#starbabes

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? 

You brought your hand up to rest against the man’s chest. 

How would Qifrey respond then? How would he respond to you not only allowing another man’s advances, but reciprocating it?

 The two of you were technically nothing. But that hardly meant that you couldn’t try, and boy, had you been trying. Really though, how many signs did you need to give to make your intentions any clearer? 

It would’ve been a different story if he didn’t reciprocate, but the stolen looks and flirty banter had to be indicative of something.

“Why the pout?” 

You blinked, suddenly reminded of the man standing in front of you. Gently, he pulled at the flesh of your bottom lip which was still pinched into a frown.

You sighed, boredly allowing it. 

Why wouldn’t you? If a certain someone had a problem with it, then he could come and deal with it himself. As a matter of fact, he really had no right to object to your current actions. If he wanted you exclusively then he would have to take a step up– not that you would ever sincerely entertain another.

You casted another, embarrassingly longing, glance towards Qifrey only to find a lone stone pillar. 

Had he left you?

Your brows furrowed as you let your gaze roam the range of the courtyard, searching for that familiar head of white hair.

He wouldn't leave you, would he?

You bit your lip.

Had you gone too far? Your only hope was trying to push him to finally confess whatever it was he felt about you, not to upset him– never to upset him.

You closed your eyes, cursing at yourself.

Of course it was too much. How would you have reacted if you had seen him with a loose grin on his face as some random person threw themselves all over him?

Your skin prickled uncomfortably at the thought.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Your eyes move back to settle on the man towering over you.

Had he always been so tall?

The man leaned in, eyes trained steadily on you. “Looking for someone?”

 You couldn’t help but flinch slightly at the sudden motion. His hand placed firmly on your hip suddenly felt less like a harmless touch and more like a caging grip.

Your eyes jumped from him to the pillar where Qifrey was.

You didn’t like going to town alone. Aside from the fact that going alone was rather boring, you’d also found yourself on the receiving end of far more attention than what you were used to. You supposed that was the price of being a well-known inventor. Still, you were starting to realize that it was a lot easier to be quickly overwhelmed without the knowledge that Qifrey was nearby if anything were to go wrong. 

Like now.

Had you truly pushed him too far? You were only teasing.

The man’s grip on your waist tightened, just barely but you could tell.

“Hey, maybe you could give me some private lessons?”

You looked back at the man, through narrowed eyes. “Private lessons?”

He smiled.

You recoiled.

How had you found that smile so harmless just mere minutes ago?

“Yeah you know, show me how your little trinkets work.” He gestured his head to your stall behind you.

You grimaced at the thought of being stuck in a confined space with him. 

“I’m actually waiting for someone.” You bit back, less eloquently than you wished.

Truthfully, you felt a bit bad. At first, the man had only been trying to convey his gratitude for your creations. He was just another unknowing fascinated by magic. Now you had gone and made a whole mess of the situation. More importantly, you had apparently finally driven Qifrey to his limit.

Or maybe he never truly cared for whatever it was the two of you shared.

You felt your heart pull uncomfortably at the unwanted thought.

“Come on. Perhaps you can give me a private lesson on two-person magic.” His voice lowered to a suggestive drawl.

Before your face could even twitch in discomfort you felt his arms jerk away from their spot on your waist.

“Perhaps not.” 

You stumbled back before a firm, comforting hand settled around your waist. You yelped in surprise, hand flying up to a broad, familiar chest in attempts to steady yourself.

You looked up to meet Qifrey staring back at you.

Oh, so he hadn’t left.

He smiled softly, as if this moment were no different than a run in at the Atelier, but you knew better. His smile seemed clipped, the corners of his mouth tapering out into a fine, curt line. 

Your eyes moved up to glance at the small divot in between his brows.

Was he concerned for you?

You couldn’t help the flutter blooming deep in your chest before you schooled your expression. 

Afterall, you were still upset at him for his lack of forwardness– however unfair that might be. Not to mention there was still a matter of–

“What the hell?” The man from before spat out, regaining his footing from when Qifrey must have shoved him.

You blinked as if only just remembering the glaring source of your discomfort from moments ago.

You felt Qifrey tense slightly, arm twitching to hold you a bit tighter. 

“I sense your presence is no longer wanted here.” Qifrey chimed, lightly, albeit bluntly.

He looked down to you, tucked into his side, “Right?”

You startled at the sudden attention of both men trained on you before nodding.

“Right,” you affirmed.

The man bristled before spinning on his heel, grumbling something about ‘just talking’ under his breath.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding.

“I could’ve dealt with him.” you muttered, your voice a lot more feeble than you had intended.

It was true, you could’ve easily dealt with the man, but would you have? Or would you have just let the uncomfortable interaction run its course, scared of offending him or brushing it off as him just being nice?

You couldn’t help but shiver nervously at the thought.

Qifrey sighed, wearily before detaching himself from your side, though not pulling his hand away from where it was planted against your hip.

You couldn’t help a flare of annoyance spike through you at his sigh. Though, upon reflection, wasn’t this precisely what you had wanted? You were getting a reaction. Maybe all he needed was a push. And anyway, you would rather pivot to anger than dwell any longer on the remnant anxiousness you still felt.

“I’m sorry, have I inconvenienced you?” You questioned, pointedly.

Qifrey leveled you with an unimpressed look before shaking his head. 

“Are you alright?” He asked softly scanning you head-to-toe as if searching for something amiss.

You groaned, pushing him away. 

“Are you seriously unbothered?” You couldn’t help the sharp bite of accusation worm its way into your question.

He stared blankly at you, mouth parted slightly as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know what.

How could he be so clueless?

You rolled your eyes turning to go somewhere– anywhere– that he wasn’t before you were pulled to a stop by his grip on your wrist.

“Are you cross with me?” He remarked, incredulously. 

You scoffed, hand twisting in attempts to shake his grip, “What gave it away?” 

His eyes narrowed, grip unwavering. “Is it because I sent him away? Because if it is I'm sorry I thought you looked uncomfortable–”

You paused, staring at him as he rambled before an angry, unbelieving laugh bubbled hot in your chest.

Was that really what he thought? 

“No, Qifrey. It’s because of you!” You were grateful that the courtyard had mostly cleared out by now because if the sight of Qifrey and the man’s near fight didn’t catch their attention, your yelling surely would have.

Qifrey winced at your shout, not because you were particularly loud, but because he wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of it.

Just as quickly as you had said it, you felt regret flood your systems. If you looked at Qifrey’s dejected expressions for any longer you might just give up then and there, letting all the play teasing and flirting continue forever with no end goal in sight.

You turned away from him, pulling your hand free from his lax grip.

“Come find me when you figure it out.”

Your voice held no more bite. You really couldn’t bring yourself to add any.

The girls had opted for dinner in their respective rooms, Olruggio had gone off somewhere, and you had yet to come down.

Qifrey grimaced, the thought of you serving as an instant reminder of just how he got into this situation.

How long could the Atelier stand to go on like this. How long could he?

In the three short days of icy tension between you, Qifrey had already begun feeling something akin to withdrawal in your absence. He missed your unabashed smile and playful touches. He missed your bright laughter and the ease of your conversations. He missed being able to see you, talk to you, hold you. He missed you. He missed you so much that he ached. He longed for you to just look at him or spend more than a second in his presence.

What would it take for you to forgive him? An apology? Groveling? Whatever it was he would do it without a second though if only you would say something.

But then again, you had said something. You told him to only find you once he had ‘figured it out’.

Qifrey sighed, resting his elbows against the smooth grain of the table.

What did you want?

It had been three incredibly long days, devoid of your presence and already Qifrey was beginning to fray at the seams. He truly didn’t know how much farther he could go on like this. Honestly, he didn't know how he managed to get on with his life for so long before he met you. Now, you were as vital as oxygen to him. 

How long could he go on until his supply went out? How long until you tire of this sad game that your connection had been reduced to?

Qifrey’s skin prickled uncomfortably at the thought. 

Though, Qifrey could manage this. He could live through all the awkward conversations and deflective words, so long as it meant you were still here by his side, but what of you? What if this limbo never resolved? Would you tire of him then? Would you consider leaving him?

Qifrey pushed away from the table, breathing suddenly constricted at the thought. The fork clattered to the table in the rush of his own movements. 

If he could hardly handle three days with your limited attention, what would he do if you did leave? How could he possibly live on with nothing but the ghost of your presence?

Who would wake the girls up? Who would he tease Olruggio with? What would he do?

He shook his head at the thought, instead willing his feet to round the corner towards your room.

If groveling is what you wanted then he would grovel until his knees were bloodied and voice hoarse.

He paused, mere inches from your door. His face was flushed in his own anticipation. 

What would you say? If you turned him away now Qifrey wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

He brought a tentative hand up to the wood of the door, holding it there, suspended. He trembled slightly with nerves.

Qifrey held his breath in an attempt to catch a sound of your movement from inside. 

What must you be doing?

You hadn’t come down all day. Qifrey knows this because he had been waiting in the common area all day, hoping to run into you. 

Had you been practicing magic tirelessly? He wouldn’t be surprised. It wasn’t a rare occurrence for you to be so caught up in your work that you forgot to eat or sleep. 

Qifrey shut his eyes in frustration, cursing under his breath. He should have brought you food. He suddenly felt very silly standing in front of your room blushing in embarrassment and empty-handed.

Perhaps he should just go, letting you come to him when you felt ready.

He flinched, hard as the door swung open, dowsing the hazy darkness of the hallway with bright light.

Though, Qifrey wasn’t caught by the light, but rather the sight of you. You looked magnificent. Your hair was pushed back and tied, messily. Deep black ink stained the flesh of your hands. At some point of the day you must have lazily pushed hair from your face because there were randomly placed swipes of stained ink on your face and neck. 

Qifrey felt his face flush at the realization of how long he had been staring, admiring you, but what else could he do?

You stared up at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place. Was it expectation or perhaps confusion?

“Can I come in?” His voice was slightly hoarse from disuse. He cleared it, hurriedly.

You stared at him for a beat before sighing and moving out from the doorway, “Sure.”

He stepped in, looking away from you to survey your room. It was one of Qifrey’s favorite rooms before you had come to the Atelier. He wanted to make it an extension of his study. There were large window panes, allowing for ample light to filter in throughout the day. Now, the large windows had been propped open, permitting a gentle cool breeze to brush through Qifrey’s hair.

Your stationary was a mess, laid out with little care onto your bed. 

Qifrey couldn’t help but smile because it was just so very like you. 

“What did you want to talk about?” You asked, plainly, but not unkindly.

Qifrey turned back to look towards you. Your hands were braced on your hips as you stared at him, expectantly. 

He couldn’t imagine this room as anything but yours. He couldn’t imagine himself as anything but yours.

“I’m sorry.” He blurted out.

You raised your brow at him. He wrung his hands together.

He only then realized how tense you looked. Your shoulders were tight, braced as if protecting yourself from a blow you were sure was coming. Your own hands were rigid at your hips in a white knuckled grip.

To an outsider, you looked just as nervous as he was.

How he longed to take your hands in his, kneading all the tension out until they were as soft as pliant clay in his hands.

Instead, Qifrey steeled his own nerves as he walked towards you, stopping mere inches from where you stood.

“I was stupid. I’ve been so stupid.”

He watched as your features softened into something he could only describe as relief. Your shoulders fell slightly as you took him in. Qifrey hesitantly moved his hand up to gently cup your face. How long had he yearned to do this? To have you in such a soft way. To comfort you in his arms. He only wished he wasn’t the cause of your suffering.

“I’ve been cruel and unfair. You asked me to find you when I figured it out." He paused, thumb brushing gently against your cheek. "I've figured it out."

His heart pounded loudly against his chest, a dull metronome compared to the feeling of you gently leaning into the warmth of his palm.

"The truth is I think I've known for a long time. I just didn't know what to do with it– with you. With how much I want you here. How much I need you here." He spoke in hurried breaths, as if scared you would decide you were tired of hearing whatever it was he had to say. "You are everything. And I was terrified of saying that and losing whatever it was we already had. But I think I've already lost it by saying nothing and I can't —" he shook his head. "I won't let that happen. Not again.”

His eyes searched yours, almost desperately.

"I'm sorry–”

You laughed, an almost watery sound.

“You’re so dumb.”

He paused, not a flutter of dejection on his face as you wound your arms around his neck, resting comfortably.

“You won't lose me. You can't. The moment I first laid eyes on you, I was yours.” Your voice lowered into a soft murmur.

In a slow movement you pull him to your height, lips hovering mere centimeters from each other. 

“I’m yours aswell.” Qifrey murmured back, awestruck.

He searched your face in the small space between you. The ink smudged carelessly across the curve of your cheek. The way the inner corners of your brows pulled together, perfectly framing the soft expectation in your eyes. The fact that you had just so easily– so simply– told him that you were his. 

As if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Perhaps it was.

Qifrey had spent so long convincing himself that he had no right to want this– to want you. How could he when you had already been gracious enough to bless him with your infectious joy and warm presence. To want more would have been greedy. And yet, Qifrey found himself to be the greediest man on the planet. Still, here you were looking up at him as if he had simply taken too long to arrive somewhere you had been waiting for him all along.

He angled his head, leaning into the warmth of your arm. He held his breath as his lips brushed tentatively against yours, as if to give you a way out, because if he started now, he didn’t think he would be capable of stopping.

Your lashes fluttered shut, brushing against Qifrey’s cheek from your closeness. You melted in his soft hold, becoming almost boneless in his grip. 

Qifrey moved his hand from the supple skin of your cheek to grip the nape of your neck, angling your face upward. 

Your hands against his neck tightened as you let out a low breathless whine. 

“Qifrey.”

Just his name. Nothing more. But the way it left your blushed lips so sweetly and sure, like the last gentle stroke of a spell, was all he needed.

He closed the gap between you, pulling you flush against his front. 

Maybe it wasn’t nothing.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Though, you supposed that wasn’t necessary. If everything went well you would be back home by the end of the day.

Home.

The word left a strange taste in your mouth.

Qifrey stepped into your eyesight, gesturing at you.

“We’ll need that.” Qifrey spoke more to Olruggio than you.

Your brows pulled together, “Need what?” You didn’t try hard to keep the bite from your words. Qifrey had already annoyed you downstairs. He deserved every last fragment of bite you could will into your tone. 

He tilted his head as if only to get a rile out of you before his eyes darted down to your collarbones. “Your necklace. The spell.”

You blinked.

Of course. What else would he have meant? Heat rose to your cheeks as you looked anywhere but at him. Your eyes settled onto the far left of the room where there hung a sliver of fabric from the ceiling. 

You frowned, “Is that a hammock?"

Olruggio sighed, still behind you before he stepped forward.

You didn’t dare turn around. Standing toe to toe with the two men downstairs in the open area of the kitchen was one thing. Here, in the cosy confines of one of their bedrooms? You didn’t know how long you could maintain that steadfast annoyance here.

You willed down the shiver threatening to break as Olruggio stopped just short of you. You felt the air part slightly as his hand came up to hover over your frame before pausing.

“Your hair.”

A few loose strands of your hair danced with the exhale of his breath, fanning across the bare skin of your shoulders.

You wished you hadn’t forgotten your cardigan downstairs, but–anoyingly– Qifrey was right. It was hot.

You were so lost in your own thoughts you had forgotten Olly’s murmur. That was until Qifrey stepped forward to your side, with more courage than Olruggio, and slipped nimble fingers under the blanket of your hair. 

You shivered at the feeling of his fingers skimming the sensitive nape of your neck, searching for the clasp on your necklace. 

As if suddenly grasping your bearing you hissed in annoyance, stepping out of their space with a swift slap to Qifrey’s hand.

“I am perfectly capable of removing my own necklace.”

Your hands wound behind your neck to do just that. Once removed you tossed it to Qifrey who caught it with annoying ease.

“Regardless, it won’t help much.” You turned to level Olruggio with a stare, “The spell’s already been cast. It’s over now. I’ll have to write a new one to unbind us.”

He nodded, drawing his lower lip in between his teeth in thought. “So, it’s a matter of trial and error now then?”

You nodded, turning to scan the tables splayed across the room for components.

Qifrey hardly looked up from examining the necklace before he muttered something about a cabinet.

Your eyes narrowed, ready to retort before Olruggio brushed past you towards a row of cabinets on the far side of the room. 

“Any preference on a pen?”

Your gaze didn’t stray from Qifrey as your hard expression softened slightly into contemplation. How had Qifrey known you were looking for components?

Qifrey looked up, feeling the heat of your gaze before sighing, shaking his head. “Don’t look so surprised. There was a time I knew you inside and out.”

There. He did it again. It was as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. Though you supposed he was right. There was a time he knew everything there was to know about you and you about him.

You fought down the look of surprise threatening to creep onto your face, instead looking towards Olruggio and shaking your head.  “I can work with whatever pen you have. It makes no difference to me.”

“But you like the ones with more space near the bottom so you can shift your grip.”

You cut another sharp look towards QIfrey. How you wished he wasn’t right so you could snap something clever back at him.

Olruggio nodded, “I still have your old one.”

Your narrowed eyes widened. You stepped away from Qifrey towards Olruggio, meeting him halfway across the room before plucking the pen from his grip. It was your old one.

You couldn’t help the breathy laugh that pushed past your lips as you turned the slender wood over in your palm. 

He had kept it. It was almost as if he had known. 

You shook your head.

No, it was as if he had hoped you would come back. How long would he have held onto that hope you wondered.

You looked up at him to find his gaze trained intently on you– on your reaction. You blinked looking away.

“I’ll need paper aswell.”

He didn’t move, as if the question hadn't been processed yet as he stayed staring at you. After a beat he nodded, gesturing towards a table behind you.

You turned and sure enough, a pile of paper laid there ready for your use. You sat, shuffling a bit to get into a comfortable position. Your fingers closed around the metal nib of your pen, jostling it a bit as if to check if it was still secure. It was. 

Your spell went wrong because you drew crescents at the end of your arrows. That made a sort of shield, reflecting that outward energy back inward. That was why instead of being launched away from one another, you had been pulled closer. That was your guess at least.

You dipped the nib into the well of ink at your side, tapping the tip against the glass before bringing the pen to the paper, hovering. 

You felt Qifrey and Olruggio creep closer to you, watching your moves intently. 

Your pen hovered over the paper.

To reverse the spell's effects, you only had to break the shield. A line through the crescent should do the trick.

Your brows pinched together. Your hand remained unmoved. 

You had a prediction– a course of action. So why couldn’t you act on it? Why was your hand stopping just short of the paper? 

A small, traitorous part of your mind laughed. Perhaps it was because you didn’t want to leave. You didn’t want to lose this short three day reprieve. 

You bit down on your lip hard, as if trying to punish your subversive thoughts. No, you had made your choice long before. You couldn’t go back now. There was nothing to come back to. 

Your eyes darted up meeting Qifrey’s. You wished his expression was hard with frustration or even that cold anger you knew he could wield. You wished it was anything but that soft understanding he currently wore. 

You shook your head as your traitorous hands began to tremble.

Olruggio’s hand settled on your shoulder, light and tentative as if scared any push from him might make you bolt. Not that you could go very far.

“You're overthinking.” Qifrey’s voice wasn’t accusatory. You wished it was. It would have been easier to pretend you were just annoyed and felt nothing else about all of this– about them.

“I’m not.” To your credit, your voice came out a lot more steady than you felt.

Olruggio’s hand had moved to the small of your back, rubbing away the tension with small circles. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to feel too embarrassed as your shoulders slowly began to unbunch.

“You always hover like that when you’re overthinking.”Qifrey pushed.

You felt a flicker of something sad snake up your chest, leaving you in the form of a sigh, “Don’t pretend to know me.”

Olruggio’s hand stuttered as Qifrey’s mouth pressed into a thin line. You instantly wished you could have taken it back, though to your relief Qifrey just shook his head, looking away.

“You always tap your pen twice when you're sure. You’ve tapped it five times now.”

Your eyes shot down to your hand, frozen just short of the ink well, prepping to tap against it again.

You closed your eyes, cursing to yourself.

“What aren’t you convinced of?” Olruggio mumbled, so softly you could have cried.

Horrified, you suddenly realized you might actually cry. Your lids pressed tightly shut, willing away the mistyness in your eyes as you breathed in a shaky breath.

“You’re scared.” Qifrey’s quiet accusation seemed to pull the last bit of air out from your lungs. 

You willed your wobbling lip to still, “It I alter the wrong thing–” You cursed quietly as your voice broke off.

Neither of them commented on the tremors in your hands or the wobbling of your voice which you found yourself immensely grateful for. 

You cleared your throat staring again, “If I alter the wrong thing, I don’t know what will happen.”

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting the furrowed gazes of Qifrey and Olruggio.

The former nodded, as if several puzzle pieces had just fallen into place, “You're not hesitating because you don’t know. You’re hesitating because this is the first line you’ve ever been afraid to draw.”

You gnawed at your lower lip, not missing the way his gaze fell down to trace your movements before they moved back up so quick you weren't even sure it happened.

Olruggio squeezed your hip before moving back up to rub at your back, in an attempt to steady your trembling form.

“You’re accounting for every possibility.” He hummed, thoughtfully. “What if it binds us tighter, what if it breaks something else–”

“What if it throws us farther apart?”

Your voice was so quiet you hadn’t even realized you said anything if not for Olruggio’s hand on your back stilling. 

You looked up to find Qifrey’s face pinched into a pained expression, though mercifully he wasn’t looking at you. No, his gaze was trained on Olruggio to your right as they wordlessly communicated again.

Your eyes fell down to your hand still hovering over the paper. You willed it down to make a stroke on line or even a dot. Your fingers gripped your old pen in a vice-like grip. You noticed how your fingers still molded to the wood perfectly. The weight of the wand felt so familiar.

Your vision blurred with tears of frustration or fear you didn’t quite know.

A drip of ink fell from your pen onto the paper below, leaving a large, ugly blot of black.

You sucked in a breath.

Qifrey’s hand moved up to tenderly cup your face, his thumb swiping away the tear that had trailed down your cheek.

His gaze dropped down to your hand as if contemplating pulling the pen away from your grip entirely. Perhaps it was your white-knuckled grip that deterred him from acting on that.

“Im scared.” The words left you in a rushed jumble. It was a miracle that either of them could decipher it.

Olruggio pushed a strand of hair away from your face and tucked it behind your ear. You couldn’t help but chase his touch.

“I’m terrified.” You whispered, slower this time. You nodded to yourself, pursing your lips in a sad, watery smile.

“The moment I write a line…” You shook your head, frowning as you considered what it was you wanted to say. “Whatever happens next, it’s permanent.”

You wondered if they could tell you weren’t talking about the spell. 

Your eyes clenched shut again, cursing yourself. This was terrible. You were terrible. You had no right to want this. To want them. After everything. After what you had chosen to become. You had no right to be on the receiving end of their comforting touches and longing looks. 

You gasped in shallow breaths “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Then don’t”

You looked up at Qifrey. You didn’t realize his hand still cupped your face despite the fact that you had nestled so far into his touch your neck was at a visible crook. 

Though it wasn’t his hand still at your face that made your lower lip wobble again. It was the fact that his previously hardened face had softened into something so tender– so familiar– it ached in your chest. 

His thumb swept back and forth against your cheek bone.

“What?” You breathed out.

“Don’t write it.” Olruggio affirmed from your other side. His fingers played idly with the baby hairs at the nape of your neck, sending pleasant shivers down your spine.

You looked up at him through watery lashes.

His gaze lingered at the way your brows were pinched together causing fine divots in your forehead. His eyes traced down the paths of your tears down to your trembling lip caught between your teeth. 

He pulled his hand from its spot against your neck so slowly you wondered what he must have been scared of. Or perhaps he was only trying not to spook you. His hand finally stilled just short of your mouth. His knuckles rested lightly against your chin as his thumb pulled the flesh of your lip free from your teeth.

“Don’t write it.” He repeated, so simply. “Not until you're certain.”

He looked toward Qifrey who nodded, “We’ll figure something else out.”

You couldn’t help the tiny, disbelieving laugh that pushed from your lips, “You two are still impossible.”

You wished you could believe them you truly did. But nothing would change the fact that in four days the Brimmed Caps were coming, regardless of whatever declarations you were sure were dancing on the tips of Qifrey and Olruggio’s tongues.

Your gaze fell back to the paper, finally pressing the nib to the sheet before Qifrey’s hand closed around yours, halting your movements.

You blinked up at him, pleading, but he only shook his head.

“Not like this.”

It didn’t take any force from him to pull the pen from your now lax grip, placing the slender wood on the table. 

“Let’s eat.” Olruggio offered, holding out his hand to you. 

You stared at it.

Once, taking his hand had felt intuitive– something that required no thought at all. Now it felt like crossing an ocean. 

You raised your hand before pausing, just short of his outstretched grip. 

Your gaze wandered to Qifrey. The corner of his mouth had softened into the smallest smile, one that reached his eyes in a way you hadn't seen in years. 

You felt your own lip curve up instinctually, mirroring his. You turned back to look at Olruggio.

You were selfish. It had been seven years and you still couldn’t leave this behind. 

Your head tilted as you took in Olruggio’s face. His usually hard set lines had softened into something fond. 

He hadn't moved. He simply waited.

Your fingers slipped against his, warm and familiar.

His hand closed around yours with impossible gentleness, as though he feared anything firmer might make you disappear again.

Gently, he pulled you up. 

Qifrey followed suit, briefly grasping your hand to give it the faintest squeeze before leaving the pair of you to open the door. 

Before the spell could tug at your waist, you found yourself taking a step after him.

Nothing had changed. The spell remained unbroken, the days still numbered. And yet, for the first time since arriving, you let yourself breathe. 

Tomorrow would still come. But for tonight, you let it wait.

a/n: This was so fun to write! I think this is gonna be the last part unless I get inspired to end this in a more concrete way or I get a real specific ask or something. But I hope it provides some sense of conclusion! Hope you guys liked!!

Taglist: As always, comment to be added!

Qifrey didn’t see it coming– neither did Easthies, but you had gasped, eyes darting with alarmingly quick reflexes. You angled your Sylph shoes, flying back just as Richeh barreled head-first into Easthies, knocking his hand away from Coco’s face.

In a brilliant flash of light, the ribbons binding Coco and Aggot in the sky singed away, sending his two apprentices in a free fall towards the hard ground.

Qifrey flinched into motion, feet already angling to propel him towards the pair before he caught a brief flash of pink hair followed by a large sandy cushion.

He breathed out a sight of relief, Tetia had learned well.

Easthies, rubbed at his wrist, out of soreness from Richeh’s attack or annoyance, he did not know.

“Who are they?”

You cleared your throat, quickly regaining your composure as you flew back to his side, “Children sir, they burned the pennants.”

Qifrey watched as your eyes narrowed to stare down Richeh who had begun to retort in sharp tones. The other three girls moved to position themselves at Richeh’s side, their small faces set in hard determined lines. He watched Aggot’s hands slide into her coat, no doubt closing her fists around her components.

Qifrey had a complicated relationship with the Knights Moralis. He toed the line of what was allowed by the pact, and he was well aware of this. That was why he had tried his best to avoid them. That wasn’t the only reason of course.

Qifrey angled his Sylph shoes, moving silently to round behind you and Easthies’ group.

There was a matter of you. You had grown up together. You were friends, even. Until you weren’t. Until you had stopped waiting up for him, stopped talking his ear off, stopped trying. It wasn’t like he tried terribly to salvage whatever it was that he had lost, but still. Things like this required a degree of sensitivity or, in Qifrey’s case, complete avoidance. 

“... as such, exceptions can not be allowed.” Easthies’ baritone voice cut through Qifrey’s thoughts. Truthfully, he wasn’t too fond of Easthies, but now, seeing him glowing with the force of his own righteousness– seeing you, standing tall at his side, filled him with a bitter feeling. It was simply wrong, Qifrey told himself. You weren’t supposed to be standing next to him, that's just not how Qifrey had imagined you would be. You were never supposed to ally yourself against him.

He was only angry because this whole situation was fundamentally wrong. Nothing more.

Yet, that didn’t explain why he held the rain cleaver in such a punishing grip. If he held it any tighter it might just fracture under the strain of his unexplainable anger.

“So very talkative Easthies, and so determined not to listen.” Qifrey caught the way his voice trailed off into a growl almost as quick as he noticed your jump of surprise. It filled him with an odd sense of relief to see he still had some effect on you.

Just as quick as your surprise came, it was gone, your gaze hardening and shoulders squaring defensively.

You drifted slightly closer to Easthies before Qifrey angled the blade, suspended in the air, closer, just short of Easthies’ throat. He raised a trying brow in your direction as if urging you to try your luck.

Your lips pressed into a firm line.

“Do show my apprentices some respect, won’t you?” Qifrey finished, staring down at Easthies from the shaft of his blade.

“Of course, these girls are yours, and every bit as insolent as their master.” Easthies mused, almost bored as he turned to stare at you.

You don’t look away from Qifrey.

“If it means they’re unlike you, I welcome their insolence.” Qifrey swears for a second he saw the corner of your lip quirk up before you smothered it flat, schooling your expression

He pulled the blade away from Easthies, “Especially if this is how the knights Moralis operate.” 

Easthies’ gaze follows his blade as he rolls his head, stretching his neck as if suddenly sore.

Not that Qifrey was watching him. He was watching as you bristled at the jab. Oddly enough, the sight didn’t fill him with the satisfaction he thought it would. Or perhaps, he just wasn't used to you not jumping to agree with his every statement.

Easthies turned, pulling your attention away from Qifrey as he whispers to you in hushed tones. He laid a hand over yours holding your staff. His head dipped lower to better catch your eyes.

Qifrey felt his stomach twist in something he couldn’t quite place. How strange it was to be on the outside, he thought.

“Oi, you two!” Qifrey begrudgingly pulled his heated gaze away from the pair of you.

“Have you forgotten what a witch’s purpose is?” Olruggio gestured, towards the townspeople, sprawled against the empty river bed.

He watched you lean close to Easthies, your voice dropped too low to carry. Whatever you said, Easthies nodded once in response before gesturing to the others. The group dispersed– each peeling off in different directions until only you remained floating feet from Qifrey.

Everything in Qifrey’s mind told him this was wrong. That you shouldn’t be here, standing opposite him adorned in red. But then why did it look so right on you? Why did you look so good?

Qifrey shook his head. What was he saying? You looked good? He scoffed at himself, looking down as he resheathed the rain cleaver. 

“She broke the pact– your apprentice."

Qifrey blinked, almost surprised that you had broken the silence first.

You stared at him, unblinking. He noticed the way you gripped your staff in a white-knuckled fist as if waiting for a reason to brandish it against him. Though, he couldn't really blame you by the way his hand was still held loosely around his blade.

But did you really think he could ever use it against you?

His grip slackened as his hand fell to his side. He caught the way your eyes darted down at the motion.

He didn’t know if it was the accusation in your eyes or the way your body tensed in apprehension every time he moved, but he found his mouth moving quicker than his mind could keep up.

“Things were different between us once.”

He held his breath the moment the words left his lips.

You blinked. Once. Then something that wasn't quite a laugh left you– short and disbelieving, like the sentence had caught you somewhere soft you thought you'd long since armored over. Something flickered across your face, there and gone before he could name it. Your grip on your staff tightened. Your gaze moved somewhere past his shoulder, jaw working slightly, as if deciding on something.

“Were they?” You questioned, voice teetering between professional and bitter.

Qifrey opened his mouth before you held your hand up, sharply.

“No, I’ll tell you what you clearly missed. I was not subtle, Qifrey. I was never subtle. And you looked right through it for years until I finally had the good sense to stop looking back."

You shook your head, laughing incredulously, "You didn't reject me. I want to be clear about that. You never thought about me long enough to reject me. I just eventually stopped giving you the opportunity to."

You bring your hand up to rest against your forehead in a futile effort to ground yourself. You told yourself you wouldn’t do this. You told yourself that seeing him wouldn’t change anything– that you had grown. You have grown. You made a life for yourself– a life that you were proud to live. 

Qifrey’s brows pulled together. He didn't move. Didn't reach for his blade, didn't adjust his stance. He just stopped. Then, after a beat he drifted forward, just barely, before catching himself. you noticed. He knew you’d notice.

He shut his eyes, cursing quietly under his breath.

You pursed your lips, nodding.

Of course he had nothing to say. He never had anything to say. Why did you always do this to yourself–

"I noticed when you stopped." A beat. "I just didn't understand what it meant until right now."

You felt your heart pound against your ribs, each thump getting louder and louder.

His eyes fluttered open and immediately found yours, as if that was the only place they belonged. 

"I didn't know." He said it simply, which was somehow worse than if he'd been defensive about it. "I didn't know and that's–” He shook his head, “I understand if that's worse."

You shut your eyes.

You had grown up with him. 

"Qifrey." Not a question, not an answer. Just his name in a voice that sounded far too much like the person you used to be. “Don’t do this to me again.”

Your voice came out softer than you intended– quieter, stripped of the professional distance you'd spent the whole conversation maintaining. You hated it immediately. 

You steeled your expression, looking off somewhere past his shoulder, "Don't do this right now. I worked very hard to get here."

“I know.” He murmured. “You have this job, you have him.”

You catch the way his voice lowered in annoyance at Easthies. You shut your eyes, sighing as your hand came up to pinch between your brows. Something left you that wasn't quite a laugh this time. It was something softer, more tired.

“It was never him, Qifrey.”

You held your eyes closed for a beat, almost expectantly. You don’t know what you were hoping for. A declaration, perhaps?

You scoff, bitterly at yourself. Your eyes fluttered open, angling your Sylph shoes away from him. Not quickly, just a small shift. Like your body had decided before your mind did. Perhaps it was better that way.

"Is it too late?" Something about his voice made you pause. It was the rush, you think. The desperation bordering on hopefulness. Like this was something he hadn't meticulously pre-planned. Like this was something he truly wanted. Like he already suspected the answer and was asking anyway.

Your gaze drifted down to where your team moved efficiently among the villagers- tending injuries, righting carts, doing what needed doing. It snagged, almost against your will, on the cluster of his apprentices huddled together at the edge of the riverbed. Something about the sight pulled at an old, familiar ache.

Against your better judgment, you didn’t flinch at the feeling of his fingers brushing against yours as if reaching out to stop you but falling short, as always.

You shudder in a breath as your eyes fell shut again, breathing in deeply.

How long had you spent wanting this? Wanting him?

“Please.” His voice had lowered to a whisper.

You exhale shakily, pulling your hand from his, though you don’t leave him completely. You stay with your back turned, your face knit together in frustration.

There was so much you wanted to say to him. Everything that you thought you had made peace with was coming right back up to haunt you. 

You felt his breathing brush faintly against your ear as he cautiously drifted closer to you.

As quickly as your bubble of privacy had appeared, it shattered, sending you flinching away from Qifrey as one of the younger knights flew toward you, breathless. "We've found more injured civilians."

You nodded automatically, flustered as you pushed the hair fallen onto your forehead back.

“Right.”

Your feet didn't move.

They should have.

Your first, and only, priority was your job. You had sworn to protect the pact. To be a good witch, no matter the cost.

You looked at Qifrey one last time.

So why couldn't you just do your job? What couldn’t you just walk away?

Qifrey met your gaze, almost sadly, before flying down, meeting with his apprentices.

Your eyes follow him all the way down. 

You had spent years learning how to walk away from him. Why was now any different?

You watched as the pink haired girl jumped into his arms, sending his solemn face into a fond smile. You couldn’t help but mirror the expression.

There was a choice you had to make. One you thought you had made a long time ago. And yet, standing here staring at what the two of you had become, for the first time in years, you weren't sure which choice would make you a better witch.

You moved your gaze to where Easthies was waiving you down, nursing an injured unknowing. 

For now, uncertainty would have to be enough.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦