section.” He removed his arms from around you, sliding his hand across your lower back as he walked away. Some days you swore he came right out of a romance novel. 

You truly did not know where to begin. The section was smaller, but the books were beautiful. An eccentric assortment of browns, greens, pinks, purples, any color you could name were on the shelves in front of you. But as much as you loved a pretty book, a thrilling story excited you more. The typical maiden in distress, forbidden love, or enemies to lovers, anything that could keep you on your toes. And perhaps added a bit more spice into your life, which you tend to think is another reason Qifrey likes to indulge in your book habit, he gets to reap some benefit. 

He was more into the historical type of reading, or even science. He loved reading about anything scientific. The Outsiders may not have magic, but they still invented some particularly interesting things and it always fascinated Qifrey. You think that’s one of the things you loved most about him, his thirst for knowledge that was never quite quenched. 

You had found a werewolf romance that interested you, one to do with the Fae, and a particularly interesting one about a Princess who is much more sinister than she seems. Carrying the books in your hands, you scanned over the section just once more before deciding to go find Qifrey. 

Sure enough, he was looking through the historical science books. His glasses slipped down his nose slightly as he perused through what must’ve been an enthralling read as he hadn’t noticed you approach. 

“Qifrey,” You called. 

He startled, pushing his glasses back into place, “Found what you want, my love?” He slotted the book back into its spot on the shelf, before taking yours out of your hands—he never let you carry them, no matter how many times you said they weren’t heavy. 

“Yes,” You smiled, “Aren’t you going to get anything?” You asked, clearly seeing that his hands only held your books despite the amount of time you had been in the store. 

“Not today.” He held his arm out for you to take and you gladly wrapped yourself around it. 

“Nothing of interest?” You asked, letting him guide you to the cashier. 

“Oh it’s all of interest,” He chuckled, “But nothing quite caught my eye,” He looked down at you and smiled. Your cheeks blushed. 

He paid for your books, carried the bag, and opened the door for you on the way out. 

“You know,” You slotted your arm in his again, “You could be in one of these romance novels.” 

“Is that so?” He chuckled. 

“Yeah, you’re the perfect gentleman.” You smiled up at him. 

“And what about the naughty scenes, would I be a part of those as well?” He smirked. 

Your cheeks heated, “Qifrey,” You lightly slapped his chest. 

“What?” He chuckled, “You’re the one who reads this material.” 

You shook your head, “Maybe you could be a part of them.” 

“Maybe?” His eyes widened, “Who else would you be doing them with?” He asked, feigning offense. 

“Me?” You asked.

“Well, of course. It wouldn’t be MY romance novel, without you.” He squeezed your hand. 

You couldn’t help the smile that graced your face, leaning your head on his bicep. 

The girls were incredibly rowdy when you returned to the atelier. Olruggio sat at the kitchen counter, his head in his hands. 

“What happened?” You parted from Qifrey, allowing Tetia to run between the two of you. 

“I might’ve given them too many sweets,” Olruggio admitted. 

“Oh for goodness sakes,” Qifrey shook his head, “They’re going to be up all night.” 

“Well I won’t be,” Agott appeared in the room, “And they’ll probably crash at some point, they surely can’t keep this up all night.” 

“Yes we can!” Coco and Tetia giggled from the living room. 

“They were supposed to be practicing spells, Olruggio,” Qifrey chastised, though there was no bite in his tone. 

“They needed a break,” Olruggio said. 

“A candy break?” You giggled, watching as the girls jumped from the couches. 

“Perhaps I wasn’t thinking clearly.” Olruggio pursed his lips. 

“Perhaps not.” You and Qifrey said at the same time, earning a laugh from the both of you. 

Luckily, Aggott was correct, and the girls crashed before nightfall. The sun setting and casting an orange haze over the living room. They were piled in front of the fire, one blanket to cover the three of them. Aggott and Olruggio had snuck off to their rooms at some point, unable to take much more of the noisy girls. You and Qifrey sat on the couch, curled into his side with your new book in hand. The fire crackled in the background, muffled by the soft snores of the children on the floor. 

“How on earth did they even get in that position?” Qifrey spoke up, pulling you from the page you were reading.

“Huh?” You asked, thinking he was talking about the girls, but when you looked up, you quickly realized he was reading the book in your lap, “Are you reading over my shoulder?” 

“I might’ve glanced at a page or two,” He admitted. 

You giggled, “Maybe later I can show you how they got into that position,” You nuzzled further into his side. 

“I would love nothing more,” He kissed the top of your head. 

You continued with your reading, but slowed your pace just a bit as you were now aware of Qifrey “glancing” over your shoulder.

A/N: I wanna write more cute domestic things with Qifrey, but also the demons in my brain yearn for the smut

"Oh! What is that?" Coco points at a bird perched on an opened window. The atelier is busy with spring cleaning, but she, along with Agott, Richeh, and Tetia, took a well-deserved break from dusting and sweeping all afternoon. She moves cautiously, scared that she'll startle the bird away.

"It's a letterbird! Who could the letter be from?" Tetia stands up and skips to the window. As she gets closer, the bird sets the letter on her waiting hands. Coco comes closer and starts petting the bird before it flies away, and looks at who the letter could be from.

"It's from Professor [Name]!" Coco exclaims. Agott and Richeh come closer to have a look on the elegant seal, and it is indeed from their beloved Professor.

"Richeh wants know what they said." Richeh says, curious to what the letter contains.

"C'mon, it's rude to open it without permission. Besides, it's better if Professor Qifrey or Master Olruggio were the one to open it." Agott tells them firmly... "... but I am curious what it says too, though." she adds quietly.

Tetia's arms sag, "But the Professor is out collecting for dinner..." she pouts.

"And Master Olruggio is probably busy in his workshop..." Coco adds.

It's true, Professor Qifrey was out, collecting herbs and vegetables for a delicious dinner he has planned. His apprentices deserve a warm and filling meal after helping with all the chores of today, after all. Master Olruggio, on the other hand, was holed up in his workshop above, tinkering with a new spell for a client who wants to have different colored lights in their garden, not knowing it was time for spring cleaning.

He's been tinkering away with his back hunched since morning. Feeling the grumble of his stomach, he realizes how much time has passed, and sighs. Qifrey was sure to chastise him of this if he ever found out. Getting up, he bends and stretches his arms and back until he hears his joints pop. He hears the girls chat up a racket and walks towards his door to see if there's anything wrong.

"Oi, what's with all the ruckus?" He says, suddenly startling the girls.

There was a commotion in the common room. It seems that a Letterbird had come and delivered a scroll addressed to Qifrey's atelier. They were polite and well-mannered girls, but this letter had the seal of their beloved Professor [Name] on it! They want to open it so bad! Safe to say, they were itching to know what the letter could contain. 

"Professor Olruggio, we're sorry! The letter opened by itself somehow! And now we've might have... accidentally... read it?" Coco sheepishly says. 

Accidentally read it? He sighs, if it opened like that, maybe the seal on it was safe. He's too tired to think about the technicalities of it. More importantly though, a letter?

"A letter? Who's it from?" he asks them. Surely it would be addressed to either him or Qifrey if they wanted to reach them.

"It's from Professor [Name]! They're coming to visit us here soon!" Tetia exclaims, smiling. Beside her, Richeh nods excitedly. Agott is the one who hands the letter to him.

"Okay!" Coco exclaims, picking up the broom again. "I'm so excited, I could sweep the place until the broom is empty!"

"Coco, please take it easy..." He says to the girl. Opening the letter, he is greeted with your handwriting, penned beautifully with a new writing ink.

The girls' chatter continue on in the background as he reads.

“To my dearest friends, Qifrey and Olruggio, I hope this letter finds you all well. How have you all been through the winter? I hope that the both of you and all the girls are doing well. I apologize for the lack of correspondence on my part. The neighboring villages here near the northern part of the Marshtop Highlands were in need of help all winter and has kept our little atelier busy with all sorts of tasks. But as the season turns anew, their gratitude has showered us with too many resources to store. I send this letter in hopes that you’ll accept our visit in 3 days' time. My apprentices, Castell and Corvell, will be coming along with me to visit you. We’ll share some winter forage, along with some early spring harvests with you all. I hope that this won’t disturb any upcoming plans in your atelier! Please send a reply if this causes conflict on your part. We hope to see you soon! Always at your call, your dearest friend, [Name]. P.S. Have the spring flowers bloomed on your side of Kalhn yet? "

Reading the letter, Olruggio's face flushes. In 3 days?! His workshop hasn't even been touched by the new season yet! But no matter, his area somehow sparkles when there's a deadline coming after all. More importantly, you were coming to visit! He hasn't seen you in quite a while, too.

Telling the girls to take it easy and rest, he grabs a snack from the kitchen before he retreats to his workshop. 'Qifrey wouldn't mind if I reply to them first, heh.' he chuckles to himself, picking up a pen to start writing.

After a little bit, Qifrey arrives at the atelier greeted with the lively chatter of his apprentices. They seem to be talking about a picnic? What a great idea! The season's turned anew, and what better way to celebrate than a picnic outside.

He knocks to signify his presence, and the girls clamor to him to tell him about the letter that arrived just a few moments earlier.

"Professor! What's Professor [Name]'s favorite food? Are they allergic to anything?" 

"They're visiting soon! There's more reason we have to clean now!"

"I want to have Agott's Mariberry pie..."

"C-calm down, everyone! A letter from [Name]? Could you show it to me?"

"Master Olruggio took it to his room, Professor." Agott tells him. 

'Oh that sly little...'  Qifrey thinks to himself. He thanks Agott and sets his foraged ingredients aside, before walking towards Olruggio's workshop above. 

｡ﾟ❁ུ۪ °ₒ 𓂂 ˚ 𓂂 ₒ ° ₒ 𓂂 ˚˖⋆

A Letterbird is perched on a window when one of your apprentices, Castell, notices it. She holds out her arm to receive the scroll. After giving the bird a pat on the head, she goes outside near the back of your atelier, reaching you as you arrange the various fruits and vegetables you are set to carry in three days' time. She calls out to you at the same time her twin brother, Corvell, does. He came from the other side of the atelier, fixing a wheelbarrow before noticing a Letterbird too. Apparently, both of them have scrolls that they recieved from a Letterbird. How funny, they reached you at the same time!

You thank the both of them and tell them to rest inside and prepare for dinner. You open the scrolls and read.

"To my dearest [name], The winter has been kind in this part of the Naakiwan Downs. Though, it has not been uneventful on my part - with the preparations I help the villagers with every year. Have you all been well? No winter sniffles have been in your atelier, I hope. I always remind you to take care of yourself. (though i can be a hypocrite when it comes to this, but i digress) As for your planned visit, please, you are always welcome here. We’ll be happy to receive whatever you bring. The girls have read your letter on accident and are already excited. They plan on hosting a little picnic and are already brainstorming dishes to cook as I write this. I’m sure I’ll be dragged along in the cooking as well. As far as I know, and from the looks of things as they are now, no conflicts abound with your visit, so please come soon. I WE hope to see you soon. I’ll share with you some contraptions I’ve been experimenting with, and perhaps you can share your input on them, too.  Stay safe in your travels.  Never too far, your dearest friend, Olruggio. P.S. Yes, the flowers here have bloomed beautifully, and they’ll bloom even more at your arrival. P.S.S., I took it upon myself to write and send a reply first. Qifrey is always too fun to rile up hahaha.

(The letter is written in Olruggio's characteristic script, smooth yet with the rough flourish of a craftsman. The post-scripts were written a bit too roughly though, as if the writer was caught in the middle of writing a secret.)

Dearest [Name], The winter has been as it’s always been: cold and covering the Naakiwan Downs in white. Do not apologize for anything, I’m glad the villages have you there to receive your kindness and help. We’ll be happy to receive you all and the gifts you’ll bring. You know you are always welcome in our atelier. There’ll be a picnic, as requested by the girls, and they are already asking for your favorite food. (I hope it is still Mondstadt’s Hash Browns.) The whole atelier will welcome you all with open arms. There was a trip I was planning to take to the Great Hall, but your arrival is more important. You know I’ve never really liked that place anyway – seeing you will be infinitely better. I hope to see you soon. Please stay safe during your travels.  Always near, your dearest friend,  Qifrey. P.S.  The flowers here have bloomed as beautifully as you. Come soon.  P.S.S. I’m sure Olly has already said the same things as me. But for my pride’s sake, I hope you’ll read my letter first.

(The letter is written undoubtedly in Qifrey's handwriting, flowing like the water he controls. Though it's evident it was written a tad bit too quickly, as if rushing to send it faster.)

“This thing is so ugly,” you whine, picking at your cast as he walks you back home. “Do you think I’m gross now, Caleb?”

“It’s not ugly. You need it to get better.”

“I thought you’d fall in love with me if I went high enough,” you sniffle fake tears, which he reads in an instant. “I did go pretty high up, though. So maybe you like me at least.”

He laughs, and you scowl, insisting that you aren’t joking. So instead, he smiles and holds your free hand in his again. Your heart skips a beat. A childish, but innocent love fluttering in your chest. “Come on, splints. Let’s go watch TV, and I can sign your cast.”

The broken wrist is so worth it.

With MC being two grades lower than the two of you and thus having a different schedule, it doesn’t take long before you’re doing practically everything with Caleb. He’s your seatmate in class, the two of you walk to and from school, and there doesn’t seem to be a moment where you aren’t glued at the hip. Throughout all of this, you make sure you shoot your shot whenever the chance arises—even when it doesn’t arise at all.

“You get any chocolates for Valentine’s?” you ask as you plop down in your seat with your lunch, not-so-conspicuously eyeing his desk as his friends begin to crowd around the two of you. It didn’t take long for Caleb to adjust to ordinary school life. After his initial bumpy introduction where he seemed hesitant to get close to anyone his grandma would introduce him to, he was quick to adjust to a level of charisma even you haven’t gotten to. 

By now, he’s charisma personified. You, yourself, have no idea how quickly he adapts to things. Though, you do recall that after an exam measuring his intelligence, he was told he couldn’t lower his grade by two years to be with MC. So you suppose he’s rather bright—almost as much as his face.

“Too many,” one of his friends groan, dragging his hand down the side of his face. “Life’s so not fair, dude.”

“Just a few,” Caleb laughs, turning to feel me stare at him expectantly. “Most of them are obligatory. I just helped a couple people out during gym.”

You glance at his friends. “How many is a few?”

“At least five,” another one grins. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, and his friend snickers at his shoulder. “You jealous?”

It’s not like your crush on Caleb is new news. In fact, it’s practically common knowledge at your school, given how open you are with your affection with him. Asking him out with a giant poster on orientation day, sending him notes with hearts littered everywhere during class, and refusing to be subtle when you’re discussing it with your friends…it tends to add up. Most people believe your relationship to be strange, but those who matter thought of it as the norm, so it doesn’t really matter. 

“Jealous? I don’t think so, why?”

“Most girls would be if their boyfriend got a bunch of chocolates,” he responds, to which Caleb immediately reminds him that you’re not dating. Then his friend sighs. “It’s cute when girls get jealous, isn’t it?”

At this, your ears perk.

“Should I be jealous?” you ask Caleb, making his friends erupt into snickers. “Do you think it’s cute too?”

He rolls his eyes and flicks your forehead softly. “Do you ever ask normal questions, splints?”

Throughout your childhood together, everything involves him. Family dinners, graduation, holidays, all of it. Of course, this means that MC is there for all of it too. You’re helplessly in love, but you’re not stupid. You know what love looks like from the movies their grandma would play on their TV. He cares for her with a different look in his eyes. He protects her with a lovingness in his voice that he doesn’t spare for you. 

The same fingers that flick your forehead touch her arm gingerly, like she could crack in half if he holds too hard. He doesn’t touch her very easily either, whereas he often falls asleep with his head fully leaning against your shoulder on the bus ride home. He wakes up at the crack of dawn to make her lunch, while the two of you munch on sandwiches from the school cafeteria during lunch breaks. He scolds you when your clothes are tossed on the ground while he folds hers without her having to ask. He never enters her room to protect her privacy while he lounges in yours like he owns the place.

Your Caleb, you have found, is different from MC’s Caleb. 

MC’s Caleb is easy to depend on. Trustworthy, perfect, and never makes a mistake for the life of him. He never loses his cool in front of her, never has a hair out of place, lets her win at all the board games, and always has this clear but dazed look in his pretty purple eyes. Your Caleb has none of that. Your Caleb teases you mercilessly when you lose the card game for the fifth time in a row. Your Caleb passes out on his desk while studying for an exam, essentially drooling on his notebook to lie to MC that he’s naturally talented at math. Your Caleb sends you stupid videos about plane models and forces you to sit through a thirty-minute explanation about it.

You know he likes her. He knows you know he likes her. She doesn’t know anything at all. All jumbled up, like a wordless pact ready to crumble at any moment. 

Of course, this means that he prioritizes her over you at times. All the time. It’s to be expected. She’s family, you’re not. You’ve grown used to it, and so has he.

MC doesn’t notice though, because she doesn’t have to. Because to her, Caleb is just a slightly nagging but cool adoptive brother. Nothing more, nothing less. And you’re one of her childhood friends, and Caleb’s best friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

The first year after you graduate high school is a dramatic shift from your cozy hometown. You somehow manage to get into the same college as Caleb–and you attribute his tutoring to be the main culprit—though in different majors. It’s a lot to convince him to go so far from home given that MC is still at home, but after a lot of reluctant discussion, he agrees.

“Take off your shoes at the door,” he reminds you as you barge into his dorm room after a particularly difficult exam for one of your classes. You do as he asks, grumbling about how he has no mercy for the fallen, tossing them haphazardly beside the door and prancing past him. He takes the time to tidy them up, as if he’s expecting it. “How was your exam?”

“Awful. I went through war.”

Caleb grins as he sits down at the coffee table beside you, watching as you bury your face into your arms. “And whose fault is it that they didn’t want to study?”

“Yours.”

“Funny,” he snorts, and you feel his large hand ruffling the top of your head. “It’s alright, splints. I can tutor you a bit earlier on the next one.”

“Even you can’t save me for this class.”

“Is that a challenge?”

He ends up cooking up something quick in his makeshift kitchen (essentially just a rice cooker), while you laze around on his bed, scrolling aimlessly on your phone. Once he’s finished, you scarf down his food like a man starved, lips stretching widely. At times like these, you’re oddly grateful for his hopeless love toward MC. How else would he have learned to cook such good food?  “You should honestly be a chef, Caleb. Actually, no, that would mean other people would eat your food. I guess you can just be my personal chef when we’re married.”

Caleb remains completely unaffected, wordlessly cleaning the plate in front of you. “I didn’t realize I was engaged.”

“Well, now you know. Not sure if you remember, but I had fireworks for you and everything when I proposed. Plus an orchestra.”

He hums, looking up as if he’s in thought, and then nods. “Now that you mention it, that does sound familiar, splints. How could I forget?”

You shrug. “You tell me.”

His face falls as you pace to the door and begin to put your shoes back on. “Where are you going? Aren’t you done with class?”

“Going out. I deserve it after that exam.”

“With your friends?”

“No, with four guys,” you joke, but he doesn’t seem to find it very funny. “I’m just going to a club. I won’t be back too late.”

He’s already grabbing his jacket. “I can come.”

You push him back with your finger by the nose, and he blinks in surprise, making you laugh. “No need. You have exams too, y’know.”

“I’m done studying.”

“Liar.”

Though it takes some convincing, you eventually have him sit at his desk once more. He manages to nag a whole lot as you leave, reminding you to call him once you’re done so he can pick you up, but you just wave him off as you leave out the door. You take your time getting ready–dolling yourself up to hide the dark circles beneath your eyes. As you get ready, you video call MC, where she asks how you and Caleb have been doing in her absence. She rants about her days with her grandma, complaining about how quiet the house is when Caleb isn’t home, though she indulged in the beginning. She asks you to show her your outfit once you’re done, and she beams brightly in your screen, squealing about how you’d likely get a boyfriend soon that you can tell her all about.

You just smile, because you don’t know how to tell her that the only boy you want is wrapped around her unknowing hand.

The club is loud. Where the music rumbles through your feet to the tips of your fingertips, and the lights are flashing in a dimly lit room. Your friends flock to a table and order drinks while you let yourself feel the music and crack a joke or two once in a while.

A group of guys approaches you with easy smiles and louder voices than necessary—confidence sharpened by cheap cologne. One of them leans against your table like he’s done it a hundred times before, asking your name, where you’re from, if you come here often. The usual.

You answer, choking out a laugh to humor his unfunny jokes alongside your friends, while the swigs you take from your drink become deeper and deeper. 

He’s not bad at flirting, you think. Subtle, and not too glaring about it. But you don’t particularly enjoy humoring it, and it becomes gradually more apparent as your eyes keep drifting elsewhere and you keep having to ask him to repeat himself. You’re growing bored. Irritated.

Because he’s not Caleb.

It hits you in strange, inconvenient flashes. The way this guy stands just a little too far away. The way his voice doesn’t quite reach you over the music, even when he’s close. The way you don’t feel that familiar, grounding presence like an anchor holding you to the ground.

You find yourself glancing past his shoulder. Half-wishing to see Caleb there. Watching. Hovering.

But there’s only strangers. Blurred faces and flashing lights.

“You okay?” the guy asks, tilting his head.

“Yeah,” you say too quickly. “Long week.”

He grins, like that’s an invitation. Says something else—something about getting you another drink, maybe dancing, maybe getting out of here.

You nod again. Smile again.

Across the room, your friends are already disappearing into the crowd, dragged toward the dance floor by laughter and hands you don’t recognize. One of them glances back at you, gives you a look that asks ‘you’re good, right?’ before she’s gone.

You sit back down at the table when the guy steps away. Maybe to grab drinks, maybe because he senses your attention drifting. You don’t really care which.

The music swells in your chest. The lights flicker. You wish you could enjoy yourself, but it’s particularly hard today.

You take another sip. Then another. Your phone rests face-down on the table, but you flip it over anyway.

No messages.

Of course not. He cares, but not like that. Not in the way that he would spam MC’s phone whenever he didn’t know where she was or how she was doing. No, not like that at all.

Another sip. The glass is nearly empty now.

And suddenly, you’re pressing send before you can even register what’s happening.

[you]: hi

The answer comes immediately, the grey bubbles popping up on his end of the screen.

[futre hubs <333]: do you need me to come pick you up?

[futre hubs <333]: i can

You’re not sure why you feel like shit, but you hate it. In moments like these—moments where the alcohol lets you lower your walls and truly think—it hits you like a truck, like a deeply sinking feeling in your chest. The years of rejection after rejection that the two of you frame like a bit—as if your feelings have become so miniscule that it no longer even phases him. 

It hurts, a bit. More than you let yourself feel.

You’re not sure how much time passes. Maybe minutes or maybe an hour. There’s buzzing throughout your body. The grip on your waist belonging to the man you’ve been half-heartedly entertaining suddenly becomes harsher, snapping you out of your trance. It feels unlike Caleb, but you let it sit anyway. However, the hand moves to your wrist, and you’re being pulled out of the crowd towards the wall.

Too touchy. He’s saying something into your ear, and you feel his breath against your skin. You don’t like it. Too close. The buzzing feeling feels more like an alarm now.

The words either go unheard due to the music or don’t deter him. You want to go back. Back to Caleb. In the moment, you begin to think—almost as if the world is in slow motion. Perhaps the drinks, you think. You wonder if Caleb will leave you. You wonder if he’ll leave to go be with MC. You wonder if the years you’ve spent expressing your love to him meant as much to him as it did to you, or if he just found it plain annoying. You wonder if now that you’re in college, he’d want to explore other people, and he’ll finally find an outlet to get rid of you for good. 

But you know he wouldn’t. Because he cares for you. Just not as much as he cares for her.

You wonder if he’s ever looked at you with the same softness he does with MC.

Someone pulls you away from the man and into their chest, and the worries dissipate in an instant. His scent. His warmth. You knew he’d come. He always does. It only takes a warning glare from Caleb before the man disappears into the crowd again, and you feel the grip on your wrist loosen. Caleb stares down at you, your back still to his chest as you blink wearily, almost in slow motion, and he sighs. He doesn’t give you the same smile he gives to MC when she’s in trouble. 

A part of you wishes he wasn’t always there for you—not when it’s so different from how he’s there for her. 

You sit idly in front of a convenience store parking lot while Caleb fetches you some water and ice cream. You have your knees to your chest, arms pulling them close as you shiver against the cold autumn breeze. You should’ve brought a jacket. The buzzing, hot feeling of the alcohol is subsiding too quickly.

“Drink.” You feel a water bottle press against your cheek from behind, and Caleb plops down beside you with a plastic bag. He notices how you’re holding yourself together and frowns. “Are you cold?”

“No.”

“I told you to grab a jacket.”

“You nag too much.”

He snickers and twists open the cap of the water bottle for you to drink, which you sip carefully. He strips his jacket off and drapes it over your shoulders, and you immediately bury yourself in it. It smells like him.

“What kind of woman do you like, Caleb?”

“You and your questions.”

“I want to know.”

He shifts to face you, motioning for you to lift your arms. He grabs either side of his jacket and pulls it shut, fumbling with the zipper until he manages to zip it to your chin. You can barely claw your hands out of his sleeves—the fabric almost engulfs you—but he just laughs. “My type? A woman who brings jackets when it’s cold.”

You scowl, making his laugh echo louder. “Other than that.”

“A woman who goes to class in the morning.”

“...Other than that.”

“A woman who doesn’t leave her clothes all over my floor when she feels like sleeping over.”

“Something else.”

“A woman who eats healthy, balanced meals. A woman who doesn’t steal all my pens and then still ends up asking me for more. Maybe someone who doesn’t pass out drooling on my pillow. Or someone who doesn’t let half the world know that they like someone—hell, maybe even the entire world.”

Caleb glances at you, chuckling to himself, but stops the moment he sees that you’re not laughing with him. Your head hangs low, your feet shuffling anxiously. His face twists, and suddenly the air thickens.  “Splints?”

You pick at your sleeves. “So just not me?”

“I was just kidding around.”

“Jokes have some truth to them.”

“Not all of them. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay, Caleb,” you finally meet his eyes again, and shrug. “I know you like someone else. I’m not an idiot.”

Silence commences, like a bell dropping on your head.

Caleb shifts his weight, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. It’s a nervous habit you’ve seen a hundred times—usually followed by some half-joke, something to smooth things over.

But nothing comes.

The space between you suddenly feels too small and too big all at once. You try to act normal. You really do.

You fiddle with your sleeve again, smoothing it down, then pulling at it, then smoothing it again. Anything to give your hands something to do, so they don’t reach for him out of instinct. 

Caleb glances at you. Then away.

Then back again, like he’s trying to solve something written across your face but can’t quite make out the words.

“Hey,” he starts, softer this time.

You hum in response, not trusting your voice yet.

Another pause. God, it’s awkward.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters again, quieter now. Not defensive. Unsure. “You know I think you’re amazing.”

Just not enough.

“I am pretty great,” but it comes out too soft.

Neither of you knows what to do with another stretch of silence. So you opt to drink some more water instead.

“Why do you like me so much?” He eventually mutters out as he bites his bottom lip, eyes falling to the ground like he can’t bear to watch your expression. “You could do a lot better.”

You smile, but it’s half-hearted. “How could I not?”

He pauses, as if choosing his words carefully before his voice comes out in a soft whisper. “You mean so much to me. You’re smart, beautiful, and everything good in between—whoever gets to call you theirs is the luckiest person I know. And you know I’d do anything for you.”

Despite their sweetness, his words feel like judgement wrapping around your heart in vines, squeezing just before it’s about to pop. You wish you could block your ears out for what comes next.

“But it can’t be me.” Caleb’s lips purse, brows furrowing as he looks away. “I can’t give you what you want.”

The rejection hurts more than you realized it would. You want to tell him that it’s not fair to treat you the way he does and expect you not to fall for him. That holding your hair when you vomit, falling asleep at your bedside when you’re sick, and his eyes closing in on you in any room that you’re in is not fair. 

Instead, you nod. And you swear to yourself that you’ll swallow this sickening lump in your throat that makes you want to hurl and sob at the same time. That you’ll bury it deep in a graveyard within you that even the closest person to you would never know of. Especially him.  

“I don’t want it, either,” you snort back, immediately perking up to slap his back in what results in a jolt. His shoulders tense as he blinks wide at you, unsure of the sudden shift in atmosphere. “I don’t want feelings that belong to someone else, dumbass.”

Once it sinks in that you mean it, a smile finds its way onto his face, though something flickers beneath it, like a flash of something you don’t want to look too far into.

Not because you still had hope, but because whatever existed between you had never been something as simple as a crush. It had roots—tangled deep into your souls and impossible to pull free without tearing something open. You wanted to keep what was left. Even if it lingered just a little longer, and even if you pretended not to see the splintering strands in the string tying you together.

So you let it settle. Let it rot somewhere you couldn’t feel it.

The two of you fall into the kind of closeness that you’ve always had, and time passes as if it was always meant to be this way. It’s easier this way. For a while, it does work, but nothing ever really stays under wraps. Despite your incessant protests in telling yourself it’s fading, the scars he’s inflicted on you are just that. Scars. Unmoving yet subtle.

The thinning thread finally snaps a few years later, when MC develops feelings for a coworker in the Hunter’s Association. The day the cracks in the glass bridge holding you together shatter beneath your feet into a million different pieces.

“When’s the last time you’ve slept?”

He’s sprawled shirtless on the couch of his apartment in Skyhaven, freshly out of the shower after you arrived to visit him for the first time in months—only to see that he’s nearly overworking himself to death. Despite him going off to the DAA after college, you’d kept close contact, the connection between the two of you never wavering regardless of your restricted time. It only changed after news of MC broke out. Worried, you’d rushed to Skyhaven to make sure he was doing okay, which you’re clearly glad you did now. You’d practically had to drag him to the shower to keep him from passing out next to the front door in his gear.

Caleb, clearly, is off. You suppose you don’t blame him. The woman he loves is yearning for another. Almost poetic, really, but you don’t like seeing him this way. Especially when you know what it feels like yourself, even if you’ve gotten used to it. Gotten over it. He looks like a kicked puppy. Hurt, like a dog who’s just been scratched by its owner. 

“I dunno.”

You peer into the empty abyss that is his fridge and frown. There’s a few measly apples sitting inside, and a half-eaten protein bar that’s been there for god knows how long. “What the hell have you been eating?”

He responds with a grunt, letting his head fall back against the sofa. You decide to make do with the instant noodles he has stashed in one of the cupboards and bring it over to him once it seems mostly done. With a fork, you stick out a few noodles to his face, urging him. “Eat.”

“Not hungry,” he mutters.

“Don’t care. Sit up.”

He opens one of his eyes to peek at you, which somehow urges him forward. There’s darkness beneath his eyes—even stubble littering his chin from a few days worth of not shaving. You want to reach out and poke fun at him, but the state he’s in deters you. Instead, you silently feed him, watching him chew his food while staring at your hands. It makes you wish you put on a fresh set of polish before you came.

You twirl another small forkful and hold it out. He leans forward this time without being told, taking it quietly. His shoulder brushes yours as he settles back against the couch, and you can feel his skin through your shirt.

“Thanks,” he mutters, voice rough from disuse more than anything. “For coming.”

“Yeah,” you say, quieter now. “Someone had to make sure you didn’t rot in here.”

He huffs a faint laugh, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Probably would’ve. Dramatic way to go out, huh?”

You nudge his knee with yours. “Starving to death in your own apartment? Real heroic.”

A ghost of a smile flickers across his face. It makes your heart flutter. Stupid feelings.

“…thanks for coming, splints,” he says.

Your chest tightens—sharp and sudden. It feels like it’s threatening to feel something that’s not yours to feel. So instead, you look down at the bowl, pretending to focus on separating another bite. You twirl your fork, more carefully this time. “I had to. You weren’t responding, so I thought you died, or something. Open.”

He rolls his eyes, but obeys anyway. “Bossy.”

“Learned from the best.”

His lids flutter shut, voice dropping to a lower hum. “I missed this.”

Your hand stills. “What?”

He shrugs, eyes still closed. “You being here.”

His hair is sticking to his forehead, still damp from the shower. Before you realize what you’re doing, you brush a stray strand of hair off his forehead. You speak quietly. “You look like shit.”

“Wow,” he mutters. “You have a way with words.”

You frown, and without thinking, your hand lingers at his temple for just a second longer than it should. His skin is warm, still hot from the shower.

“Idiot,” you whisper.

He catches your wrist. Not tight, not stopping you. Simply holding it there for a moment that feels too long and not long enough at once. Your eyes meet for a fleeting moment, and then you’re looking away, setting the mostly finished bowl of noodles onto the coffee table to pull away.

“Don’t make this a habit. I’m not flying out here every time you forget to eat.”

“Could,” he murmurs. “You would.”

You don’t respond to that, because he’s not wrong.

“…Is she okay?”

It slips out of him like instinct. Like breathing. And just like that, everything shifts. You don’t answer right away—instead, your fingers tighten slightly around the fork.

“She’s fine,” you say eventually. Leave it, you plead in your head.

“Did she say anything?” he asks, sitting up a little more now. There’s something in his eyes, like he’s searching. “When you talked to her.”

You shrug, trying to keep your tone even. “Just normal stuff.” Stop, you think. Please stop talking.

“Like what?”

“Like her job. Her grandma. Nothing serious.” Shit.

He frowns slightly. “She didn’t mention him?”

There it is. It’s always about her.

You know he’s in a vulnerable spot right now, but it does nothing to ease the sudden flame roaring in your chest. Whether it’s from years of repressed hurt or shame, all it amounts to is a relentless ball of rage inside of you that leaves your nails digging crescents into the palms of your hands. You stare at him, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you inch away from him. 

“Does it matter?”

Caleb’s face relaxes. “What?”

“Why does it matter what she thinks about him? She likes him, end of story, no?”

“I just want to know if he’s a decent guy.”

Your ass. “That’s not really your business, Caleb, but sure. He’s a great guy. Amazing, honestly. He’s really gentlemanly and checks every single box. He lives above her apartment, so they’re right next to each other. He treats her gently, too. I’d bet every girl would jump at a chance to date a guy like that.”

You’re not sure where the words are tumbling out of, but it’s too late to go back. Neither do you want to.

“I wonder if he has a brother. Maybe MC could set me up or something.”

“Oh. Is he…” Caleb’s back straightens, and you notice his fingers digging into his thighs. “...handsome?”

“Didn’t you hear me? I’m telling you, he’s perfect. His face could pay for the Linkon rent by itself.”

He suddenly stands, and you glare up at him through your eyebrows. “Why are you talking like that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you scoff.

He narrows his eyes. It’s something you haven’t seen in a while, since Caleb rarely gets upset at you. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, splints.”

“Can you just spit it out? What am I saying differently?”

“You’re angry.”

You stand, following suit. He looms over you to have his shadow essentially engulf you, and you wish you could kick his ankle so he falls to the ground. “Maybe if you weren’t so irritating, I wouldn’t feel so annoyed right now.”

“What?”

“It’s hard to watch, Caleb,” you hiss out in exasperation, throwing your hands into the air. “It’s always pipsqueak this, pipsqueak that, pipsqueak what. Seriously, we’re not kids anymore, you need to get over it!”

You’re not sure if you’re talking to him or yourself anymore.

“Can we calm down and talk? If I’ve been talking too much about it, I can stop, so—”

“We haven’t seen each other in months, Caleb! And all you want to ask me about is how she’s been? Why don’t you ask her yourself, if you’re so curious? Oh, but you can’t, because you always have to be perfect in front of her. So instead, you dump all of this on me. Your goods and bads, all of it, just for me to get kicked to the curb like I’m some dispensable object.”

“What?” his balks. “Dispensible? Are you serious? As if I haven’t gotten you out of every little thing you’ve gotten yourself into the past decade of our lives? As if I haven’t picked you up every weekend from your friends’ places at three in the morning? Like I haven’t called you every single week—”

“Well, I want you to stop that!” your words spit at him like weak knives, growing louder by the second. 

“You didn’t seem very against it the last forty times.”

“I am now.”

“What has gotten into you, splints?”

“Don’t call me that right now,” you glower, and you try to ignore the hurt flashing across his expression. “I’m just sick of seeing you follow her around like some wet dog. She doesn’t see you like that, can’t you see that?”

Your breathing begins to stutter, and you suck in a deep breath through your nose. Your chest stings, and you pray that you don’t lose composure so the tears threatening to bubble at the corners of your eyes remain hidden.

“You told me that you couldn’t give me what I wanted. Well, she can’t either,” you bore holes into his chest, too afraid of what you might see if you look up. “If I can get over my stupid feelings, so can you.”

But you’re not over it. Not at all.

He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. For the first time in a while, you’ve rendered him speechless, and it feels even worse than what it felt to be rejected years ago. You’re not sure how your nails haven’t drawn blood at this point. You’d rather that they do, so you have some excuse to use the restroom.

“It’s not fair what you do, Caleb,” you try to will your tears to stay at bay, but you can’t help them. They sting, blurring your vision as you drop your head in some pathetic hope that he won’t face them head on. “How you treat me when you don’t like me like that is not fair. At least MC doesn’t know, but you—you know, and yet you—”

The rational part of you says that it’s not entirely his fault. Sure, you insisted on staying by his side. Sure, you insisted that you could push down your feelings. Sure, you’ve promised a lot of things, but it’s his fault too, for being the way he is—so kind, so thoughtful, just so him. 

You wipe desperately at your tears. It was a lost cause from the start.

“Please don’t cry.” His face drains of color, apparent even against the dim lighting in his apartment. He steps towards you, and you take a step back. “Please don’t cry, splints, just not that.”

But when your tears refuse to cease dripping down your cheeks, your face flushing in humiliation, you feel both his hands cupping either side of it. He tilts your gaze up, and you realize that he’s only inches away from you, so much so that you can feel his breath against your skin. It’s moments like these that you lose yourself in his beauty. The deepness of his eyes that seem to peer into your very soul is one of the first features that you fell in love with as a child, and it hasn’t changed since. Damn him. You blink, eyes wide while his own flicker to your lips. 

“Be as mad as you want. Hit me, hate me even,” he whispers, his nose almost touching yours now. His thumb pad smooths your tears away. “But don’t waste your tears on someone like me.”

You think you might be imagining things. Because with the tension that nearly suffocates you and his lashes almost fluttering against your skin, you think he might be about to kiss you.

A sharp pain jabs you in the chest. Is it pity? A consolation prize dressed up as something softer? Is it to smooth things over, to make this moment easier for him to leave behind? Or is it rebellion? Something reckless from the fact that he can’t have her? Your tears have dried up, but the rest of your body seems to weep, as no excitement, no butterflies course through your veins. 

Why is it always something else? Why is it never you? It only hurts—because even now, you’re just the place he empties everything he feels for her.

Instinctively, you press your palm into his lips to push him away, and it feels like the air itself has stilled.

His breath lingers against your skin. Yours stutters like it’s forgotten how to exist in the same space as him. The air is so thick you could slice it with a knife.

Eventually, he pulls away. Caleb stares at you with an expression you haven’t seen before, though you don’t look long enough to analyze it. Wordlessly, you gather your things, stuffing your jacket into your bag and stumble over to the door—all while he stays locked in a petrified state, like he’s processing what he just did. Your gaze remains fixated on the wooden panels of the floor while you pack, refusing to look any higher in case you might see anything other than his feet.

“Don’t follow me,” you tell him as you leave. 

You don’t wait to see if he hears you.

The journey home feels like there’s a gaping hole in your chest, and all you can do is stare out the window as you feel the vibrations of the train through your fingertips. Outside, the world blurs past in streaks of dim lights and shadowed shapes, and you wish that your feelings were as fleeting as the buildings blurring by. 

You try to count the number of trees you see. Not on the warmth of his breath against your palm. Not on how close he’d been. Not on the fact that, for a second, you almost let him.

If you hadn’t pushed him away, would it have meant anything? Or would you have just been a mistake he’d regret in the morning?

Your phone buzzes frantically in your pocket, and you pull it out to see his name in big bold letters. He’s texting you simultaneously, apologizing in so many different ways that they all start to blend into one message you don’t plan on reading. You refuse to give into what your heart wants. It’s hurt you too much in the past. So instead, your thumb hovers above the ‘mute’ button.

You press it and shut your eyes.

Even if it’s difficult to adjust the first few weeks without him, you can’t bear to face him either. He shows up at your door. Nearly every day for some time, knocking softly and asking if you’d be willing to talk. When you simply plug in your earbuds and bury yourself into your bed, he apologizes through the door and leaves you something to eat. You tend to throw it out at first, but after a while, you figure it’s just a waste. Just like that, a month goes by. And then another. Then another. Until you can’t count them on one hand anymore. He comes by once every two weeks or so now, likely busy with his work.

Despite how much your body seems to miss his presence, you wonder if you should distance Caleb permanently. It’s a daunting idea. One that you never would’ve thought just a few years ago, but the embarrassment runs deeper than you want to admit. The feelings you’ve tried so hard to hide clearly aren’t hidden. Is this sustainable? 

Regardless of what you think, he comes around like clockwork.

“Are you in there?” He knocks gently on your door, voice soft. He probably knows you are.

“No.”

He chuckles from the other end. “Right. Happy birthday, splints.”

You glance at your phone calendar. He’s right. 

As usual, he begins to talk about random events in his life that he hasn’t had the opportunity to tell you, and while you usually muffle it out, you decide to quietly shuffle over to the door today. To tell him, maybe, that you don’t want to keep doing this. Or maybe just to hear his voice, you don’t know. Either way, you slide your back down the door where he’s on the other side, pulling your knees into your chest.

“I don’t know if you’ve read my text, but–”

“I don’t read them.”

Caleb stops, and you can almost hear his breath hitch. You usually don’t give him more than a few words, much less a full sentence, so it seems to have taken him aback. After the brief remission, you hear him clear your throat. “Splints, can you open the door? I want to talk—apologize to you.”

Silence.

“Or I can do it out here. That’s fine,” he sighs. “I want you to know that it’s okay if you want to hate me forever after this. I won’t keep clinging to you if you at listen to what I have to say, but I really just—I need to say that this is my fault.”

You half-heartedly hear his words drone on, his confidence wavering every so often while you pull up his chats on your phone. You have no idea how you hadn’t folded and read his chats until now, though it might’ve been more so for your own peace than anything. There’s too many to scroll up to, so you read the most recent messages, squinting in the dark against the light of your phone. 

[1:41PM]

[caleb]: are you eating well?

[caleb]: i made this today

[caleb]: [image attached]

[caleb]: your favorite dishes :) i’ll drop them off at your place later

[caleb]: i hope you’re not just throwing them out…wouldn’t blame you tho

[caleb]: at least take care of yourself :)

[8:13AM]

[caleb]: hi splints :)

[caleb]: you probably watched it already but that movie you wanted to see came out a week ago. I went to go see it

[caleb]: i still think it’s kind of bad…but it was entertaining

[caleb]: unless you wanna argue about it ?? :3

[5:32PM]

[caleb]: ranked first today

[caleb]: i was excited to celebrate it with you and then remembered :/

[caleb]: it doesn’t feel as good when i can’t tell you lol

[caleb]: hope you’re okay

[11:23PM]

[caleb]: i wish i hadn’t been so stupid

[caleb]: i didn’t deserve you back then

[caleb]: i still don’t

[caleb]: i shouldn’t have lost my cool when you were over here. didn’t like hearing you talk about that guy like that

[caleb]: im sure he’s a good looking guy, and i know you’re particularly weak to good looking guys…

[caleb]: i was being childish and i wish i could’ve explained it to you then

[caleb]: i know you don’t owe me anything and you don’t have to listen to what i have to say

[caleb]: but i never wanted to make you feel used, and i never did. if that even sounds believable lol

[caleb]: it was never about her

[caleb]: there’s so much more i want to say but i’ll say it in person

[caleb]: miss you a lot

[caleb]: sleep tight

You wish the tightness in your chest would go away. You wish you didn’t feel his sorrow through him. And you wish you didn’t care about your own feelings for him.

“I love you, splints,” he murmurs, and your attention tears away from the chats, your phone nearly clattering onto the floor. Your eyes widen, suddenly regretting that you missed the first half of his speech. 

“Not in the way you say it to your friends, or the way you say it to family. You’re my life, and you’ve been my life since the day you gave me that ring. I care for MC, but what I feel for you is different. It’s always been different. I realized that years ago, but I was afraid that it wouldn’t be fair for you. I thought you deserved someone better than someone who doesn’t know how to understand their own feelings.” Your throat dries. “I thought it wasn’t fair because I’d already put you through so much.”

“At the same time, I’m a selfish guy, you know? I couldn’t let you go either, because I couldn’t bear to see you with someone else. I wanted it to be us, and the only way I could think of existing without feeling like I was ruining you was to stay how we were. Stagnant, I guess,” he chuckles, but it feels sad. Weak. “I’m an idiot when it comes to you, you know.”

You don’t respond.

Not because you don’t have anything to say—if anything, there’s too much. It crowds your throat, every word scraping against the next until none of them can make it out. Your fingers hover uselessly over your phone, screen still lit with a conversation you can’t even remember reading.

‘I love you.’

The words echo, but they don’t land the way you once dreamed they would. They don’t bloom or soften or fix anything. They just sit. Too heavy. Too late.

Your chest tightens, aching outward like it’s trying to break free. Because you’ve wanted this—God, you’ve wanted this—for so long that you stopped letting yourself imagine it could ever actually happen. It should feel like relief. Instead, it feels real, but fragile.

Because you remember too much. The almosts. The waiting. The way you learned how to swallow your emotions when he built a wall between the two of you—and that doesn’t disappear just because he finally found the words.

Your hand curls slightly against the door, fingers brushing the cool surface.

Even with all that, you still miss the warmth of his skin. How his hair felt through a towel as you dried it. How he’d flick your forehead when you’d get a question wrong during one of his tutoring sessions. How he’d tease you about your grades or interests, and learn more about them anyway. How he’d message you throughout the day about random endeavors. How he’d always be there. How with just a call of his name, he would’ve crossed the continents for you. His eyes. His lips. His face. His painfully handsome face.

You remember him in all parts of your life—and not a single moment you’ve spared has gone without him. You remember how he held your hand when you’d broken your arm, and the way he’d lifted you into the air and embraced you when you were accepted into the same college as him. You remember how he’d pet your hair as you complained about him going too far for the DAA, promising he’d visit often. And he did. He always kept his promises.

Your body moves on its own, as if this was how it was always meant to be. The door slowly creaks open.

“…We’re a mess.”

A faint, tired smile is all you can give him. Still, when he sees you, the world seems to stop for just the two of you, and it takes him a moment to fully register that you’re really there. That you’re not just a figment of his imagination, and he hasn’t truly lost you forever as he’d feared. “This doesn’t mean you’re completely out of the woods. I’m still mad.”

“You should be,” he whispers out, nearly breathless.

Hesitantly, you step towards him. He reaches his arm out, brows furrowed cautiously like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to even blink right now. The tips of his fingers twitch towards you. You raise a brow, and he swallows the lump in his throat, retracting back until you nod. 

Realizing you don’t have shoes, you step onto the fronts of his shoes one foot at a time, taking his hand until you’re flush against him and he’s already engulfing you into a crushing embrace. His arms wrap around you, strong and warm. He smells good. Though you can’t confidently say the same for yourself given the state you’re in, he drops his chin into the crook of your neck and inhales deeply, like a man starved.

“Note to self,” you mumble. “Don’t propose to any handsome guy you see.”

Caleb laughs, airy this time, and you feel it against your collarbone. “I thought you were going to leave your husband out here to die in the cold.”

“I should divorce you. We’re not even married yet.”

He grins, lopsided. “You should.”

“I won’t.”

“I know.

You bury your face into his chest, fingers digging into the fabric on his back. “I don’t want a version of my life without you, Caleb. As annoying as you are.”

He pulls away for a brief moment and places a kiss on your cheek, his own dusting red. Flowers feel like they’re blooming on the spot he pecked, but somehow, it feels natural. You’ve always been close to him physically throughout your upbringing, even if it never involved lips–that was new territory. You cross your arms, relying on his hands around your waist to keep you upright. “Tell me more.”

“You nag too much.”

He kisses your nose. “Hm?”

“You’re emotionally repressed.”

“Ouch.” He kisses your temple.

“You’re too good at things you don’t try at.”

Your jawline.

“You’re unstable. You’re too protective. You’re stupid.”

“I love you,” he says, pressing his forehead against yours. His lips hover above your own, just centimeters away.

Your lashes flutter against his. “Then prove it to me.”