I Draw My OCs a Lot.

Over the next few months, everyone gradually settled into life in the modern world.

Little by little, they learned how to use everyday technology, though there were still a few things you firmly forbade them from touching around the apartment after a handful of... memorable incidents.

Despite the occasional chaos, life slowly found its rhythm.

You especially enjoyed the quiet afternoons spent sharing tea with Zayamaiya.

To your surprise, Ininia often joined the two of you as well.

Although she was a Brimmed Hat, those peaceful tea parties became one of your favorite parts of the day, the three of you chatting for hours about everything from magic to the strange customs of your world.

Of course…

Not every moment was peaceful.

There were also the occasional awkward accidents.

One afternoon, your mind elsewhere, you turned the handle and pushed open the guest room door without so much as a knock.

What you saw inside made you freeze.

Atwert and Galga stood close — far closer than conversation required. Galga’s face was turned away, but Atwert’s head was tilted toward him, their faces inches apart, breathing the same air. Their posture spoke of something hushed, heated, and entirely private — hands resting where hands should not rest in "conversation," expressions soft and dark with something far more than words.

"…Oh."

Your face burned instantly.

"…Sorry."

You shut the door at once — gently, but fast — as though you’d touched something hot, as though you could unsee what you’d just seen.

Click.

The latch caught.

You stood there in the hallway for several long, perfectly silent seconds, staring blankly at the wall, your heart thudding. The image burned behind your eyelids — the way they’d been pressed together, the look in their eyes, the unmistakable weight of what they’d been about to do.

"…I’m going to pretend that never happened."

A quiet voice spoke up beside you.

"…Yep."

You turned sharply. Utowin stood leaning casually against the opposite wall, arms crossed, his expression perfectly neutral — though there was a faint, knowing flush high on his cheeks, and his gaze was fixed firmly on the floor.

"I understand completely."

The two of you exchanged one wide, mortified, perfectly knowing glance — and then silently, in perfect unison, you turned and walked away in the opposite direction. Neither of you spoke a word. A silent, sacred pact had just been struck: this moment never existed. And neither of you would ever speak of it again.

Luluci often found herself accompanying you wherever you went — whether grocery shopping, exploring the city, or simply taking a quiet walk.

Hieheart wasn’t much different. He followed close behind, firing endless questions about your world with such bright, boundless enthusiasm that you couldn’t help smiling — he was just like an excited golden retriever, eager to learn everything at once.

Even Easthies, much to everyone’s surprise, gradually began to soften toward you. His cool edges smoothed, and he too started seeking you out.

The others noticed it clearly.

Over time, all three grew comfortable in your space — naturally drifting toward you, wanting your attention, your company, your ear whenever they had something to say.

You simply shrugged it off, telling yourself they were finally settling in, growing used to this strange new world.

Qifrey and Olruggio, however…

Were far less oblivious.

Whenever one of them lingered a little too near, or kept your attention a little too long, you’d catch Qifrey and Olruggio exchanging looks across the room — quiet, unimpressed, distinctly possessive — as if reminding each other that your time, your quiet moments, your warmth… belonged first and foremost to them.

"…You’re pouting again," you teased one evening, catching them mid-glance.

"We are not," Olruggio replied instantly, arms crossed, though the faint flush on his ears gave him away.

Qifrey smiled — all soft, innocent sweetness, though his eyes gleamed with something darker. "Certainly not."

"…Right." You laughed, unconvinced.

As days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, your apartment transformed — filled with laughter, chatter, the occasional heated debate, the sound of feet running to and fro… and endless little reminders that every life here had shifted forever since the day they stepped into your world.

But when the lights dimmed and the house finally fell quiet…

When footsteps faded, doors clicked shut, and breathing steadied in every other room…

Then it was just the three of you.

The quiet that remained was different — warm, heavy, yours alone. Qifrey’s hands would brush you with a tenderness he never showed in daylight; Olruggio would pull you close, his touch firm and sure, his voice dropping low and rough against your skin. There were no glances to hide behind, no audience, no need to pretend. There was only the quiet rustle of sheets, the soft, shared breath, the gentle, unhurried way they both claimed you — slowly, together — in the privacy of the night, where no one else would ever see.

And in those hours, wrapped safe between them, you knew without a doubt, however much your home had changed… these quiet, intimate moments were the most precious change of all.

----====---

As if the apartment wasn’t already lively enough…

The children somehow ended up competing for your attention, too — each one wanting to claim you, just for a moment, as theirs.

Qifrey’s little "qiflings," as you jokingly called them, would immediately protest whenever someone managed to monopolize your time. It was less jealousy and more fairness — they all felt they had a right to their turn with the person who felt like family.

At first, Tartah proudly declared he stood firmly on Coco’s side — brother sticking together. Ten minutes later, he had somehow drifted over to Custas and Ininia’s camp instead, playing happily as if he’d never chosen sides at all. No one was entirely sure how it happened, least of all him.

Meanwhile, July sat contentedly right beside you, leaning comfortably against your arm, chattering away as though the chaos swirling all around was simply the most entertaining family gathering in the world.

Then — just when you thought things couldn’t possibly get any busier…

Eoleo walked in.

"…What on earth is going on?"

The moment he stepped through the door, everyone started talking over one another again — voices overlapping, small hands reaching, each one determined to be the one standing closest to you. It was a cheerful, noisy kind of love — everyone wanting to be part of your orbit.

You could only laugh helplessly, holding up your hands.

"One at a time, please! There’s enough of me to go around, I promise!"

From across the room, the adults watched the delightful spectacle unfold — fond, patient, and clearly considering you the heart of this strange, wonderful family.

Zayamaiya sipped her tea in quiet amusement, her eyes soft and warm.

Vinanna hid a smile behind her cup, looking on with the quiet pride of someone watching their family thrive.

Even Easthies let out an amused scoff, shaking his head as if to say of course everyone loves her — who wouldn’t?

Qifrey rested his chin in one hand, watching with a smile so tender it could have lit the whole room.

"…They truly do adore her. And who could blame them?"

Olruggio crossed his arms and let out a warm, resigned chuckle — equal parts amusement and affection.

"…We’re never getting her attention back to ourselves, are we? Not when she’s already got all of them wrapped around her finger."

Warm laughter rippled through the room — an agreement, not a complaint — as the children continued their cheerful, spirited little rivalry. They didn’t fight out of greed, they competed because your love felt like home, and every single one of them wanted to be held close in it.

Of course, not every moment was filled with noise and laughter. There were quieter times too — soft, golden hours that unfolded slowly, like sunlight spilling gently across the floor.

You would often sit beside Riliphin, listening with full attention as he spoke. Sometimes he would tell you stories of places he had been and things he had seen; sometimes he would simply sit there, quiet and content, happy just to have you near. You never rushed him. You never made him feel like he had to speak or perform. Your presence alone was enough — a steady, warm comfort that seemed to ground him whenever he wandered over to your side.

And with Euini, you moved with an extra measure of gentleness, encouraging him little by little, in quiet ways only you seemed to notice.

You understood his hesitation perfectly — the way he would shrink back, the way his eyes would dart away, the way he seemed to carry a quiet weight in his chest.

After all…

You had once stood in exactly his shoes.

So rather than pushing him to be bolder, to speak louder, or to change who he was — you gave him space. You gave him time. You let him grow at his own slow, careful pace, stepping forward only when he felt safe enough to do so. And whenever he looked uncertain, whenever he glanced toward you with wide, unsure eyes — you were there with a soft smile and a quiet nod, telling him without words, You are doing fine. You are enough. Take all the time you need.

Slowly but surely, it began to make a difference. He didn’t rush — but he didn’t shrink quite so far, either.

Even so, Euini still kept close to Richeh — always just a step behind her, hands often brushing the back of her cloak or sleeve, quietly following wherever she went. He felt safest in her shadow, and you never once tried to pull him out of it.

Watching the two together — the quiet, protective bond between them — your heart swelled with affection.

"…Take your time," you thought softly to yourself, smiling warmly.

"There isn’t any rush. We are all right here with you — for as long as you need."

---=====----

Meanwhile, with Deanreldy, you delighted in showing him how things worked in your world — especially when it came to medicine and healing. You would sit side by side, explaining the tools and methods your world uses, patiently bridging the gap between his magic and your science. Sometimes you would pull up videos or documentaries, letting him watch as medical procedures and fascinating breakthroughs unfolded on screen.

He would lean in close, eyes wide and fascinated, occasionally turning to ask thoughtful questions — comparing what he saw to the healing arts he already knew. Sometimes he would furrow his brow in confusion, shaking his head at concepts that simply didn’t exist in his world — and you would laugh gently, helping him untangle it all. It wasn’t always easy, there were misunderstandings, hurdles, and moments that felt truly troublesome — yet even those parts felt precious.

Getting to know him better, seeing him light up with understanding, and sharing this part of your life with him… it was truly wonderful.

And then there was Dagda — gentle, capable, and always stepping in to help around the apartment without needing to be asked. One quiet afternoon, you brought him to your collection of instruments — your guitar, your cherished old violin resting carefully in its case, your piano by the window, and a polished silver flute.

One by one, you showed them to him, explaining how each created its own unique voice. You guided his hands across the guitar strings, showing him exactly where to press, and his large, careful fingers followed your lead with surprising gentleness. At the piano, you sat shoulder to shoulder, his eyes watching your hands intently before trying the keys himself.

And with the flute, you demonstrated how to breathe softly into it — and when he finally produced a clear, sweet note, he looked up at you with a quiet, proud smile. Together you filled the room with soft, tentative melodies — a language spoken without magic, understood perfectly between two friends.

To your own surprise, you even found yourself sharing a lovely tea party with Largrah. The two of you got along wonderfully — you shared little treasures and curiosities from your world, while he spoke of customs, traditions, and stories from his own. It was a gentle, joyful exchange, and you found yourself looking forward to every moment spent together.

Before long, however, your quiet tea for two had grown — Vinanna and Beldaruit had joined you, and somehow the four of you had turned into the most delightful group of gossipers. You traded amusing tales, shared funny secrets, and exchanged stories so lively and full of detail that you all ended up laughing until your sides ached.

And it was just as Beldaruit leaned forward, eyes gleaming, ready to spill yet another story — one that sounded suspiciously embarrassing — that a hand gently settled at your elbow.

"Excuse me," Qifrey said smoothly, already guiding you swiftly to your feet.

He swept you away from the table just in time — right before Beldaruit could reveal exactly what foolish, wonderful, utterly embarrassing things he and Olruggio had done in days long past.

And then there was the time you nearly gave poor old Mr. Nolnoa a heart attack — completely by accident.

You had simply decided to try a little gymnastics stretch. Leaning backward, you curved your spine into a deep, graceful arch, resting your hands flat on the floor behind you to hold the pose — and then, perfectly comfortable, you just stayed there, upside-down and bent nearly in half, casually scrolling through your phone as if this were the most natural position in the world.

Meanwhile, Mr. Nolnoa had come looking for you. He needed a little help and advice — hoping you could show him how to use some of that strange technology from your world, the things he still found so puzzling. He called your name as he approached… only to round the corner and find you contorted into an impossible shape, staring at your phone while bent backward nearly double.

He froze. His eyes went wide as saucers. He let out a startled, strangled gasp, clutching his chest as if his heart had simply stopped beating entirely — convinced he had just walked in on something unnatural, terrifying, and completely beyond his understanding.

By the time you calmly straightened up and asked him what he needed, poor Mr. Nolnoa was still pale, trembling, and staring at you as if you might be some kind of magical creature in disguise.

Tartah, who had been following close behind, immediately stepped forward to keep a steadying eye on his grandfather — clearly alarmed by how pale and shaken the old man had suddenly become.

Mr. Nolnoa, still breathing a little too quickly and pressing a hand to his chest, looked past you toward Qifrey — his expression bewildered, concerned, and just a little unsettled.

"Qifrey…" he asked cautiously, his voice still trembling faintly.

"Is she quite alright?"

"She is perfectly alright, Mr. Nolnoa. Has something happened?" Qifrey replied, his tone calm and reassuring.

But as Mr. Nolnoa recounted exactly what he had just seen — describing your impossible, bent-backward shape and how you had simply stayed there, staring at your device — Qifrey’s expression softened. He blinked, then let out a quiet, knowing sigh.

Realization dawned clearly in his eyes.

Ah. Of course. You were just pursuing one of your peculiar little hobbies again.

----====----

Then there were Etlan and Ekoh.

The twins.

Honestly, they confused you more times than you cared to admit. At first glance, they looked so alike that you often found yourself wondering who you had just been talking to. The only reliable way you could tell them apart was by their personalities.

Even then... You still got it wrong sometimes.

"...Ekoh?"

"...I'm Etlan."

"...Right ...Sorry."

Utowin would immediately burst into laughter every time you mixed them up.

"I'll never get tired of watching that happen."

You could only sigh in defeat. "...One day I'll get it right."

Whenever you genuinely needed to find one of the twins, Galga would quietly step in to help.

"You're looking for Etlan."

"No, that's Ekoh."

At this point, you had simply accepted that remembering which twin was which had become one of the many daily challenges of living with the Knights of Moralis. At least everyone else seemed to find it entertaining.

You swore there was one day when you had finally given up trying to tell the twins apart.

"Easthies."

He looked up from what he was doing.

"...What."

You walked over with the most defeated expression he had ever seen on your face.

"I need your help."

That alone made him pause.

"...With what?"

You let out a dramatic sigh.

"The twins. I can't do this anymore. They keep switching places..."

"They don't switch places," Easthies corrected flatly.

"It only feels like they do." You buried your face in your hands.

"That's even worse." A long silence followed before Easthies pinched the bridge of his nose.

"...Fine. For today, if you need one of them..."

"Ask me."

Your eyes immediately lit up.

"Really?"

"...Don't make me regret saying that."

From across the room, Utowin had overheard the entire conversation and was already laughing.

"I never thought I'd see the day Easthies became your official twin translator."

Even Galga let out a quiet chuckle.

Meanwhile, Etlan and Ekoh looked at each other in complete confusion.

"...Are we really that hard to tell apart?"

You, Easthies, Galga, and Utowin all answered at the exact same time.

"Yes."

The twins blinked. "...Oh."

----=====-----

It was truly surprising how quickly you and Alaira had clicked — like two souls who had been waiting to find one another. Hours would slip by unnoticed as you talked, never running out of stories to tell. She spoke of distant lands, winding roads, and the fascinating people she had met along her journeys, painting vivid pictures with every word. In return, you shared stories of your own world, your life, your childhood — opening up freely, just as you always did, warm and trusting, to anyone willing to listen.

Before long, Luluci had drifted over too. Quietly, almost casually, she settled herself close beside you — closer than strictly necessary — and lingered.

Soon the three of you were laughing together, leaning in, sharing secrets, as though you had been dearest friends for years.

Watching from beneath her lashes, Alaira hid a knowing smile behind her teacup. It wasn’t your conversation that amused her — it was Luluci.

She had noticed the pattern. How Luluci always seemed to find her way to your side the moment you appeared. How she found the smallest, silliest excuses to join whatever you were doing, just to be near you. How her gaze would linger on your face — soft, focused, and entirely too attentive — long after you had finished speaking.

And the most entertaining part of all? You hadn’t noticed a thing.

Even now, sitting shoulder to shoulder, you remained blissfully, adorably oblivious. You didn’t see the way Luluci’s eyes followed every movement of your hands. You didn’t feel the weight of her attention, warm and unwavering, fixed only on you.

Alaira’s gaze drifted across the room — and her smile grew.

There stood Qifrey and Olruggio. Watching.

They said nothing. They made no move to interrupt. They stood perfectly still, quiet and composed — yet their expressions told a story far louder than words. Qifrey’s smile had tightened, his eyes dark and unreadable, fixed on the way Luluci leaned toward you. Olruggio’s arms were crossed tight, his jaw set firm, a quiet, simmering irritation radiating off him in waves.

Jealousy. Plain, unmistakable, and impossible to hide.

Alaira chuckled softly into her cup.

"Oh dear…" she murmured to herself, eyes gleaming with amusement.

"This is getting far more interesting than I expected."

"huh?" you stop talking and look at alaira confused who just smile shrugging it off.

"nothing~"

There were quiet moments, too — soft, unhurried hours that felt like a breath held gently between two beats.

One afternoon, you sat at the dining table, buried beneath a mountain of papers that had somehow piled up over the week. You rubbed your eyes, tired and half-distracted, sorting through stacks that seemed to multiply before your eyes.

Without a single word, Easthies pulled out the chair across from you and sat down. He began organizing the piles with sharp, efficient movements — straightening edges, aligning corners, separating documents into neat, perfect columns.

"You put these in the wrong order," he said, pushing one stack back toward you. His tone was crisp, matter-of-fact — but his voice had softened, just a fraction.

"…I know." You smiled sheepishly. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

He lifted his gaze and gave you a flat, unimpressed look — though the corner of his mouth twitched, fighting a smile.

"…You knew I’d notice."

You laughed softly, and the sound made his breath catch — just for an instant.

After that, conversation faded away. The two of you worked in a comfortable, easy silence — interrupted only by the crisp rustle of paper, the scratch of a pen, and the soft clink of a coffee mug being set gently down.

Every so often, his eyes would lift from the page and drift to you — quick, sharp glances that lingered longer than they should. He’d trace the line of your lashes, the curve of your mouth, the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear when you were concentrating — and then look away fast, as if burned, before you could catch him. His fingers would brush yours when passing a document, and he’d pull back as if your skin had seared him — yet he always leaned just a little closer, his knee brushing yours beneath the table, never quite pulling away.

It was peaceful.

And almost unbearably intimate.

Thinking back, you couldn't help but smile. There had been a time when the two of you argued over nearly everything — bickering, snapping, stubborn as stone.

Now…

There was no tension. No sharp words. No pride standing between you.

Instead, there was this — a quiet understanding that had slowly, steadily grown over the months. He didn't say he cared. He didn't need to. He showed it in the way he straightened your work without being asked, in the way he stayed until you were finished, in the way his gaze clung to you when he thought you weren't looking.

Neither of you mentioned it aloud.

You didn't have to.

He watched you from beneath his lashes, admiring the soft focus of your face, and wondered how you could possibly be so blind — how you could sit there, warm and open, and not feel the way his heart raced every time you smiled at him.

The calm atmosphere spoke louder than words ever could — to everyone but you.

From around the corner of the hallway, partially hidden by shadow, Vinanna stood quietly observing the scene unfolding at the table.

Her eyes softened, and a low, knowing chuckle escaped her lips as she watched the two of you — heads bent close, papers shifting between you, working in that gentle, easy silence. She saw the way Easthies’s gaze kept drifting to you, quick and sharp before he looked away; she saw the way he leaned just a fraction closer than necessary, his entire attention fixed on you even as his hands moved steadily through the work.

"My, my…" she murmured, one hand resting thoughtfully at her chin.

"Who would ever have thought it?"

It seemed like only yesterday that the two of you could barely stand to be in the same room together — snapping over opinions, bickering over details, arguing over nearly everything. Every conversation had been sharp, heated, and full of stubborn pride.

Now… the air between you was soft, calm, and charged with something far warmer than friendship. It felt so natural, so easy, that it almost took one’s breath away.

Standing beside her, Beldaruit folded his arms across his chest, a warm, amused smile playing upon his lips as he watched the quiet dynamic unfold.

"Well…" he said, his tone knowing.

"I know one former apprentice of mine who will be decidedly unhappy if he sees this."

Vinanna’s smile turned gently teasing.

"You mean Qifrey?"

Beldaruit gave a helpless, fond nod.

"I have known that boy long enough to read him perfectly."

"He is trying — very, very hard — to be mature, composed, and reasonable about it…"

"…But that little crease that appears between his brows? It shows up every single time someone stands too close to her, leans too near, or looks at her the way Easthies is looking right now."

Vinanna laughed softly, a sound like wind chimes — light and full of understanding. They both knew exactly what that crease meant: jealousy, quiet and unyielding, carefully hidden behind a calm smile.

The two shared one last, knowing glance — and then silently agreed to leave you be. They stepped back, gliding quietly away down the hallway, disappearing before either you or Easthies had the slightest idea you had been watched all along.

---====----

One quiet afternoon, you found yourself standing out on the balcony with Atwert.

The two of you leaned side by side against the cool railing, watching the city stretch out below, while the apartment’s bustle faded softly into the background behind you. The air was warm, the breeze gentle — and for a little while, everything felt perfectly still.

At first, you spoke of simple things: how strange and wonderful this world still felt, the technology you were all slowly learning to use, and all the unexpected joys that had happened since you welcomed them into your life.

But slowly, naturally, the conversation shifted — drifting toward the hearts waiting back inside.

"So…" Atwert began, glancing sideways at you with a soft, knowing smile.

"Qifrey and Olruggio."

You blinked, turning toward him.

"What about them?"

"You speak of them often," he said gently. "And your face lights up every time you do."

A soft, breathless laugh escaped you.

"I suppose I do."

Atwert’s gaze turned tender, his voice quiet and sure.

"I understand. Completely."

You looked at him then, really looked — and smiled.

"Because of Galga?"

He nodded slowly, his expression softening like wax beneath a flame.

"Yes. Because of Galga."

A quiet, fond smile touched his lips.

"Galga can be… difficult. Stubborn as the oldest stone. Proud, and far too proud to say what he truly feels — even when his heart is overflowing."

You laughed, warm and knowing.

"That sounds incredibly familiar."

"Does it?"

"Very much so."

The two of you shared a quiet, perfect laugh — two people who knew exactly what it meant to be loved by someone who struggled to say it.

You rested your arms once more upon the railing, your gaze drifting back toward the doors, thinking of the two waiting for you inside.

"Qifrey is the patient one," you said softly. "Gentle, soft-spoken, always kind. He holds everything together with quiet strength — and he loves me so steadily, I never once have to doubt it."

"And Olruggio?" Atwert asked gently.

Your smile deepened, warm and bright.

"Olruggio… he’s the one who complains. He grumbles, he huffs, he acts as though everything is a burden. But I know better. Every complaint is just another way of saying he’s worried. Every frown is just him caring too deeply and not quite knowing how to say it."

Atwert chuckled, low and warm.

"Sounds exactly like someone I know."

"Galga?"

"Exactly."

Silence fell again — soft, comfortable, and full of understanding. Side by side, two people from entirely different worlds, standing together and speaking openly of the ones who held their hearts. There was no judgment, no teasing — only recognition.

Atwert turned to you then, his voice quiet and sincere.

"They make you truly happy?"

You smiled — a full, bright, certain smile.

"Yes."

"They do. More than I ever thought possible."

Then you turned the question back to him, soft and sure.

"And Galga? Does he make you happy?"

Atwert’s whole face softened, glowing from within.

"He does."

There was no need to say more. No grand declarations, no flowery words. Sometimes, simply knowing someone else understood that exact kind of happiness — the stubborn, quiet, deeply devoted kind — was more than enough.

---=====-----

You weren’t even surprised anymore when you found yourself settled comfortably on the couch beside Beldaruit, tucked close while the evening light softened around you.

On the television, some random reality sitcom played — full of ridiculous squabbles, over-the-top drama, and people shouting over one another — and Beldaruit was utterly, completely captivated. Leaning forward, eyes fixed intently on the screen, he peered through the small opera glasses you had gifted him — holding them up to his eyes like he was witnessing the finest performance in the grandest hall.

In one hand, he cradled a large bowl of caramel popcorn, and every so often he would reach into it without looking, popping a piece into his mouth. It had, without a doubt, become his absolute favorite snack.

"So…" he murmured, pointing the opera glasses directly at the screen. "They are arguing — quite fiercely — over what, exactly?"

You bit back a laugh.

"Honestly? I don’t think even they remember anymore."

"Hmm…" He leaned in closer, thoroughly invested. "And this glowing box… it simply shows their faces? Their lives?"

"That’s a television, Beldaruit."

"Remarkable." He shook his head, awestruck.

You smiled fondly. "You’ve been watching this for three hours straight, you know."

"And I fully intend to continue," he replied, without taking his eyes off the screen.

You shook your head, amused — and then noticed someone sitting down on your other side.

Qifrey.

He appeared relaxed, his posture easy, his gaze turned toward the screen as well. But you quickly realized — his attention wasn’t on the show at all. He wasn’t watching the drama on the television. He was watching Beldaruit. Closely. Intently. His eyes never strayed far, and his expression held a quiet, watchful wariness that made you tilt your head.

You leaned in slightly.

"…Qifrey?"

He turned to you at once, wearing his most innocent, gentle smile.

"Yes, my dear?"

"Why are you watching him like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you’re waiting for him to do something suspicious."

Before Qifrey could reply, Beldaruit turned toward you — eyes gleaming, smile playful and knowing.

"Oh, this reminds me so much of the time Qifrey —"

"Master."

Qifrey’s smile vanished instantly. His voice was soft, but sharp — a clear, urgent warning.

Beldaruit paused mid-sentence. His eyes twinkled.

You slowly turned your gaze toward Qifrey, one eyebrow raised high.

"…The time you what?"

Qifrey looked at you, then at his former master, and gave absolutely nothing away.

"Nothing."

Beldaruit grinned, popping another piece of caramel popcorn into his mouth with deliberate slowness.

"Absolutely nothing at all."

Qifrey leaned closer to him, voice dropping to a quiet, urgent whisper.

"Please… keep it that way."

You burst out laughing.

Of course. That was it. That was the entire reason. Qifrey wasn’t watching the television. He wasn’t watching the drama. He was standing guard — making absolutely certain his former master did not, under any circumstances, reveal every embarrassing, foolish, wonderful story from his apprenticeship.

Beldaruit simply chewed his popcorn, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

"How wonderfully nostalgic," he murmured.

Qifrey sighed, shoulders sinking, and looked at you with helpless fondness.

"…I am completely surrounded by traitors."

=====（￣︶￣）↗　====

"You are absolutely certain the four of you will be alright?"

Olruggio’s voice — thick with concern — made you pause mid-movement, your fingers still resting on the collar of your jacket. He stood close, watching you with that familiar, furrowed brow, unable to fully hide how much the idea of you stepping out without him weighed on his mind.

You glanced back at the three standing beside you. Richeh stood steady beside her older brother, Riliphin, quiet and composed. But Euini lingered a little behind them, his head bowed, shoulders hunched, as if carrying some quiet weight he wasn't yet ready to speak aloud. You couldn't be certain what troubled him — but you could see it in the way he held himself. So you decided not to press him. Instead, you stood a little closer, a silent promise that you were right there.

"We will be fine," you told Olruggio, offering him a soft, steadying smile.

"It’s only a few things we need to fetch. We won’t be long."

Olruggio let out a quiet, restless sigh. His gaze drifted over the three waiting behind you, then returned to you — still looking far from convinced.

Beside him, Alaira smiled gently, stepping forward to ease his worry.

"Go on then!"

"And please — all four of you, stay safe, won't you?"

"We will," you promised her as well.

You adjusted your jacket one last time, then reached for the door handle.

"Don't worry. We'll be back before you know it."

Olruggio watched you step out — watched the four of you disappear — and even after the door clicked shut, his worried expression lingered, his gaze remaining fixed upon the wood long after you were gone.

Alaira glanced at him, her smile soft and knowing.

"…You truly do worry far too much."

Olruggio crossed his arms tight over his chest, his gaze still resting on the door, voice low and earnest.

"Someone has to."

---

"Alright, I just need to grab a few supplies from the list. What about you three?"

You glanced up from your phone, where the shopping list glowed brightly on the screen, keeping track of everything the household needed.

"Richeh wants another snack," Richeh stated simply, pointing toward a row of shelves without the slightest hesitation — clear, certain, and straightforward as always.

"I’ll just follow wherever Richeh leads," Riliphin said with a soft, sheepish chuckle, scratching gently at the side of his head. "To be honest, I still don’t know my way around all these corridors and displays. Everything feels so different here."

You smiled warmly at him.

"Don't worry. Give it a little time — you’ll get used to it all soon enough."

Then your attention shifted toward Euini.

He had remained quiet the entire time, walking a pace or two behind the rest of you, hands folded neatly in front of him, gaze lowered toward the floor. His shoulders were held tight, his steps careful and small — clearly overwhelmed by the crowds, the noise, and the sheer size of this unfamiliar place.

You understood that anxious demeanor perfectly. You knew exactly what it felt like — to feel small, out of place, and unsure of every step. So you didn’t push him to speak. You didn’t demand he keep up or join in. Instead, you slowed your own pace just a little, walking close enough that he could reach you if he needed — a quiet, steady presence letting him know he was safe.

The four of you continued winding your way through the mall, gathering the supplies needed for the apartment. With so many people living under one roof now, you had quickly learned that household necessities vanished far faster than you could ever keep them stocked — what should have lasted weeks disappeared in days.

"Ah — right!"

You suddenly remembered something important and turned fully toward Euini and Riliphin.

"I also need to get the two of you some proper clothes of your own."

"The others all have theirs already, and I won't have you two feeling left out or wearing borrowed things any longer."

Riliphin blinked in pleasant surprise, then smiled — soft and grateful.

"Really? Thank you. That’s… very kind of you."

Euini said nothing. He only gave a small, shy nod, his face flushing faintly pink — touched that you had thought of him, too.

You smiled gently, reassuring and warm.

"Come along. We’ll find something soft, comfortable, and exactly your size — something that feels like yours."

Richeh immediately tugged lightly at Riliphin’s sleeve, firm and unyielding.

"After snacks."

Riliphin laughed, bright and easy.

"Of course. After snacks. We wouldn't dare forget."

Before long, the four of you had gathered everything on your list. A fresh batch of art supplies for you, the items Qifrey and Olruggio had asked you to pick up, and a few special things Alaira had requested.

And then, of course, there were the other things — the "small" extras that somehow kept finding their way into your basket until it was piled high.

You stared down at the mountain filling your cart, then let out a long, dramatic sigh.

"…And there goes my wallet again."

Riliphin laughed warmly beside you, shaking his head in amusement.

"You did say you were only getting a few things."

"I know!" You gestured helplessly at the pile. "I had every intention. But somehow… 'a few things' turned into this."

Richeh simply hugged her snacks tight against her chest, looking perfectly pleased with herself — entirely unapologetic.

Euini stayed quiet at your side, hands folded neatly, but you noticed his shoulders had dropped an inch or two. He looked calmer now — less overwhelmed, a little more at ease than when you had first walked through the doors.

Once the list was fully checked off, you turned toward the clothing store.

"Alright." You turned to Riliphin and Euini, eyes bright and determined.

"Now it’s your turn."

Riliphin glanced around at the rows and rows of neatly hung garments, at the endless colors, styles, and choices — and blinked, looking a little overwhelmed.

"…There are so many."

"Don't worry." You gave him a reassuring smile.

"We’ll sort through it together. We’ll find something that fits both of you perfectly — comfortable, and just right."

Before you could finish, Richeh had already wandered off toward a rack nearby, curiosity pulling her away.

"Richeh — don't go disappearing on us!"

"I wasn't!" Her voice came back, bright and unconcerned, from behind a row of coats.

You sighed, but there was a smile tugging at your lips. Shopping with three people was already turning into its own wonderful, chaotic adventure.

You let the two boys take their time, wandering freely through the aisles, choosing whatever caught their eye — no hurry, no pressure.

Riliphin moved calmly between the racks, occasionally pausing to lift a garment, examine the fabric, turn it gently in his hands, and consider it thoughtfully.

Euini, however, lingered back. He moved slowly, hesitantly, his fingers brushing lightly against the hems but never quite daring to pull anything out — until his gaze fixed on one particular shirt, his steps slowing to a halt. He stood staring at it, eyes wide and quiet, as if afraid even to reach for it.

You noticed.

Quietly, you walked over to stand beside him — not behind him, so you wouldn't startle him — and spoke in a soft, warm voice.

"You like that one, Euini?"

He jumped as if you had touched his shoulder, spinning around quickly. His bangs fell forward, hiding his face, and he began stumbling over his words in a rush of panic.

"I—I'm sorry! I didn't mean— It's not like you have to buy it for me! I was just looking! Just curious! It's not like I wanted it or anything, truly!"

He spoke so fast, breathless and trembling, that you could barely keep track of the words — terrified he had been greedy, or rude, or asking for too much.

You rested your hand gently, firmly, upon his shoulder — grounding him, calming him — and smiled softly.

"Easy now, Euini. Breathe."

"There is no need to be anxious. There is no need to apologize."

"We came here to find clothes for you and Riliphin. That is exactly what we are doing. If you see something you like — anything at all — you only have to tell me. That is what I am here for."

Euini fell silent. His breathing slowly steadied. Through the messy fall of his bangs, you caught a glimpse of his green eyes — wide, uncertain, and slowly beginning to trust.

He glanced back at the shirt, then up at you again.

"…Truly?"

"Truly." You nodded, warm and sure.

"So — would you like to try it on?"

Euini hesitated. His fingers twisted together nervously. Then, slowly, he gave a small, shy nod.

"…Yes."

Your smile softened, gentle and proud.

"Then let's check the size — and see how it looks on you."

---

"Riliphin, did you find a few things you like?"

You turned toward Richeh’s older brother. He nodded, holding up a couple of neatly chosen shirts.

"Richeh helped me pick them out."

Richeh puffed out her chest, pointing proudly at herself.

"I did!"

You chuckled warmly.

"Good job, Richeh. Thank you for helping him."

Then Riliphin paused, glancing around with a sudden furrow between his brows.

"…Wait."

His expression shifted instantly from calm to alarm.

"Where is Euini?"

Your blood ran cold. You froze, scanning frantically between the racks.

"…Euini?"

No answer.

"Euini!?"

Worry sharpened your voice, rising in pitch as panic took hold. The three of you split up instantly — weaving between rows, calling his name, checking every corner — but there was no reply, no small figure stepping out to meet you.

Then you heard voices — taunting, sharp, and cruel — drifting from the other side of the shelves.

You hurried toward them, heart hammering hard against your ribs.

And there he was.

Euini stood huddled, surrounded by a half-circle of teenagers blocking him in. One stood directly in his path, leaning down mockingly, while the others laughed and jeered around him, trapping him with nowhere to go.

"Aww — what’s wrong with you?" the boy jeered, leaning closer. "I was just asking why you hide your face."

He gave a harsh, mocking laugh, reaching out to flick the edge of Euini’s bangs.

Euini’s shoulders locked tight, drawn up high with tension. He shrank back, hands twisting helplessly together, trying to speak but choking on his own words.

"I—I… I just…"

He stumbled, stammered, and fell silent.

The group burst out laughing again, louder this time.

"See? There he goes again!"

"Why do you talk so weird?"

"Cat got your tongue?"

Euini lowered his head completely, his bangs falling like a curtain to hide his face — hiding his burning eyes, his shame, his fear. He looked so small, so alone, so terrified.

Your expression hardened instantly. The warmth vanished from your face, replaced by cold, sharp steel.

"Euini."

He lifted his head sharply. He knew your voice. Hope flashed instantly in his eyes.

You stepped forward — calm, steady, and unyielding — with Riliphin and Richeh right at your heels. You walked straight past the bullies and stopped right beside him, placing yourself between him and them.

"There you are."

Euini looked up at you — eyes wide, shimmering, and visibly relieved. He stepped quickly behind you, then pressed close against Riliphin’s side the moment his brother reached him. Riliphin immediately moved to shield him, standing shoulder to shoulder with his little brother — protective, solid, and furious. Richeh stood firm at your other side, glaring boldly at the group.

The teenagers glanced between the four of you — and suddenly, their laughter died. They took a step back, unnerved by how quickly the balance had shifted. No longer was it one scared boy against many. Now it was four — standing together, unbroken, and unafraid.

You turned your gaze to them — calm, cold, and clear.

"Is there a problem here?"

The group fell abruptly silent. They shifted awkwardly, looking away, suddenly unable to meet your eyes.

Euini stayed pressed close to Riliphin, trembling faintly — but he was no longer alone.

You looked back at him, and your expression softened instantly into something warm and steady. You gave him a gentle, reassuring smile.

"It’s okay now."

"We found you."

Richeh stepped forward at once and wrapped her arms tight around Euini, pulling him gently against her chest, holding him steady.

"It’s okay," she murmured softly, rubbing his back. "They’re gone. You’re safe."

Euini blinked, wide-eyed and startled by the sudden, fierce hug — but then he slowly melted into it, his shoulders sinking, letting her hold him up.

One of the girls from the group scoffed loudly, crossing her arms and lifting her chin, far too sure of herself.

"Hmph. What are you, his mommy or something?"

You stared at her — calm, steady, and unblinking — for a long, heavy moment before taking one deliberate step forward.

"Someone who knows exactly when to step in," you said. Your voice was even, quiet, and perfectly composed — but beneath it lay a cold, unmistakable warning that made her falter.

You folded your arms, standing your ground.

"If you have something to say to Euini — say it to me. I am the one you answer to now."

The girl’s confident smirk wavered. She took a half-step back, suddenly unsure.

"And if you don’t?" Your gaze hardened. "Then leave him alone. Now."

You glanced over the rest of the group, your voice clear and firm.

"Making fun of someone’s appearance. Mocking the way they speak. Laughing when they are nervous. That doesn’t make any of you look impressive. It doesn’t make you look strong. It only makes you look small."

Silence fell. Not a word was spoken. The teenagers shifted uncomfortably, looking away, suddenly unable to meet your eyes.

Behind you, Riliphin stayed close to Euini — a steady, silent presence — while Richeh kept her arms wrapped protectively around him, refusing to let go.

You turned your back on them and looked at Euini — and your expression softened instantly, the steel melting away into warm, gentle care.

"Come on," you said softly.

"We came here to find clothes, remember? Not to listen to them."

Euini looked up at you, still pale, but his eyes were clear — and grateful. He gave a small, shaky nod.

"…Yeah."

You smiled, warm and steady.

"Then let’s go. There is so much more to see — and we haven’t even found your favorite shirt yet."

---====---

"So this will truly help?"

Custas looked down with quiet curiosity at the leg braces resting before him, his gaze soft and hopeful, as you carefully guided them into place around his legs.

"It will," you answered gently, your voice steady and reassuring.

You adjusted each strap with deliberate care — tightening just enough to be secure, never enough to pinch — checking that the supports sat perfectly aligned, distributing weight evenly so they would hold him comfortably.

Coco, Tartah, Ininia, and Dagda stood nearby, watching with wide, quiet eyes — curious, attentive, and holding their breath a little as they waited to see.

Once you were fully satisfied with the fit, you reached for the forearm crutches.

"Alright. Now try these."

You handed them to him, showing him exactly how to hold them, how to rest his arms, how to lean into them safely — guiding his hands until he felt the balance — before stepping back, but staying close, ready to catch him if he wavered.

Custas shifted his weight slowly forward, testing the feeling, the new stability beneath him.

"…Like this?" he asked, glancing toward you.

"Yes. Just like that. Take it as slowly as you need."

You remained right beside him, steady and watchful, ready to offer support the moment he needed it.

You had made certain to be clear from the very beginning — these braces were not magic. They would not suddenly make walking effortless.

"They are here to support your legs," you explained softly, "to give you stability and take some of the weight. They may make moving easier, yes — but everyone is different. It will take time, patience, and practice to find what feels right for you."

Before you had even brought the equipment out, you had taken the time to explain it all thoroughly to Dagda as well — ensuring he understood exactly what the braces and crutches were meant to do, and what they were not meant to do.

Dagda nodded slowly, thoughtfully, comprehension settling clearly in his eyes.

"So… they provide support and strength," he said, "rather than simply fixing the problem all at once."

"Exactly."

Custas took another careful step. Then another. Slow, deliberate, testing his balance with every movement.

Coco’s eyes went wide and bright.

"You’re doing it! Custas, you’re walking!"

Custas looked up — a small, quiet, determined smile touching his lips.

"I am. Though… I’m still getting used to it."

You smiled back at him, warm and proud.

"And that is perfectly alright. There is no rush at all. We will take all the time you need."

"Thank you… for helping him."

Dagda’s voice was low and sincere, heavy with gratitude, as he spoke the quiet words. You turned to him and gave a soft, steady nod — accepting his thanks, but knowing full well this was only the beginning.

You knew better than anyone that this was not something that could be simply fixed overnight.

"You know," you began gently, your voice calm and sure, "when someone faces a situation like Custas’s… it is so easy to feel helpless. Especially when someone loses the ability to use their legs, or their arms, or lives with a condition that makes everyday things harder than they should be. It can feel like the world has narrowed, and there is no way forward."

You glanced toward Custas — still standing steady, taking his time, carefully growing accustomed to the feel of the braces and the balance of the crutches.

"But that is exactly why we keep finding ways to help."

"It may not make everything easy. It may not change everything overnight. Some days will still be hard, and some things will still feel impossible."

Your smile softened, warm and hopeful.

"But we make what we can. We adapt. We create. We build things that give people back a little more freedom, a little more independence — things that make life just a little gentler, a little easier, a little more possible."

You looked back at Dagda, meeting his gaze clearly.

"That is just how life is. We do not give up. We adjust. We find new ways to move forward."

A quiet, thoughtful pause settled between you.

"Life… always finds a way."

Dagda fell silent for a long moment, turning those words over in his heart. Then slowly, he nodded — comprehension, respect, and hope shining in his eyes.

"…I understand."

Across the room, Custas shifted his weight — and took another careful, deliberate step forward.

It was wobbly. It was imperfect. It was far from graceful.

But it was a step.

And that was everything.

End

-----

His eyes darted down, away from you, to scan the ground for the familiar Atelier. He wished he could say that he knew exactly where he was. In fact, he should know. But seeing you like this, tremors still involuntarily wracking your body as you dipped in and out of consciousness– he had never felt so helpless before.

When all this was over, Qifrey vowed to never take his eyes off you for a second, better yet, he would keep you at home forever, bundled up in blankets and his embrace. 

His cheeks darkened, before he shook his head, expression hardening.

It was hardly the time for such thoughts. Regardless he had a feeling you would thrash him if he tried to keep you tucked away at home, away from work.

As if sensing his rapidly firing thoughts your arm tightened around his neck, mushing your face into the junction of his neck and shoulder before a soft whine left you.

“Qifrey?”

His heart jumped to his throat as he scrambled to answer.

“Yes, love?”

He wondered if you could feel the pounding of his heart beneath your cheek.

You sighed, nuzzling closer into him. He was acutely aware of the fan of your hot breath against his skin– an assurance that you were still breathing, that you were still with him.

“Where are we?” You murmured so quietly that if your lips were not right below the curve of his ear, he would have missed it altogether.

He squinted, peering to look through the clouds, “Almost home, sweetheart.”

He was laying it on thick with the endearments, he was well aware. But how could he not when things were so dire? When he didn’t know if he was about to lose everything?

Just as his thoughts started to dip into a wormhole of ‘what ifs’, the familiar shingles of the Atelier’s rooftops came into a hazy view.

A strangled breath of relief escaped him as he angled his Sylph shoes, beelining towards the front door.

His grip on you tightened as he slammed into solid ground, stumbling to catch his footing before he kicked open the Atelier door. Several yelps of terror greeted him as he pushed past the swinging door, pivoting to lay you down on the plush couch.

He bit his tongue in an effort to think and block out the chorus of ‘Master?” approaching from the kitchen.

Your hands tightened around his neck as he made to pull away from you.

“Love, I need to get Olruggio.” A part of him wanted to hoard you, holding you close to his front and protected from any other eyes. Another– smarter– part knew you needed all the help you could get. You needed Olruggio. Qifrey needed Olruggio.

“Don’t leave me.” For the first time this whole mission, your voice had taken on a quality of fear. He heard it in the tremble that creeped into the later syllables. It pulled something taut in his chest as he looked down at your watery eyes. 

His hand moved up to tenderly follow the tear tracing down the curve of your cheek.

After a beat, he turned his gaze over the edge of the couch, meeting four terrified gazes of his apprentices. 

“Is she okay?” Tetia whispered, her voice uncharacteristically small. Aggot flinched, noticing the same, as she brought her hand to cup Tetia’s shoulder.

Qifrey watched as you grimaced, attempting to lift your head slightly to look at them. He hissed in a half-serious half-pitiful reprimand, guiding his hand under the base of your head to aid your movements. Miraculously, Qifrey watched as you clenched your shaking hands tightly, pushing down your terror to shoot them an easy smile.

“Course I am. I’m home safe with all the best people aren't I?”

The four young faces turned from you to Qifrey, unconvinced. At the same time, your little strength seemed to have given out, as Qifrey took the full weight of your head in his hand, lowering you back to the couch.

He wondered if you knew how your words were slurring together or the way your eyes lids would sink closed before shooting back open as if you kept catching yourself from the grip of unconsciousness.

Whatever that had hit you back at the house was no simple spell. That reminder shocked Qifrey back into movement. He looked at his apprentices, forcing calm into his expression, “Go get Olruggio and then how about you call it a night. It’s late.”

Mercifully, the four chose not to argue, nodding hurriedly and rushing away.

He turned his attention back to you, stroking your hair. Your eyes fluttered open once again and you tried to offer him a small smile that looked more like a grimace. He smiled sadly at the fear that was already beginning to creep back into you now that his apprentices had left.

“We’re home?” You whispered.

He nodded, taking your hand in his, leaving a chaste kiss against your knuckles.

Your eyes widened, and for a horrible moment Qifrey wondered if he had gone too far in his own desperation, until a light laugh tumbled out of you.

“Don’t look so scared, Qifrey.” The corners of your eyes crinkled in that way they always did when you teased him. “I’m still here aren't I?”

He laughed, though the pressure in his chest didn’t ease up. If only you could see yourself how he saw you now.

Your expression softened into something sadder, as the two of you fell into a silence, your eyes getting heavier.

“Qifrey?”

He swiped his thump over the back of your hand, “Yes?”

“If anything happens– to me, I mean–”

He’s shaking his head before you could even finish, “No, no. Don’t do that. Don’t act like you’re going to die or something– I won't have it.” He scoffed, clenching his eyes shut in hopelessness, “I won’t allow it. I–”

He jumped at the weight of a palm against his shoulder, eyes flying open to find your gaze trained at a figure above him.

“Qifrey.” Olruggio’s voice was softer than usual.

How interesting it was to see how people’s voices changed so much when they were scared, Qifrey wondered.

He allowed himself to be pulled back as Olruggio took his spot, scanning over you for injuries and symptoms. 

You offered him a small, fond smile before your eyes fluttered shut. “Hey, no.” Olruggio started, pinching– not unkindly– at your cheek, “You have to stay awake, okay?”

You whined, reaching your hand out blindly into the air.

It took Qifrey a minute to realise that you were reaching for him. Actually, he didn’t realize at all until Olruggio nudged him, grabbing his hand to meet yours.

Your finger’s curled around his, holding him with more strength than he thought you had left.

Olruggio's hands were steady, even as his eyes weren't. He had already begun assessing you– pulling back your sleeve, checking the pallor of your skin, murmuring something under his breath that might have been half a diagnostic and half a prayer.

"What happened?" His voice was clipped, all business, but the question hung in the air a beat too long before anyone answered.

Both his and your gaze slid to Qifrey.

You tried. You really did– your lips parted, something like there were two seals forming somewhere behind your teeth, but it dissolved before it could take shape, your tongue too heavy, the room tilting sideways in a way that made you give up the attempt entirely. A small, frustrated sound left you instead.

Qifrey didn't answer either.

He was still staring at the fading tear-track on your cheek, his thumb resting against your knuckles like it had forgotten how to do anything else. His mouth was slightly open, as if the words were queued up somewhere and simply refusing to arrive.

"Qifrey." Olruggio's voice was different this time. Not sharp, exactly, but steady. He reached over– not to you, this time– and cupped Qifrey's face with one broad hand, forcing his gaze away from you and onto him instead. "Hey. Look at me. I need you right now. Not later. Now."

Something in Qifrey's expression cracked open, then reassembled.

"Right." He blinked, hard, like he was surfacing from underwater. "Right, of course."

The words came easier after that, if not smoothly– stilted at first, then faster, tripping over each other as though saying it aloud might undo some of the horror of having lived it. The intruders. The spell, cast wide and indiscriminate, catching you square in the side as you'd shoved him out of its path instead of your own. The frantic minutes after, the Sylph shoes, the not knowing.

Olruggio listened without interrupting, though his jaw tightened somewhere around “she pushed me out of the way”.

When Qifrey finished, Olruggio turned his attention fully back to you, and his hands, which had been clinical only moments before, went gentle in a way they usually were with you.

"Does your stomach hurt?" A careful press against your side, his eyes flicking to your face for any flinch. "Nauseous? Dizzy, beyond the obvious?"

You managed a small shake of your head, and something in his shoulders loosened, just slightly.

He sat back after another moment, exhaling through his nose, and for the first time since he'd walked in, something like real relief crossed his face.

"It's a Drowsing Hex. Nasty, disorienting, feels like the end of the world going through it–" his eyes flicked, briefly to Qifrey, "-but it's not lethal. It runs its course. She'll be weak for a day, maybe two, and she needs to sleep it off, but that's all this is."

The silence that followed was different from the one before. Lighter. Qifrey's grip on your hand went slack, then tightened again– not from fear this time.

"Sleep it off," he repeated, as though testing the words for a trap hidden somewhere inside them.

"Sleep it off," Olruggio confirmed, already rising, already reaching for a blanket from the back of the couch to drape over you, tucking it beneath your chin with a gentleness that didn't match the gruffness of his usual demeanor at all. He caught himself doing it, cleared his throat, and busied his hands with straightening a corner that didn't need straightening.

You huffed out something like a laugh, too tired to fully form it. "You're both being awfully soft right now."

"Don't get used to it," Olruggio muttered, though he didn't move away.

Qifrey said nothing, but he brought your hand up to press against his lips again, longer this time, eyes closed, like he was trying to memorize the shape of your knuckles in case he ever had to go through the last hour again.

Olruggio watched him for a moment– really watched, and something passed behind his eyes. He didn't say anything about it. He didn't have to.

He just stayed a little longer than strictly necessary, hovering by the couch under the guise of monitoring your breathing, before finally murmuring, almost to himself, "You scared me," Olruggio said quietly. It wasn't clear, for a moment, which of you he meant.

Qifrey's eyes finally opened, finding Olruggio's over the crown of your head. "I know."

"Both of you." Olruggio's thumb pressed once against his nape before falling away. "I mean it."

Something unspoken passed between them– the kind of look that didn't need translating after this many years, after this many close calls, after this many nights the three of you had ended up tangled together in the same bed for no reason either of them ever bothered to explain.

You made a small, sleepy sound of protest at being talked about like you weren't still there. "M'right here."

"We know." Olruggio's voice had gone soft again, and this time he didn't bother hiding it. His hand found yours, resting alongside Qifrey's. "Sleep. We'll be here."

You let your eyes fall shut, and neither of them loosened their grip. You were warm, safe, and outnumbered in the best way possible.

Taglist: As always, comment to be added!

Was that why you were so insistent on coming?

You stepped away from him, head on a swivel.

“There’s something off with the air.” You sounded like you were talking more to yourself than to him.

He nodded anyway.

You were always more perceptive than he was. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to have your watchful eyes scanning over everything, lest he missed something. After all, now was no time to make oversights. 

A sharp, biting wind whistled past Qifrey. He squinted to keep his eyes from watering. The door of the fence lining the run-down house swung haphazardly, clanking against the metal bonding of the railing.

“The seal must be in the house.” Qifrey projected, to get through the wind to you. “I don’t feel any notable effects from this distance.”

You leaned down, examining the base of the fenced perimeter. He watched as you ghosted your hand over the peeling wood before looking back to the house.

He had no idea what he would find in that house. If he was lucky, he would run into a few Brimmed caps, overly sure of their own ability. 

He ground his teeth together at the thought, fingers tightening around his components.

“This fence has no seals engraved” You pushed up off the ground, dusting off your robes before shooting Qifrey a look from over your shoulder. “Just a normal fence.”

Qifrey shook his head, looking past you, “Oh, it’s there.”

You sighed, hanging your head for a moment before turning to push through the open door of the fence.

You were also a great deal more sensible than him, Qifrey thought fondly. You had insisted on asking for help, perhaps waiting for Olruggio to return from his trip, but the less people who knew, the better.

“You go first I’ll take the rear?” You had spoken softly, but your voice carried through the wind. 

Qifrey hummed in response, brushing past your standing figure down the path to the house. 

There were stepping stones lined in a winding path. Stubborn weeds and vines pushed through the gaps and crevices, pushing a few of the stones up slightly.

Perhaps there were seals under them? Though, he doubted it. If the house was secured by seals then why wouldn’t the fence have them? Qifrey looked back at you to see whether you were paying the stones any mind. 

His shoulders only untensed at the sight of your eyes roaming high above where his were. He pulled his attention back to the house in front of him, stopping just short of the large wooden door.

You were strong, there was no doubt about it. But still, you were never too keen on familiarizing yourself with more violent spells– spells that Qifrey had seen first hand which only made more sense as to why he should lead most of the investigation.

He paused, hand suspended just short of the brass doorknob before turning around to face you.

“When we find it, I’ll study the seal, I don’t want you to get caught in any crossfires.”

You returned his gaze, dubiously. “I’m fine I can–”

Qifrey shook his head, grabbing your hands in his. “I know you can– of course you can.” He opened his mouth before shutting it again

“You can. Just let me?”

A personal attack he could manage. He could deal with being beaten and alone. Except he wasn’t alone now. You were here, and he couldn’t imagine what he would do in that case.

You frowned up at him before looking down at your hands held in his larger ones.

“Yeah, sure.”

Qifrey released a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

“Thank you." He breathed out, only turning at the sight of your resigned smile.

The house was dark. Shadows stretched and distorted as Qifrey pushed open the door. He registered your footsteps creaking against the worn wooden floor behind him.

The energy from earlier was stronger now. It pushed against his chest, willing him to turn on his heels then and there, grabbing your hand and striding out the rickety house.

You paused, staring up at the ceiling, “How is this place still standing?” 

Qifrey didn’t bother following your gaze, instead he was focused on a door at the very end of the hallway. 

“Does something feel off about that door?” He breathed, his voice just barely audible, but you heard it. Of course you heard it.

You stepped forward until you were at Qifrey’s side, scrutinizing the door for a few seconds before looking up at Qifrey. 

“No, but trust your gut.”

Qifrey pursed his lips, before sliding his right hand into his robe to close against his pen. “Watch my back.”

You nodded, “Always.”

The door swung inward with a groan that seemed to come from the walls themselves. The air that spilled out was stale and heavy, carrying the particular stillness of a space that had been sealed off for too long. Underneath it, there was something else– something that made the hair on his arms stand up.

Qifrey saw it immediately. Sprawling across the far wall in ink so dark it seemed to absorb the light around it. Large, elaborate, and still active, if the faint luminescence bleeding from its edges was any indication.

He was moving before he'd made the conscious decision to, crossing the room in measured steps until he crouched before the seal. 

His pen was already in his hand. He couldn't have told you when he'd reached for it.

Behind him he heard the soft, careful placement of your footsteps as you began your own thorough circuit of the room. 

His eyes moved across the seal in slow, methodical sweeps. The linework was precise– uncomfortably so. Whoever had drawn this hadn't been in a hurry. They had taken their time, which meant they hadn't expected to be interrupted. So either they didn't know about Qifrey's lead, or they did and weren't concerned.

Neither option was particularly comforting.

“Anything?" He murmured, not looking up.

“It–” Your voice trailed off, presumably focused on something before you started again.

“It doesn’t make sense.”

Qifrey frowned, eyes never leaving the seal on the floor, "What doesn’t” 

He registered you moving towards another corner of the room, surveying everything from each and every fold in the wallpaper to all the trinkets littering the floors.

“The strange energy from before.” You paused again, stepping closer towards him, though your voice was still muffled as if you weren’t facing him.

“It’s not coming from your side of the room.”

Qifrey's gaze followed the sweeping curve of the seal in front of him. He traced the linework again. Then again. His frown deepened.

You were right. The seal was elaborate, yes– precise, yes– but the construction was wrong. Not wrong in the way of a flawed seal– wrong in the way of a deliberate misdirection. Strip away the elaborate flourishes, the unnecessary complexity layered over the top, and what remained underneath was simple. Benign, even. A preservation seal, maybe. Something you would find in a pantry or a storage room.

Someone had dressed it up to look dangerous. To look like the thing worth paying attention to.

His stomach dropped.

This wasn't a weapon. This wasn't even close to what had been making the air feel the way it did outside. 

Which meant it wasn't the source.

Which meant the source was somewhere else in this room.

He never finished the thought.

The force of you hit him square in the shoulder, sending him stumbling sideways as you threw yourself between him and the wall behind him. The seal flared– one brilliant, blinding pulse of light, and then went dark. Spent and silent.

For a moment Qifrey couldn't move. The light died as quickly as it had come, leaving the room dim and still, and Qifrey stood there blinking the spots from his vision, trying to locate you before his eyes had fully adjusted.

"Hey–" His voice came out wrong. Too high, too fast, stripped entirely of the composure he prided himself on.

You were still standing. That was the first thing he registered. The second was the way you were standing– too carefully, one hand braced against the wall. Your face was pulled tight as if caught between fear and pain.

He was at your side before the thought had fully formed. His hands were already on you, scanning, searching, before he even knew what he was looking for.

"Where." It wasn't a question. It barely came out as a word.

You moved to shake your head before you froze, fingers curling around Qifrey’s collar, willing him still as you craned your ears.

Qifrey’s hands moved to cup your face, “Y/n.”

“There’s someone else here.” You breathed, voice unusually shaky.

A distant thud sounded from beyond the door, followed by a distinct scrambling.

Qifrey cursed under his breath before grabbing your shoulder to pull you forward. Though, before he could get you moving from your dazed state, your legs buckled, folding beneath you without warning. He caught you on the way down, barely– one arm wrapping around your waist, taking your weight before you hit the floor.

"I'm fine." You whispered it before he could ask. Your hands trembled slightly against his chest. You were leaning into him more than you likely realized.

"You're slurring." He said it quietly, without accusation.

"I'm not." You were, slightly. The edges of your words were softer than usual, running together at the ends. You blinked hard as if trying to clear something from your vision. "It's just– I just need a second."

He didn't have a second to give you. The sounds beyond the door had settled into something worse than scrambling– deliberate footsteps, measured, unhurried. Whoever was out there wasn't panicking. They knew the house.

Qifrey exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing his thoughts into order. He could not afford to fall apart right now. He would fall apart later, when you were somewhere safe and he had the privacy for it.

"Your pocketbook." He said it as a prompt, already moving to support more of your weight as he guided you towards the wall.

You nodded, reaching for it with more confidence than your hands could back up. He watched your fingers close around your pen and then watched it slip, hitting the floor with a small, final sound that seemed far too loud for the quiet of the room.

You stared at it.

He had seen you afraid before– not often, you were careful about that– but the expression that crossed your face in that moment wasn't fear of the brimmed caps or the house or whatever the seal had done to the air outside. No, you were staring down, terrified at the violent shaking of your hands. You were watching your body betray you.

"I've got it." He said before you could spiral, crouching to retrieve the pen and pressing it gently back into your hands before moving to draw the barricade seal himself. "Just breathe."

He kept his voice even in the same voice he used with the girls when things went wrong and he needed them not to panic. He drew quickly, precisely, the lines coming more from muscle memory than conscious thought because most of his attention was on you. On the sound of your breathing, on whether you were still upright.

You were. Barely.

He finished the seal and stood, turning to find you at the window. He hadn't heard you move. He didn't know how you'd managed it. You were bracing both palms flat against the wall beside the frame, your weight distributed between your hands and the windowsill, your legs doing the absolute minimum required to keep you vertical.

He moved to place the seal against the door, not staying to watch the door barricade itself. Instead, he crossed the room toward you.

Outside, through the grimy glass, he could see you had already begun counting. Your lips moved faintly. 

"Four." You murmured as he reached your side. "Maybe five. They've spread out since we came in. They must have been waiting until we went into the house" A pause. “How did we miss them?” Your eyes tracked something to the left. "There's a gap on the far side– the east edge of the property. I clocked it when we first came through. They haven't covered it yet."

He looked. You were right. It was narrow and it wouldn't stay open long, but it was there.

"How long do we have?" He asked, keeping his voice low.

You were quiet for a moment, watching. "Not long."

He nodded once, turning back to the room, already calculating. The sheet on the narrow bed in the corner. The window latch. The angle of approach to the east edge that would keep them furthest from–

"You have to go."

He turned back to you.

You weren't looking at him. Your eyes were still fixed on the window, jaw set, the way it got when you had already made a decision and were bracing for the argument that came with it.

"Without me." You added, when he said nothing.

"No." He said it simply, turning back to the room.

"Qifrey." Your voice had reduced itself to something akin to a beg. The tone of someone stressing their words because they only had enough energy for one attempt. "Look at me."

He looked, his face pinched in frustration.

You had pushed yourself upright from the wall, which had clearly cost you something. You were standing on your own but only just, your weight shifted forward onto the balls of your feet as if you didn't quite trust your heels to hold. Your hands hung at your sides, slightly curled, as you willed them to not shake.

"You can make it through that gap." You said it quietly, evenly, the steadiness in your voice doing almost nothing to disguise how much effort it was taking to maintain. "You don’t know this terrain as well as they do. You're faster alone. Come back for me when you've got distance."

"No." He said it the same way he'd said it the first time. He was pulling the sheet from the bed now, shaking it out.

"I'm dead weight." The words came out flatter than you probably intended, stripped of the self pity that might have softened them. "You can see it. I can see it. Standing up right now is taking everything I have and we both know it. If you take me through that gap you are halving your chances."

He didn't answer. He was already reaching for his pen.

"Qifrey." Your voice cracked slightly on the second syllable. "I need you to be rational about this."

He stopped.

The pen was in his hand. The sheet was in his hand. He stood with his back to you for one long moment, and the sound of your shallow breathing, carefully controlled, filled the space between you.

When he turned around his expression was something you had never quite seen on him before. Not anger exactly. Something underneath anger.

"I cannot." His voice came out very quiet. "I will not leave you in this house." A beat. "Don't ask me to do that again."

You opened your mouth.

"Don't." He said it softly, which was worse than if he'd said it sharply. "Please."

You looked at him for a long moment, really looked, and whatever you found there seemed to take the argument out of you entirely. Your shoulders dropped. Something in your face went very still.

You didn't say anything. You just stopped fighting him.

He was at your side before you finished sinking, one arm catching you around the waist as your back met the wall on the way down. He lowered you the rest of the way carefully, one hand bracing the back of your head.

You were lighter than he remembered. Or perhaps he just hadn't been paying attention before.

"I'm sorry." He said it quietly, without preamble, his voice rough. "For raising my voice."

You made a small sound that might have been a dismissal or might have been an acknowledgment, he didn’t quite know. Your eyes were open but the focus in them came and went, like a candle in a draft.

"Stay with me." He said it more to himself than to you. Then, louder, deliberate, "I need you to stay with me. Can you do that?"

You granted him the faintest nod.

He gave himself three seconds. Three seconds to look at you. The sheen of sweat on your face and the way your hands had gone still in your lap and the slight unevenness of your breathing. He gave himself three seconds to feel the full weight of what was happening. Three seconds to be terrified.

Then he stood up, left your side, and got to work.

He spread the sheet across the floor, pen already moving before the fabric had fully settled, drawing the concealment seal in long, careful strokes. His handwriting was steadier than it had any right to be. He had learned a long time ago to make his hands do what was needed regardless of what the rest of him was doing.

He worked quickly. The lines had to be precise. A concealment seal drawn in haste was worse than no seal at all, it would only draw attention to the distortion, but his hands knew this particular construction by heart. He'd drawn it more times than he could count.

He finished the last stroke and looked up.

You were watching him. Your head had fallen back against the wall and your eyes were half lidded but they were on him, tracking the movement of his pen with an expression he couldn't quite read.

"Almost done." He said it quietly.

"I know." Your voice was barely above a murmur now. "You always were fast."

He didn't trust himself to respond to that.

In a quick moment he strode back to your side, gathering you up from the floor as carefully as he could manage, one arm beneath your knees and one behind your back, and you went without protest which told him more than anything else how far you had declined. You tucked your face against his shoulder almost automatically, your hands loosely fisted in the front of his robes.

He wrapped the sheet around you both, pulling it close until the seal's effect settled.

He was going to get you out. That much he had decided long before you had even known about this particular mission. However, this was never supposed to happen. This spell- whatever it was doing to you, he didn’t know how to fix it. 

He shook his head. There was no time to think of that now.

"East side." He murmured into your hair. "Talk me through it."

A long pause. He thought for a moment you might have gone under entirely. Then, "Straight from the back door. There's a broken section of fencing about thirty paces out. Low enough to step over. Don't angle left, there was one posted near the old well."

"Good." He exhaled. "That's good."

And he moved.

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