#caretaking

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.